#self grower

[skullasteroid]

“Even though you're growing up, you should never stop having fun.” - Nina Dobrev

[tengu-grow]

Gold us t

[lucysarah-c]

Let’s say Levi has a crush on reader but someone else also is pursuing reader. This someone else could be on a similar level to Levi but not necessarily his friend. I just more like to see what people think Levi would act like if he finally talks himself into pursuing reader but turns out he has “competition” in a way

Thank you if you answer this 🫶

Gasp Ah…. I LOVE THIS.

How are you?! Sorry for the late reply! Don't thank me for answering! Thank you for coming to my blog and asking.

Mh, LOVE IT. You know… have you listened to the song "You Belong With Me" by Taylor Swift? Haha, well, that's Levi LMAO.

I feel, with a hand on my heart, y'all know I love this man, but he simply cannot compete with someone in any field related to social implications. Has Levi finally talked himself into pursuing someone and trying to get his feelings across? Great, he thinks—I'll clarify—HE THINKS that he's being rather OBVIOUS. Maybe for those who know him, they would also notice Levi is interested in this person because he's not behaving like his regular self. But for the poor reader he's trying to court? … he's simply being nice HAHA.

This man would think that stopping by that person's job (if they have a bakery, tea shop, etc., for example) regularly, buying, and having a very small chit-chat is "flirting." He thinks that, if this person is a scout, asking them if they need anything from downtown or if they want a tea is CLEAR that he wants something with them. No.

So if someone else is pursuing the person he loves and has more social skills than him (which is not something hard to have), there's a high chance that person would take the lead in the "race for the reader's heart." Maybe they are more outgoing, charismatic, extroverted, etc., and they take the lead. Levi would be jealous, 100%. He would get grumpy, angry, etc., but always at himself.

I can picture him muttering and cursing at himself under his breath while working, "I'm an idiot, I'm stupid. YoUr HaIR DoESn't lOOk ThAt ShITTy toDAY," mocking his own voice, and then groaning in frustration. "… my mom must have dropped me as a baby or Kenny's kicks really damaged my brain. I can't be this stupid," realizing that this other person says "smooth shit," as he would call it, and he simply can't.

Especially because Levi's love language is acts of service… mixed with degradation lmao. "Give that, you're going to drop it," and he will carry stuff for them. "You look like shit, tch, just sit down, I'll do it," and he brews them a tea and brings them something to eat.

Levi is a grower in people. I can 100% see him having feelings for this person for months, years perhaps. Maybe they even consider and go for a relationship with Levi's competitor, and it doesn't work out, etc., and they have grown close to Levi. Something he says or does makes the reader snap and say, "… are you flirting with me, Captain?"

Levi would look stoic as ever but slightly defeated mixed with embarrassment and say, "Yeah, for the past year. Thank you for finally noticing."

(extra scene)

Levi alone in his office: "Can't you see that I'm the one who understands you? Been here all along. So, why can't you see? You belong with me."

I'll tag people on this one because I had a blast writing it. Thank you so much, you made my birthday lmao.

Link to my masterlist and my other works if you feel like checking them out. Tags!: @nube55 @justkon @notgoodforlife @nmlkys @humanitys-strongest-bamf @quillinhand @thoreeo @darkstarlight82 @angelofthor @aomi04 @levisbrat25 @l3visthighs @hum4n-wr3ckag3 @hannieslovebot @starrylevi @rithty @mariaace @ackrmntea @emilyyyy-08 @levisfavoriteteashop @katestrophes @levistealeaf @an-ever-angry-bi @youre-ackermine @fxnnyackerman @secretmoneybearvoid @trashblackrainbow @flxrartsstuff @katharinasdiaryy @kikarouflames @levisecretgfblog @searriously @blackdxggr @ackermanswifee @abiatackerman @braunsbabe @moonchild-12345 @levicansteponme Wanna join my tag list? Here!

[usedtobecooler]

thinking about eddie being a grower not a shower and being self conscious about it until you show him how much you love it

warnings: sexual content 18+, piv sex, handjobs, size kink (but not in that way yk)

it’s not that you’d intentionally noticed it before. it was just that. well—

there wasn’t necessarily anything to look at when you did. eddie’s cheap, starchy jeans didn’t give anything away, fabric so thick that it concealed pretty much everything below. and you didn’t care about size, never had, but it was the first time you’d ever truly struggled to picture what you’d be working with once you got there.

he’s nervous, you can tell — you’d been making out and grinding on his thigh for fifteen minutes and you couldn’t even feel a hard press against your leg. you’d heard around town that he was eager, giving, clearly experienced in some kinda way. so what was the issue?

“do i not turn you on or what?” you gasp, lips still brushing his as you rut against his leg a little harder, whining when said starchy jeans catch on your clit and drag, the soft burn making your insides ache with want.

eddie goes bug eyed, grappling for your waist and squeezing tight, “no, no. s’not that, sweetheart. you’re fucking beautiful.”

you huff, still rocking slowly but not enough to chase your high properly, just enough to keep you on edge, “what is it then, why aren’t you hard?”

“you make me nervous,” he says, honestly. his eyebrows marry with worry, a shaky sigh escaping his lips, “just — worried m’gonna disappoint you. it’s not much to look at once i get there.”

you pout, running your hand up from where it grips at his shoulder to rest gently on the side of his neck, “don’t say that. i’ll make you feel good, if you’ll let me?”

eddie nods, though he’s clearly still so nervous, chewing on the inside of his lip as you dismount from him, settling in between his spread legs and pawing at his clothes.

he helps you undress him from the waist down, lifting his hips so you can slide his jeans and underwear off in one swift motion, leaving them pooled at his ankles.

and. well.

he’s still completely soft, laying over the soft hang of his balls. maybe three inches at most, foreskin rippling at the head. there’s girth there though, so you’re absolutely working with something.

you’re slow with it, dragging the pads of your fingers up the inside of eddie’s shaking thigh until he’s hissing, and you catch his cock kicking up in interest when you do.

he’s gripping at the sheets, no doubt a nervous habit, trying to keep himself grounded as you finally wrap your hand around him, giving him a short tug. he gasps at that, eyes widening further as he watches you jerk him off in a steady rhythm.

it’s weird. feeling a dick grow hard in your hand, fattening up until he’s fully erect and somehow double the size he was when he was flaccid.

it’s like magic. sexy magic that’s kinda got you hot and bothered.

“oh, shit,” eddie’s hands grip the sheets tightly, hips canting up a little into your hand as you work him with a tight fist, “your hand feels really good.”

you make a little delighted noise as you pull his foreskin down and the pretty pink head pops out, shiny with precum already and looking needy, “s’pretty. i like your cock.”

he moans, head thumping back against your cushioned headboard as you continue pumping him up and down, unable to tear your eyes away from it — seriously, where had his dick been all your life?

“can i — do you wanna have sex?” you ask, glancing up at eddie momentarily to gauge how he’s feeling.

his cheeks are flushed pink, tendons in his neck flexing as he watches you with hazy eyes. he nods, a quick motion, and you’re so glad he says yes — you need him in you. like, yesterday.

you keep your hand steady on the base of his cock as you manoeuvre yourself back to almost where you were originally. straddling his hips, panties pushed to the side so you can slide down on him with minimal effort and no resistance.

his grip goes back to your hips as you sink down, a quiet little whimper bubbling out of his mouth as your cunt grips him, “oh fuck, you’re so tight.”

and like, yeah. he’s stretching you nicely, not enough to hurt but enough that you can feel him. and he’s curved nicely into your frontal wall, rubbing against the soft tissue, making your insides coil.

you place both hands on his tummy, using it for leverage as you begin bouncing up and down. you can’t do it too fast, otherwise he’ll slip out, but it’s a nice steady motion that has you both panting and gasping.

“y-you had nothing to worry about,” you stutter, moaning quietly when the head of his cock catches nicely inside of you, at the same time your clit rubs against his dark thatch of pubes, “your cock is so good.”

eddie moans, punching his hips up from below and choking a high pitched sound out of you as he does, eliciting an even louder noise from your gushing cunt at the same time, “y’r gonna make me cum, shit.”

“yeah? gonna cum in me? fill me up?” you ask, tummy blooming with a low heat, a telltale sign you’re close too. it just feels so good.

“you can’t say that, fuck,” eddie groans, gripping at your hip even tighter, blunt nails digging into your soft skin until you’re gasping, “need you to cum first, sweetheart.”

“almost there anyway,” you admit, rutting down against him as he fucks you from below — you’re unsure of when he even took over, too drunk on it to care either.

he smooths his thumb down your pubic bone, over your mound to dip under your hood, catching your clit once, twice with his calloused fingertip and you’re cumming with a wet cry, digging your nails into the soft skin of his tummy as you grind down on him, the deep heat inside of you bursting and settling just as quickly.

“you’re so — fuckfuck,” eddie stutters over his words, punching his hips up into you and pushing you down on him all at once and he’s spilling inside of you. in your own haze you can feel his cock pulsing, filling you with his release.

it’s quiet after that, and he slips out soon after.

your obsession with his dick never does go away.

[mrsparrasblog]

Loser Simon

Tw: he is really pathetic, choking, stalking, masturbation, unprotected sex, baby trapping, micro penis,

A/N: credits to @dumbbitchgalore got inspired by her Pathetic Price fic

The light flickered in the dirty bathroom stall of the pub he went to after Price said they needed to celebrate their win. Well, it was his win; the others were just there. He had every reason to be cocky today. He was a handsome bloke with big muscles and perfect at his job. So when that bird approached him at the pub, which Johnny had eyed for hours, he thought, "Fuck it," and went with her into the dirty pub toilet.

His self-confidence struck again, too high. He should know by now what was about to happen when she removed his jeans, revealing his small member in contrast to his big size. Most of the time, the women or men started to laugh at him before they left. Some hoped he was a grower—he wasn’t. The worst was when a woman finally managed not to laugh, and he came in her face before she even put her lips on him. To a certain degree, he knew he was pathetic, but his confidence always got in his way, so he tried again and again, with the same result.

His sloppy lips licked hers, eager for her to grant his long tongue entrance. His big hands massaged the soft flesh of her ass before she went down on her knees, fighting with his belt. She was so eager, expecting the biggest dick she had ever seen from the 6’4" man. Unfortunately for Simon, she started to laugh when she saw his tiny package standing proud and already leaking precum like a faucet. "That's a joke," she said and just didn’t stop laughing at him, making him lose his cool. He wrapped his calloused hands around her delicate throat. He knew he wouldn’t kill her—he wasn’t a psychopath, after all. "If you tell anyone, I’ll fucking kill you," he threatened. Her laughing stopped and turned to an expression of pure fear as she nodded to keep his small secret.

"That was fast, mate," Gaz mentioned as Ghost returned to their booth.

"That bird was into crazy shit, and I don’t dip my dick in crazy," he replied, getting an approving nod from Price and Gaz, who had their fair share of crazy women over the years. But only Johnny raised his brow suspiciously. He always knew something was wrong with the Lt's sex life—not that he minded, but it was suspicious.

Price didn’t flirt with birds since he was still obsessed with his ex-wife, comparing every woman to Mrs. Price, who he cheated on in a moment of weakness. Kyle didn’t flirt with the girls or boys in the pub since he had a friends-with-benefits thing with you, the most beautiful nurse on base. Poor Kyle fell for you in that act. He himself flirted with every above-average attractive lad or lass who went into the pub, but Ghost—he never had a girl at home, and all the girls he took with him for fun returned minutes later with a traumatized look on their faces. Johnny was pretty sure the Lt was into some kinky stuff or was one of those guys who busted their load way too fast. He just knew something was wrong.

----------------------------

He had half a mind to go to the brothel for his birthday to finally get over his fucking virginity. They were paid to do it, so they wouldn’t turn him down or laugh at him. His plans changed quickly when he saw you in front of his barrack, holding a cupcake with a candle in it, telling him "Happy Birthday" with that beautiful smile of yours. He really wanted to say thank you, but instead, he just looked at you and grumbled. You tried to lighten the mood by telling him you baked it yourself and that it was red velvet.

"How do you know I like red velvet?"

"You always choose red velvet over any other flavor when there are cookies in the mess hall," your eyes still shined as you held the delicious treat under his nose. He grabbed it without even saying a simple thank you and closed the door. Well, Kyle told you, you shouldn’t bring him something for his birthday. The Lt was weird and mean, was all he said. You should be happy if he didn’t spit in your face after trying your treats.

Kyle’s warning was fair. You shouldn’t have baked for the Lt—not because of his rude gestures. You just should never feed a stray dog, or it gets attached to you. And having that big broody Lieutenant attached to you was a death sentence you weren’t prepared for.

-------------------------------------------------------

Ghost knew he wasn’t a particularly good human, never was, and never would be. But right now, he felt like the worst human alive. Ever since you gave him that sweet treat, he was obsessed with you. It started innocently—he wanted to find out your name, your dislikes, your friends. It went a bit too far when he knew your blood type, bra size, and social security number. But that happens, okay? You need to forgive him for being so eager. It’s romantic, after all—or at least, that’s what he told himself.

But now he stood in your room while you were roaming around the base, his small dick in one hand and a pair of your used panties he nicked from the laundry bin in the other. The images of you weren’t enough anymore. He needed the real thing—needed to smell and taste you, finally make you his.

Your panties smelled so good to him. All thoughts of getting a prostitute flushed away. You’d be the one to take his virginity. You’re way too sweet to laugh at him. You’ll take him and love him—all his selfishness, the killing—you won’t care. You will love him just like he loves you.

Something was different. Your friends called you paranoid, but you couldn’t be. For a month, no guy hit on you, Kyle broke off your fuck buddy arrangement—god, you missed his dick—no CO yelled at you, you lost at least 20 pairs of your panties. Your pillow smelled weirdly no matter how often you washed it or even replaced it. Your shampoos and perfumes went empty. You were probably going crazy. Your friends were right.

You were already putting on your pajamas when the door rang. To your surprise, the Lieutenant stood in front of you. "We’re going on a date."

"Uh, how about you ask me first?" you argued. It wasn’t as if you didn’t want to—everyone around the base had a crush on him, and you kind of did too. But still, he could have asked.

He didn’t even answer and gave you a big bag. "In 30 minutes outside."

You went inside and opened the bag. To say you were shocked was an understatement of the year. Inside the bag was the black dress you eyed in the mall a month ago in your size, the YSL heels you pinned on Pinterest, and even a set of Victoria's Secret underwear. How did he know all this stuff? Maybe Kyle told him your size, you thought. And who are you to complain about free YSL heels?

The date was interesting. Simon—how you should call him from now on—didn’t talk much, but he was a good listener. He looked even hotter without the mask and paid for the bill without even a blink. If he had talked, it would have been the best date of your life.

Back at the base, he pushed you against the wall, claiming your mouth as his. Everything about him was big and clumsy. You tried to teach him that your nipples weren’t a trigger on a gun, and he was at least eager to learn—that’s more than you’d expect from most of your Tinder dates.

You were surprised when you pulled his dick out from his pants, and he wasn’t as big as everyone thought he would be. But hey, that’s okay. At least it wouldn’t hurt, you thought, as you slowly glided your cunt on his leaking cock. The sounds Simon made were heavenly—he didn’t hold back like other men. He was moaning and whimpering while you bounced on his dick, his heavy balls slapping against your ass.

His thick fingers drew circles around your clit, pulling moans from you. He was so attentive, focusing on your needs, and fuck, everything his dick lacked, his fingers could give you.

"Oh God, Simon," you whimpered as he increased the speed of his thick digits circling your pearl like no one ever did before. Making you cum wasn’t a side quest for him—it was everything that mattered right now.

"So good for me, Babygirl. Fuck, show me how much you love being filled out by me." Your cunt started to clench around him when he used that commanding voice on you. It didn’t take much for Simon to finally bust his load inside of you, heavy balls being emptied as you milked him for all he was worth.

"I love you, Babygirl," was all he muttered. You would have run away if you weren’t in an orgasmic bliss.

He was incredibly proud of himself for how long he lasted, and that you didn’t notice how he came in his pants after you kissed him for the first time. That could happen, okay?

Simon caressed your hair while you lay on top of his strong body. He was 1000% sure that he was going to marry you. You took his dick without laughing, and you’re so sweet. He should teach you to get rid of your naivety tho. Having sex without condoms on the first date—really, sweetheart? As if your sugar pills could prevent him from knocking you up.

[the-lonelybarricade]

OP YOU ARE SO RIGHT FOR THIS ONE!! MB truly is this gift that keeps on giving 😌

What can you do when you have all these in-depth feelings about how much you love and appreciate one person, who has had such a profound and significant impact on your life, but if you write more than 4 words the text in the meme will be too blury to read? You use the tags, as god intended

December 5th | @separatist-apologist

Throw Me to the Flames (Elucien)

Absolute perfection are the only words to describe this piece of written work. Not only was it incredibly exciting and thrilling to read, but also full of passion, desire, angst, pain, worry, happiness, fluff — just everything and just amazing 

All the Girls You Loved Before (Elucien)

This was a masterpiece, but technically every single story of this amazing author is. I loved every part of it, every single word, everything was just perfect. The story captivates you immediately, and once you start reading it you basically want to read every story of this author. It was really hard to choose two favourite story (in all honesty) I could have put every story here, but I had to decide on two.

[ghoulfuckersincorporated]

How big do you think the Ghoul's cock is? Length? Girth?

How about the size of his balls?

Anything unusual about what he's packing?

Solid 5.5", uncircumcised (we love uncut cock around here, and I do make the rules on that), thicker than his height and weight would lead you to believe. Trust me, you won't have to worry about getting a nice stretch from him. He's a "show-er", not a grower, so what you see is what you get, by and large. It'll look really impressive when it's not hard, but doesn't look all that different once it is, save for the way it reddens (and obviously stiffens) when it's engorged. When he's hard enough, it stands straight up against his stomach. Thinks it's funny to do that thing men do where they flex their abdominal muscles and make their dick jump, but only because you consistently give him a reaction when he does it. His balls are, size-wise, about proportional to everything else, but they hang a little lower than you'd expect, and they swell noticeably when he's adequately pent-up. He also produces precum like crazy the minute he starts getting hard; he finds the mess incredibly annoying right up until he meets you and remembers what excellent lube it makes.

Pre-war, he had what I'd call a "lightly trimmed" bush. Very soft hair, a brown that's a shade lighter than the rest of his body hair, fairly dense and maintained just enough that it isn't completely unruly. Feels good to rub yourself against when you're riding him.

Ghoulification takes quite the toll on human skin, obviously, and in terms of what might be a little unusual, the texture of the skin, the shaft especially, would be changed. It's heavily scarred and one of the only places on his body that still has a fairly regular level of sensitivity to temperature. It also maintains the same almost orange hue that the rest of his skin has, but a few shades darker (fun fact: the skin in the genital area is darker than the rest of the skin on the body for most people because it experiences engorgement). Because of that, the red flush it gains when he's hard makes the whole thing appear almost...burnt sienna? It's an interesting red-orange color.

He's really self-conscious about the way it looks, so I think he'd be particularly affected by cock worship. Taking your time to touch and kiss and lick every part of him when you're given the chance, telling him how handsome you think he is, how much you love his cock, all of that would make him absolutely melt over you. Loves eye contact when you blow him, even if he also frets about all the precum possibly making you sick. It tastes a little strange, like licking something metallic, and it lingers in the back of your throat. Refuses to let you swallow, not that you'd want to all that badly. Will literally slap you (though lightly, for him) if you try, unless you have a proven preternatural resistance to radiation. He wants to keep you around, and he feels so guilty if his bodily fluids make you sick that it'll probably derail your sex life for at least a few weeks. The poor thing is so afraid he'll lose you somehow, and he went two centuries without sex, so he's fine abstaining until you figure out what works for the two of you without hurting you.

[arachine]

— what's going on down there?: a dick analysis

ᥫ᭡ featuring :: jake sully, miles quaritch & norm spellman

ᥫ᭡ includes :: their human forms + avatar forms

ᥫ᭡ genre :: mature

ᥫ᭡ content warnings :: talking about dicks obviously, explicit sexual content (?), humor lol

ᥫ᭡ note :: if you know anything about arachine, you know i love a good dick analysis. these posts are intended for comedic purposes only, which means they’re not to be taken seriously.

— jake “ima slut you out” sully

. . . human form .*+!

⟳ length: as we all know, jake’s life on earth was very unfulfilling. he was a man who sacrificed his legs for the fate of the country, only to be disposed of into the unforgiving hands of society, with no way to reap the benefits (or lack thereof) that veterans were promised to receive. and after losing the privilege of mobility, his body changed drastically. he got smaller, his body got weaker, and yet, one thing remained—that dick! jake is a survivor, through and through—his personal motto is: if it ain’t broken, then it’s still working—and boy, he does not disappoint when it comes to the downstairs department. standing tall at 7 inches, is little jake (maybe not so little). when flaccid, his length measures at a solid 5.7 inches. definitely a grower. 

⟳ width: a little bit on the skinnier side, but he knows how to use it and that’s all that matters!

⟳ color: i think for the most part, his shaft definitely matches the rest of his body; though, i can see it maybe being slightly a little more darker at the base, like a very light beige. when he’s flaccid, his tip is a pretty pink, almost like a ballet slipper (aka the best pink). turns into an angry red when fully erect!

⟳ extra:

01. groomed?: jake pegs me as the kinda guy who doesn’t really care? i mean, trimming isn’t foreign to him, because he has trimmed it before, and does so when he notices it’s gotten to be too long…but, i don’t think it’s something that he does often. to him, it’s just hair. he’s on his grown man shit, you know? 

02. curved?: uhm, yes! you know that one beyoncé lyric? yeah. 

03. any veins?: absolutely covered in ‘em

04. how he fucks with it: i’d like to think before his accident, he was a doggy style connoisseur—come on, it’s jake we’re talking about here. can’t nobody tell me otherwise! i just know he had bitches bent over, weaves sweated out, makeup all over the pillows…mans was f-u-c-k-i-n-g okay? fuckingggg. 

. . . avatar form .*+!

⟳ length: the masses may attack me, but it’s time i spoke up. the man has a monster schlong. a cooter cat killer, if you will. if you thought his human form was big, shit, you ain’t seen nothing yet! completely flaccid, his cock measures to about 10 inches. when fully hard, he grows an additional three! talk about impressive…

⟳ width: so thick that it basically slaps his thighs when he walks. the man could create a beat with it, get em into the soundcloud business now!

⟳ color: self explanatory tbh, it’s fucking blue. as blue as papa smurf’s ass. 

⟳ extra: 

01. groomed?: i’m gonna go out on a limb here and say that because he’s an avatar, he grows hair there. even if i’m wrong, i’m right. i don’t give a damn what james cameron says. he’s basically my character at this point, and i will him to have hair damnit! just…the idea of him having a full bush down there, in the wild, all primitive and shit…does something to me. idk. don’t ask me why i’m so nasty, blame my deadbeat father. 

02. curved?: is a banana yellow? there’s your answer. 

03. any veins?: i might have a brain aneurysm just thinking about it, but yes! god, yes. so many…so, so, so many. ribbed for her pleasure or whatever trojan said. 

04. how he fucks with it: is he still the doggy style connoisseur? yes. but now that’s got the strength of 20 men, backshots sound a whole lot like gunshots now. they say every time the mighty toruk makto thrusts into a cunt, a tree falls down or something. so, yes. fucks hard, fucks rough, fucks like he’s on a mission. what’s that one tik tok audio? “rest in peace to all the soldiers that died in the service, i dive in her cervix.” yeah, he lives by that. 

— miles “on your knees, cadet!” quaritch

. . . human form .*+!

⟳ length: just gonna cut right to the chase. he’s huge. like pussy splitting huge. i don’t care what anyone says, you can argue with ya friend, you can argue with ya mother, but you cannot argue with me! coming in at a solid 6 when flaccid, quaritch takes the cake for the biggest cock on this list (at least, human form wise). at full length, he measures to about 7.8 inches! 

‘booooo’ you say, well, guess what? it’s the truth, and i’m just the messenger. whether you hate him or love him, he’s just that guy. 

⟳ width: surprisingly average. but it’s okay, sometimes you can’t have the best of both worlds. 

⟳ color: if my memory serves me right, he was pretty tan in the first movie. so, i’m gonna stick with that and say that it’s a pretty tan that transitions into a pale pink. i don’t know if some of you have seen old dick, but their tips get less saturated with age. it’s a phenomenon (not really, the blood flow to the groin is just a lot slower, which can make it appear kind of gre—anyway, i digress!)

⟳ extra: 

01. groomed?: this man is a colonel, so he’s all about discipline and keeping things nice and tidy. so, obviously, his hygiene reflects that. i don’t think he goes completely bald, but he does give it a good trim. kind of like a fade…just imagine a patch of grey, prickly hair. yeah. 

02. curved?: yes, and since he’s older, it’s probably curved a lot. you could probably hang something on it. maybe a towel, or a lanyard. it’s definitely useful for something!

03. any veins?: god, i don’t know why, but i have it in my head that he’s on steroids. he’s just so buff and strong, and i mean, yeah, he could just be really fit…but he could also be a self-image obsessed freak who takes drugs to be the perfect soldier. the correlation, you ask? well, i just feel like people who take steroids are really veiny, and i feel like his dick would be really, really veiny. so, thus the rant about steroids. steroid dick. 

04. how he fucks with it: don’t let his age fool you. he may very well be pushing his late fifties, but he’s still a young man at heart—and he’s definitely got the sex drive to prove it! i can see his favorite position being something like missionary. not so much because he enjoys the intimacy of it (like being face to face), but more so because he’s got a size kink—and definitely a dacryphilia kink. he enjoys seeing his partners cry, whether in pain, or in pleasure, or both! so, when you’re fucking him, don’t expect anything romantic. he just wants to see your pretty little face all teary eyed and pathetic. 

. . . avatar form .*+!

⟳ length: so big you can see it from space; that’s how the RDA mfs know they’re close, because they can see the tip protruding from pandora. no, but seriously, it’s still really huge. like maybe 12-14 inches—maximum. 

⟳ width: probably twice as thick as a human’s forearm. and god, it’s sooooo heavy. big breeding balls to match. 

⟳ color: blue blue blue…like wet fun dip. with just as many stripes as the american flag or whatever. 

⟳ extra: 

01. groomed?: yes, but the hair is black instead of grey and it’s probably really straight because na’vi hair is straight as fuck. 

02. curved?: sir, yes sir. 

03. any veins?: what’d i say? steroid dick. but even worse (better) now bc he’s so damn tall, he needs all the blood he can get down there.

04. how he fucks with it: has you in all types of positions. his favorites are anything that shows off his new found strength, so i’m betting on full nelsons and mating presses. just fast, powerful strokes. lives by the motto: can’t stop, won’t stop.

— norm “what’s the sq root of 69?” spellman

. . . human form .*+!

⟳ length: i’m sorry to disappoint the norm fuckers (if there are any), but he’s not that big. when he’s soft, his cock measures to about 4.8 inches, and at most, 6.2 inches when hard. 

⟳ width: skinny dick. 

⟳ color: dawg he’s so white, it’s like hella pale and the tip is so pink that when he’s aroused, it looks like there’s something wrong.

⟳ extra:

01. groomed?: like jake, i don’t think he really cares.

02. curved?: straight like a pencil

03. any veins?: like two, and they’re really prominent because he’s so fucking pale.

04. how he fucks with it: i don’t think human norm is getting puss, let’s be real. 

. . . avatar form .*+!

⟳ length: i am a firm believer in N.W.B.C—nerds with big cocks. it’s just the universe’s way of saying thank you, they just…they just do so much for us, you know? norm may not have been packing down there in his human form, but this was his second chance at redemption. he’s now a proud member of N.W.B.C, sporting an impressive 15 inches. you know that one scene in the first spider-man when pete’s looking at himself in the mirror and he looks inside his briefs? yeah, that was norm when he found out. the man got so excited, he accidentally catapulted a scientist out of pandora’s atmosphere with the weight of his cock. joking. 

⟳ width: on the skinnier side but still toe curling, nonetheless.

⟳ color: laffy taffy blue, with little (big) blueberry balls.

⟳ extra:

01. groomed?: no, he’s too busy in the lab and getting na’vi puss.

02. curved?: unfortunately no

03. any veins?: more than before, which he was pleasantly surprised to see.

04. how he fucks with it: norm’s got a big dick, but he acts so shy, like he’s scared of it or something. like stop playing boy and drop them drawls, the fuck? anyway, i think norm’s a sub. he pegs me as the type of guy who likes strong women, women who’ll tell him to shut the fuck up (because he talks so much) and eat their pussies. i guess this makes him a munch. yeah, he’s a munch. ice spice actually wrote that song with him in mind!

© arachine 2023

[papurgaatika]

Papaya’s Official Pedro Character Dick List

This started as me trying to just list them in biggest to smallest dick order, but i got carried away so now it’s that but with a few fleeting (horny) thoughts. Enjoy whores. Xoxo

1. Joel

Horse cock, duh

"Just the tip baby" is a line he’s ALWAYS using

Y’know that line about how he never actually went to university to study? That’s bc he was def fucking college girls and lord was he the talk of the town

If you could sneak Joel “big dick” Miller into your sorority house you were a legend.

Yes this might just be me being self gratuitous

2. Frankie Morales

Big and thick

Shy about it but too focused on pussy to care

Can get off just from eating you out, is extremely proud of that because it means he can just stay between your legs for however long he wants

3. Marcus Acacius

Roman army general who comes back aching after months of war

Will fuck you until you’re dizzy bc you can practically feel him in your stomach

Breeding kink galore, wants to see you round with his kids over and over

4. Javier Peña

He cant be that full of himself without having a pretty dick

And he is so pretty, maybe not that thick but he is big regardless

Loves to press against the top of your pelvis to make you feel him a little more if he shifts his hips up

5. Dave York

Look at him. I know you’ve seen his bulge dont lie to me you heathen.

Will trace a knife over your skin while he’s pushing into you to keep you still

Wears a cock ring to keep himself from cumming until you’re absolutely begging for it

6. Oberyn Martell

Royal cock. That’s all i have to say

Look. he is canonically a slut, there has to be good dick

Not a vers, but will switch occasionally if he’s feeling like he wants change.

Jerks off while you watch just to tease you

7. Pero Tovar

There’s something about these dirty sword-wielding men that screams BDE

Have i seen this movie? No. do i know that he’s jerking himself off and not bothering to be quiet about it even when he’s out on missions? Yeah. yeah i do.

He’ll bite and mark you, but will kiss them better afterwards

8. Din Djarin

Above average, but not too big, and he likes it like that

Def a grower, which makes it irritating when you tease him while he’s in the armor

Hates having to adjust while he’s on missions but you make it impossible

Missionary STANNNN, loves to have his forehead pressed against yours

9. Javi Gutierrez

Pleasure dom 100%

Just average length and girth, but he KNOWS how to use it, and use it well

Will slide just the tip in and make you cockwarm him laying like that until he makes you cum at least twice

10. Jack “whiskey” Daniels

This fucking asshole (i love him)

Ties you up with his lasso

Just smaller than average, but claims he’d get too distracted otherwise

Magic fingers. 100% and he knows it too.

11. Ezra

FREAK. He might be the freakiest one here if i speak honestly.

Doesn’t care that he doesn’t have a huge dick, says he can make you feel better than anyone with a massive shlong can (my words, not his, he’s too eloquent)

Into fisting and coos at you about how he can split you open on his hand and you’ll still ask for more

12. Silva

Bottom!

Not that he needs a small dick to be a bottom, but he just prefers it

Likes to grind against the sheets to get stimulation while he’s face down

13. Marcus pike

Cutie pie with a cute dick

I dont remember who it was but someone on here wrote soft!dom marcus so well and it makes me crazy

Overstimulates you while you ride him

14. Max Phillips

This is to knock this asshole down a notch

Endless stamina (vampire) so it doesn’t really matter

Super into slipping a finger inside while he’s fucking you

Also will make you eat his ass

15. Dieter Bravo

He has a small dick and dare i speak my truth when i say it’s hot???

He loves it, he doesnt need to be huge to feel good.

This man is a vers and a switch. Power bottoming for DAYS or being a bratty top. He has the best of everything.

Degradation kink GALORE!! If you call his dick small condescendingly he might cum immediately

[finniestoncrane]

Practice Makes Perfect

KTJL!Boomer, word count: 1.1k hng losing my little mind over the idea of digger practicing sucking himself off (because what else is there to do in prison?) 💙 also I fucked up the banner let me live sorryyyy request info • prompt list • send me a request • kofi • masterlist minors DNI!! 🔞 cw: mentions of porn, masturbation, i made him disgusting because it's what i want ok tell me he wouldn't aim his load AND ALSO he's a fuckin goober like hc-ing it now digger talks to his penis, cum play, swallowing, self-fellating aheem heem and maybe if everyone is good and anyone wants it, we get a part 2 where he achieves his goal

George rolled over in his metal frame bed, thin mattress offering no support as he lay on his back. It was dark, around 3am he figured, and despite how hard he was trying he knew there was no way he was going to get back to sleep.

"Well, might as well indulge."

His voice sounded strange as it bounced off the walls of his cell, but there was a comfort in it, in the lack of response, in the emptiness. Being locked up was boring, it could be dull, isolating, and it drove him insane sometimes. But, if nothing else, it meant he had plenty of time alone to do one of the simple pleasures he enjoyed.

Reaching under the bed, at the side closest to the wall, he retrieved his stash of contraband. Everyone knew he had it, everyone knew it was better if he did. He could be, as he so politely put it, "a right miserable cunt" if he didn't have his release regularly. With his fingers clinging to the slightly crinkled pages, he teased the magazine up above the mattress and pulled it over to his chest, where he bagan to flick through the slightly stained pages.

With a bored sigh, he pushed down the band of his orange prison issue pants and began lazily stroking his cock, letting it go from soft to semi-erect in his hand. A shower, not necessarily a grower, but there was plenty of him to get a grip on either way. The featherlight touch he gave to the tip when his strokes reached his head made him shiver, a crooked, self-satisfied grin spreading over his face, pushing into his lightly freckled cheeks.

Skimming through the pages clumsily with one hand, he tried to find one he wanted to settle on. They all felt used though, old news, the same bodies he'd been jerking off to for months now. He needed some new material, something different, something a little bit exciting just to change things up.

Not that he had any difficulty in getting to where he needed to go regardless. Within minutes his fist was pumping along his length faster, gripping the shaft tighter than was comfortable, releasing the tension when it felt too much to give himself that feeling of respite that made his chest feel lighter.

Predictably, he could feel himself reaching the climax of his practiced labours pretty quickly, and with a lopsided smile he held his cock up straight. Each stroke was slow and the grip was strong now, easing up the shaft as though he were squeezing his release out.

"C'mon... c'mon... ah, fuck, c'mon!"

This was now the somewhere close to the tenth time he'd been aiming for the ceiling, hoping his load was explosive enough to reach it. It felt like a challenge now, something he couldn't not try. It did, however, lead to a lot of mess. Not necessarily much clean up, but definitely a lot of mess.

Looking down at his bare chest, George swiped at the droplets and strands of cum that decorated his torso. Not quite to the ceiling, but he was sure some of it had landed on his face, close to his lips. A quick investigation with his tongue proved him correct, as he tasted the sickly, salted flavour on his tongue.

"It's not even that bad."

He reached down, swiping up some of the splatter on his finger. He held it in the air, tapping his thumb to it and watching the viscous, white substance spread between them. Then he shrugged, popping it into his mouth. As if he were some kind of deranged sommelier, he shifted it from cheek to cheek, letting it rest on his tongue before he swallowed.

"Yeah! Not bad at all. Gotta start advertising that, just in case it helps convince anyone to give the little fella a suck."

Then it hit him. He couldn't believe he had forgotten about the last project he had been working on. He'd gotten distracted by the repetitive strain injury he'd given himself in his ribs, but that pain had subsided, which meant he could continue.

"Aw yeah! I was gonna suck it!"

George excitedly sat up in the bed, legs crossed, cock still semi-erect. He wondered if that was better or worse, and settled on it being the perfect state. Not too stiff, bit of stretch to it. Focusing on the tip of his cock, he took in a few deep breaths, soothing, focusing. Then he sat up completely straight, letting his spine elongate before he bent it quickly into an almost perfect arch.

And he was still a bit away from his goal.

"Shit."

He pushed his neck out, groaning with the strain, his tongue sticking out over his lips as far as he could get it.

"Just... a little... closer..."

The past injury, the one he thought had healed, began to twinge again. His entire side felt solid, like the tendons connecting the muscles might snap at any second. But he was determined.

"Come on you little cunt..."

One final urge, and a blatant disregard for his physical wellbeing, was all it took, as the tip of his tongue ran along the head of his cock. It was the briefest of connections, only managing to taste the slightest amount of salt from the his slit. But it was something.

"Holy shit!"

His body almost sprang back into a natural position as he let himself relax, a reward for his efforts and his success.

"Ah, Digger! You dirty fuckin' bogan! Well done, mate!"

He was close to patting himself on the back, but he realised the stretch might inadvertently cause further strain, and now that he was back on track with his self-satisfactory plans he didn't want to cause any further interruptions. Just a few more months of this and he'd maybe be able to get the tip in his mouth. For the first time, he was glad he had a long sentence ahead of him.

Smiling down at his own cock, ever pleased with the work they put in together as partners, he spoke out loud.

"There'll be some disappointed Sheila's when they find out I don't need them anymore. Disappointed fellas too, I reckon."

He nodded wistfully, well aware in the back of his mind that there weren't too many offers to begin with, but a little delusion never hurt anyone.

[sourpatchys]

what are your opinions on Daryl's dick size

Never in my life did I think I’d have the absolute honor to be asked for dick headcannons, but here we are!!

This honestly kinda threw me for a loop because I’ve never thought about it independently, I’ve just agreed with everyone else lmaooo

So, I hope you still enjoy— even if I’m not adding anything super substantial to the table

NSFW below the cut 18+ MDNI

A/n: please ignore how weird the columns look I have no idea why they did that, I’m on mobile rn so the interface is a little different than I’m used too when posting haha

—

Daryl isn’t a super hairy guy, especially not down below. He’s never bothered to shave though, not before the world went under and definitely not after. If his body is going to grow hair then who is he to say otherwise?? It was bad enough shaving his face when he was a teen, why the hell would be put his genitals through that torture??

Realistically, Daryl’s probably supporting a good 6 inch dick maybe 6.5, with a pretty average girth at around 4.59. He’s not self conscious of his size— he never really understood why anyone would be in the first place. (That didn’t stop him from laughing at the jokes and making a few of his own in his youth through)

He’s definitely circumcised, a religious family from the south made sure of that. He has a couple distinct veins going along the sides, not aggressive looking but they’re definitely visible, and he has a slight indentation on the underside leading a beautiful stripe right up from base to tip

I don’t take Daryl as the Masturbation type, at least not often. You could definitely find soft spots and pleasure spikes that he’s never found on his own before

The head of his dick has a slightly pink hue, perfectly mushroom shaped, and his urethra is one hole (there’s no slot in the middle)

He’s always a mess after cumming, he doesn’t get off much (at least not on his own) so when he finishes he finishes hard. He’s completely pent up.

Obviously with no showers available (and Daryl in general just hating showers for some reason) he can (and usually does) have a smell of some kind, though I wouldn’t say it’s necessarily overpowering. He’d likely wash off a little before letting you anywhere near his crotch though.

He’s a grower— not a shower. Flaccid, his sick isn’t much to write home about, which isn’t something he minds— running around in the hot Georgia sun isn’t exactly fun. Least of all of you have a huge dick swinging between your legs.

He’s got a pretty tight sack— not too big or too small— which could be considered odd for his age, but given his lackluster sexual desires without a partner, they don’t really get much use. (And he’s not complaining)

[austinsastrology8991]

> Astr0 H0uSE CHeAT ShEeET< How to hack your house system(s)

HOUSE 1 - this house is the basic bitch you. YOu present yourself this way, you appear this way, but it is the superficial you, and its good to remember this otherwise you can get lose in the image you have cultivated for yoself. but images are incrediblty powerful, and we all succumb to the belief that we are who we are, because others say we are. and well we are but we are much more. so yes you look ugly or pretty, but its got very little to do with your life, yes people get pretty privilege and others get ugly disadvantage, but you have so much more power than how others/ yourself perceive you. HOUSE 2 - this house is where you find stability, its how you structure your life, also how your body be doin. This house is where you protect yourself what you like to built from and upon. Use this house as a form of stability, if your life is unstable this house is a big apart of why. also you want to make some money? or develop some self esteem? look here planets here are huge part of how this can be achievable. also its a grower not a shower so treat these planets with care and thatll like turn them on or something idk HOUSE 3 - this is whst you research or what you love to learn, what you know well but are always sippin the tea of information, the elixir or knowledge or suckin the apple juice or whatever bullshit analogy you believe in, this is what you understand so well, but are lowkjey insecure because you think you should know more given how much researcgh youve done, but reality is you done so much work in comparison to most others youll be fine just chill those nerves take a xanny bro. but dont forget what you know just because someone introduced a new idea to your head, always incorporate new information and filter out the parts that dont serve. thats how you maximise intelligence, get reading, and get writing, you cant just do one, your limiting your brain.

HOUSE 4 - This is actually the real you, the you to the core. This is how you were raised and that can be hard to hear but its true. LOok everyones childhood was kinda fucky, and thats why everyones a fucky fucker, so stop hiding the real you let it out, the more you repress this the more it shows how insecure you are, stop hiding or somoene will break downt those walls whether you like it or not. so you may as well be the one in charge of your own vulnerability, than giving someone else the gift of being the one to crack you open like some kinda egg. but dont show this part of you too much otherwise you scrambled your own eggs, and your ruining ya yolk. so balance goes a long way. too many people hide, and too many people are whiners. some figured it out, but the ones that do cant be bothered being a daddy. you shouldve grown up by now so get goin. HOUSE 5 - this is where you thrive, your talents, your shining light from jesus's holy bleeding nipples. Lawd thank you for your beautiful lamb and letting us torture him amen. okay sorry for ruining your favourte shrine. well anyway this is the house of creativity, and where you shine and become a beacon of hope; pretty special stuff if you got a planet here. but temper yourself because the more you shine the more energy you attracting, so jsut make sure you can fit all that food in yo mouth. also this is where you find fun and enjoyment outta life. stop acting like you dont like the attention HOUSE 6 - this is where you get shit done, where you find results. also how life throws some bullshit at you, because it wants you to figure it out, this is your job. your job isnt real, but the planets here are your fr job. also anything here affects your health, because once again its what life throws at you, and if life throwing something at yo body, your body gonna obsorb that shit into a wound, and now guess what your not gonna rely on your doctor to figure out an illness that could result in your death, so now your doing your doctors job too. hey but dont freak out, calm them nerves down. because the more you exacerbate the bigger the problem is in your mind, and the body still broken lol. figure it out, dont stress otherwise your truly fucked.

HOUSE 7 - your projections in the world, what you want to be but aint, but to others they think you are this. but its because your so full of shit you just chucked this energy onto the other person, and youve confused them so much now they believe this energy is you, but your just a retard that doesnt know how to communicate or relate to people properly. Also you attracted to people like this, and well they like you too, probably because you tried so hard to get their attention lmao, and everyone likes to be fawned over. HOUSE 8 - this is how you fuck people. and i mean that in every sense of the word. how you kill, how you eat the other, you do it using this house and what sits on its penis. nah but fr you gotta expect some fuck around when i talk about this house because this is legit how you take from others, and people are afraid of this energy because they are entranced. It for real feels liek your a big ass spider, wrapping up them bugs and yall just about to eat them. and when you think about it the spider wraps up their prey in their little web jizz and the bug can just smell it all over them, then they get eaten. perfect analogy dont even question me im a professional. HOUSE 9 - travelling the world to learn more and expand the mind. is what this about i guess. I mean this is meant to be the most expansive house because of its focus on travelling and discovery. anything here feels like its been around the world, and it now feels compelled to teach others what it learnt. but how hard is it to listen to a teacher. i mean most of the time people dont know how to educate each other without it being boring, so if you got planets here im telling you. no one gives a fuck unless you learn how to be interesting, i dont care what you know your patronizing me and you gotta learn what the audience wants, we know what you want, but now you have to compromise a little to help us learn.

HOUSE 10 - this is how your viewed, where people are inspired about you, and how your seen in career. so this is where you must learn mastery, otherwise youll look incredibly foolish, because you own this energy in the political sphere, you must learn to master it otherwise your looked at with very little respect. gaining respect is not as difficult or as easy as people seem to imagine. its a slow process which it usually comes from patience and perseverence. also the art of deduction. you need to learn when to put yourself foward and when to fall back. if you do too much of either your a fuckhead and people wont respect you. so if you want to be viewed highly (this is the house of how your viewed) then use discrepancy of the energies you have here. a leader knows when to strike, and when to chill out. as long as they win who gives a fuck.

HOUSE 11 -Social presence. whatever is here is how you affect the public/ people around you. whether your aware of it or not your very influential if you have something here. and whatever planet is present is how you influence others. so be more consciounse of how you impact those around you. because if your not aware youlll still get blamed for it, because you caused the butterfly effect of the chain reactions of fuckery. you can avoid all responsibility as much as you like, but the reality is, you can influnce people and you should do a better job otherwise incur the karma. HOUSE 12 - this is where you feel trapped. this is where your spiritually suffocated/ tested, whatever is here is being warped by the power of the unseen/ abilities of the mind. and if you misuse that (and most do) you'll be stuck in a cage of constant fear and bullshit. its not real whatever youve imagined. its as real as you make it. so to me if you just learn to manifest something more positive could be very helpful, especially since this is the manifestation house, if your not using it to create good manifestations well youll accidentally manifest accidents, and you'll blame everything but yourself but it literally was you. you cant blame anything else for your life because its your own.

[officerwhitmore]

I Knew You Were Trouble

Somehow, in the hours after Vincent returned from the interrupted hookup with Tony, comforting Stella and June had turned into comforting Stella, which had turned into talking to Stella, which had turned into making love. It was immoral, given everything he’d done in the hours prior, but he couldn’t help but give in to the part of himself that had yearned for it for ages.

Stella laughed softly, the sound delicate in the stillness of the bedroom, her head resting on Vincent’s shoulder. The faint warmth of her breath brushed against his skin, sending a fleeting shiver down his spine. Beneath the covers, their bodies were pressed together, bare and vulnerable in the dim glow of moonlight filtering through the curtains. “God, I forgot how you always make those little whimpers when you thrust,” she murmured.

Vincent chuckled low in his throat, a self-deprecating sound. “Yeah, you used to tease me about that in high school.”

“I remember that,” said Stella, her fingers tracing idle patterns on his chest. She sounded like she was smiling. “I thought it was cute.”

"You did?"

"Yeah, I did. Even back then, I knew most guys didn't make as much noise as you do during sex. My girlfriends always said I was lucky."

Vincent’s lips curled into a faint smile, but the thought gave him pause. His fingers ghosted over the curve of her spine, warm skin smooth beneath his calloused fingertips. “You told your girlfriends about me?” He smirked slightly, a bit incredulous. “Is that why Rachel was always looking at my crotch in Phys Ed?”

Stella let out a small, breathy laugh. “Probably. She never believed me when I said how long it was. I told her not to make it obvious.”

Vincent huffed a short laugh, shaking his head. “I’m a grower, not a shower,” he said. “Whatever she saw in my basketball shorts, it couldn’t have been much.”

Stella chuckled, soft and warm. "That's alright. It's like... it’s like a little jack-in-the-box, you know? Wind you up and it pops right out. You even sing a little song."

Vince scoffed, slightly offended, and cringed good-naturedly. "Jesus, Stella, 'little?'"

She laughed again, the warmth of her breath against his shoulder sending a strange mix of comfort and unease through him. “It’s perfect,” she said softly, her fingers brushing through the dark hair on his chest. Her tone carried an intimacy that made him feel seen in a way he hadn’t in a long time. From her, at least. He didn’t allow himself to think of Tony. “Feels good too.”

Vincent’s lips twitched upward despite himself. “Yeah?”

"Mhmm." Stella's fingertips drew swirls in the dark hair on his chest, long nails gently scratching at his skin. "Vincent, I... I really missed this.”

“So did I,” Vincent said, voice quiet, staring at the popcorn ceiling and counting Stella's breaths. “I wish we—”

“I know,” said Stella. She turned her face into his shoulder and nuzzled her nose against his skin, her soft yellow curls brushing his cheek. “Why is it always so hard?”

Vincent frowned, his lips pressing together as he considered her question. He didn’t have an answer, not one that wouldn’t make everything worse. “I’m, uh…” He tried for humor, his lips curling into a faint grin. “I’m actually pretty soft right now.”

Stella giggled, the sound unexpectedly bright in the darkened room. She shook his shoulder playfully before tilting her head up to meet his gaze. The sight of her smiling—really smiling—was enough to make something tighten in his chest. Her teeth caught the soft blue glow of moonlight streaming through the sheer curtains, and for a moment, Vincent could pretend that everything was fine.

“I’m surprised you found that funny,” he said, his voice soft, almost hesitant. It wasn't supposed to leave his mouth, wasn't supposed to enter his mind at all, but he said it. Maybe it was the closeness, maybe it was the sex. In the moment, he felt he could be honest.

Stella’s eyes softened, her expression becoming something unreadable. Deep brown, warm and familiar, they held a depth he hadn’t noticed in so long. His mind betrayed him then, whispering that her eyes looked like Tony’s, dark and endlessly expressive. It was a terrible thing to think with his wife in his arms, looking up at him like she’d finally remembered how to love him again.

“I think I always have, to some extent,” Stella said quietly, her voice barely above a whisper. “I just… eventually I convinced myself I didn’t.”

Vincent furrowed his brows, tilting his chin down to meet her gaze. Her words didn’t make sense to him, not entirely. “Why?” he asked, his voice gentle but insistent.

Stella hesitated, her lips parting before she bit down on her bottom lip. Her hesitation was a weight in the room, pressing against him. “Because…” she began, her voice faltering as she searched for the right words. “Because I got tired, Vincent.”

The admission hung in the air between them, raw and vulnerable. Vincent felt his chest tighten as he pulled in a deep breath, his teeth grazing his own bottom lip in thought. He didn’t know what to say, but he felt the need to fill the silence, to offer her something. Anything.

“Does that make any sense?” she asked, her voice barely audible, tinged with uncertainty.

“It does,” Vincent said after a beat, his voice quiet and sincere. “It does. I mean it, I get feeling… tired.” Lonely. Empty. Desperate. He understood it more than she’d ever know.

“I think we should try to fix this,” Stella said, her tone tentative but resolute. “Us, I mean. Get serious about it. Therapy. Counseling. A… a program. Maybe.”

Vincent was so stunned by the suggestion of making an effort to fix the relationship that he hardly had the time to process the final suggestion: a program. For her drinking, presumably. Holy shit. She was serious. There were things he wanted to say — ‘Do you even think we have it in us anymore? The energy, the willpower?’ — but didn’t. He may have cheated, but he still owed it to his family to repair this if there was any chance of it being salvaged. They could reboot. Rebuilt. They could be happy again. “I think that sounds wonderful,” he said,, and he pulled her a bit closer with the hand on her back. “June needs an example of a healthy relationship in her life. We can’t just keep… doing this. Fighting. Screaming. Pretending.”

The silence that followed was almost suffocating. “You know?” he added softly, his gaze dropping to the top of her head.

Stella didn’t respond right away, and when she finally spoke, her voice was quiet, trembling with emotion. “I wanna go home, Vincent.”

Vince’s chest seized up for a moment with that cold panic he always got at the thought of returning to Chicago. He knew what she meant — she wanted to move back there forever — but he couldn’t face that right now; needed to do anything possible to avoid it. “You’re gonna,” he said softly, running his fingers up and down her back. “Your flight takes off tomorrow evening—”

“No, Vincent, I—” Stella stammered a moment, shifting to lift her head up to look at him. “I mean, yes, I need to visit my family, but I want to go home. With you and June and — and the dog. I want to go back to what we had in Chicago.”

“Oh, Stella…” Vincent frowned, those nerves returning to his chest. They’d been over this before, and it sucked every time. “Stella, I can’t—”

“Vincent, please.” Stella sat up straighter, hand planted on his naked chest, looking straight into him with deep brown eyes. “I was happy there. We were happy there.”

And that was true. Vince couldn’t deny that. “We were happy until I got shot, Stella,” Vince said. It was a miracle he kept his voice soft, calm, mostly devoid of tremors. “Until my partner died in front of me. That city is broken, sweetheart. Neither of us can fix it ourselves.”

“Vincent, I know we can’t—”

“And think about June. We’d be throwing her into what might as well be a whole different planet. She’s not used to — god, think about how much worse it’s probably gotten, too. The drugs, the instability. We’d have to do homeschool, or private school, or—”

“Well, what about what I need, Vincent?” Stella said. Vincent wasn’t expecting to hear those words in that tone, less accusing and more begging, like she was pleading to be seen by a man who’d ignored her cries for help every step of the way. Was that really him? Was that what Vincent had done the whole time? He didn’t want to know the answer. “I’m not trying to be selfish, I know it sounds terrible, I just… I…”

Ghosting the backs of his fingertips across her cheek, Vincent gently pressed his thumb to her soft, pink lips to stop the next words before they came. ‘I feel trapped,’ is what they’d be. Or something like that. He knew. He pretended to be oblivious, but he knew what Washington did to her. But he just couldn't stand the thought of going back. “Hush, sweetie,” he said softly, and when he rubbed his thumb back and forth across her lips, he tried not to think of how Tony did the same to him. “Let’s put a pin in it. Okay? Tonight, let’s just enjoy this right now. It’s been a year, and… right now, I just wanna hold you. Okay?”

Stella’s tongue darted out to wet her lips, and Vincent smiled just a little, eyes tingling with the bitterness of the moment. Stella’s eyes were dark and sad when she looked at him, but she leaned her cheek into his hand a bit. “Okay, We’ll talk about it later,” she said. “Just.. don’t forget, okay?”

Vincent felt his lips twitch. “I won’t, sweetheart.”

“You promise?” asked Stella.

Vincent’s eyes turned soft, watery, his smile melting at the edges. “I promise, Stella.”

Vincent lay awake in bed long after she fell asleep with her head on his chest. Eyes boring holes into the popcorn ceiling, he told himself that they could fix this, restart, try again, because for all the lies he’d told her that evening, they’d made more progress in an hour than they had in the last three years. Holding her soft, warm body in his arms, Vincent could almost pretend he hadn’t broken their vows already. Could almost pretend he hadn’t spent the afternoon with a man who’d haunted his mind ever since. Could almost pretend that when he pulled her close and arched his back and came inside her, he hadn’t been thinking about Tony’s warm, glittering smile. Not even his cock or his hands or what he’d done to him. Just how he’d smiled at Vincent in a way that made him feel wanted. He tried to imagine Stella’s smile before he drifted to sleep, but found that without the help of a picture, he couldn’t recall what it looked like.

The next afternoon, when she turned around and gave him a kiss before boarding the ferry, he felt her smile against his lips, an old, nostalgic feeling that he found he’d dearly missed. But when they broke the kiss, he only saw it with his eyes for a moment — warm and bright, soft lips and straight teeth, brown eyes nearly auburn in the sunlight — before his phone buzzed in his pocket, interrupting them both. ’I’ll check it later,’ he murmured, and then kissed her again. It wasn’t quite the same that time, but it was better than no kiss at all. Then she boarded the ferry and he hopped back in his car, opening his messages without a second thought. His heart stopped when he saw it was Tony, not just because it was him, but because he hadn’t gone into airplane mode, so the man could see that he’d read his messages.

‘I hope everything is okay?’ was what stood out the most. It brought back the memory of the man checking on him during their traffic stop, soothing him when he’d pressed himself against the wall in shame, looking at him with warm, thoughtful eyes as Vincent blubbered in his lap about how overwhelmed he was. Vincent wasn’t even with him in person, and Tony was still concerned for his well-being. Somehow, this time was the most dangerous of all of them. Vincent could convince himself he’d misremembered the others; could tell himself he’d been hysterical and misinterpreted Tony’s words and body language, but these were concrete letters that couldn't be denied by anything. Tony cared. After all the bullshit Vincent had put him through, he still gave a damn. Vincent considered for a moment that he was just trying to get back into his pants, but for one: he could find anyone else for that, and for two: Tony was just so goddamned sweet, Vincent was halfway convinced that he didn’t even know what an ulterior motive was.

God, he was dangerous. Just as dangerous over text as he had been in person, kissing all over him, cradling his jaw, growling, ’You’re mine.’ Dangerous because even miles away in his SUV with a stress headache and an uncomfortably full bladder, the man still had the power to make Vince’s chest flutter and melt, his body turning warm in a way it hadn’t even as he sank himself into Stella’s wet heat and heard her moan his name for the first time in ages.

Stella. He loved her still, despite everything. Wanted to make things work with her, wanted to fix the marriage for June. In order to do that, he couldn’t see Tony ever again. Tony was dangerous. Impossibly so. Vincent would end up dead trying to juggle both lives at once, and the only person in this equation who deserved that grief was him.

He stopped himself halfway through a message, chewing the inside of his cheek as he watched the letters delete themselves. He blocked Tony’s number, but didn’t delete it, then proceeded to convince himself that he didn’t know why he didn’t do both. Even as he drove home with the music deafeningly loud in hopes of drowning out his thoughts, Vincent’s brain still spared a bit of energy to think about how goofy it was that Tony had messaged him in code. After that, he tried not to think about Tony ever again.

Somehow, he managed to convince his boss to approve his emergency PTO to watch June in Stella’s absence. Two weeks? Three weeks? Neither of them were entirely sure, but he had more than enough to cover it. He spent the first two days helping her family make funeral arrangements from afar, calling places back and forth and sending Stella’s father links of various child-sized coffins, which was about as much of a bummer as one could reasonably expect. Admittedly, he hadn’t spoken to her family much at all in the decade since he moved Stella to Coldwater, but he could tell that something had changed between them in the time they hadn’t spoken. In their prime, Stella’s father had had nothing but good things to say about Vincent, sharing jokes and calling him ‘son’ no matter how visibly uncomfortable Vincent was with it. Nowadays, on every call, he was cold and distant in a way that was uncharacteristic even for a man who'd been through a very recent tragedy. Vincent quickly got the hint that Stella’s family no longer liked him, even as they accepted his long-distance assistance. Stella’s calls and texts, which had started out warm and affectionate when she boarded the ferry, had returned to their typical cold tone in a matter of days. Given all the things she’d likely told them about Vince, it was no surprise that her family didn’t like him anymore. Therefore, it shouldn’t have come to him as any surprise when her ‘let’s fix things’ attitude changed on a dime upon reuniting with them.

Vincent hadn’t had much hope in a proper revival of the marriage to begin with, but he tried to hold on to what little remained. June had seemed thrilled to see their change in dynamic before Stella left for Chicago, and that alone was enough to convince him that he still had to try — even if trying meant sending heartfelt text messages only to get curt responses and red heart emojis that made him want to throw his phone off a bridge and then follow it over.

He wasn’t used to being off work, and he wasn’t used to having the house to himself. The silence felt too loud, every creak of the floorboards and hum of the refrigerator amplifying the thoughts he didn’t want to face. When June was at school, he tried to keep busy, picking up a book only to find his eyes glazing over the same paragraph three or four times. When reading didn’t hold his focus, he turned to video games, shooting pixelated enemies in a desperate bid to drown out his own mind. When he got bored of that, he cleaned—scrubbing counters, organizing closets, anything to distract himself from the gnawing guilt that had taken residence in his chest.

But no matter how much he busied himself, it was still there, coiled tight and heavy, like a lead weight in his stomach. He thought about Tony more than he wanted to admit, every memory of the man a mix of warmth and shame that left him feeling split in two. Eventually, when he couldn’t take it anymore, he’d lock himself in the bathroom and jerk off, his mind flickering to the moments he spent with Tony—the way his hands felt, the way he looked at him. It wasn’t about lust, not entirely. It was about the way Tony made him feel seen, wanted, and how that feeling contrasted so violently with the guilt of betraying Stella.

The cycle repeated itself every day until June came home, her laughter cutting through the quiet like sunlight breaking through clouds. With her around, the weight lifted, and the house felt alive again. She gave him purpose, grounding him in the present and forcing him to set aside the constant, suffocating tug-of-war in his mind. Her presence made everything easier, even if it was only temporary. When she was home, he could almost convince himself that he hadn’t ruined everything. Almost.

At first, they kept busy. Afternoons turned into marathon Battletoads sessions, complete with playful trash talk and June’s occasional victory dances when she bested him. Other days, they curled up on the couch under a shared blanket, watching old Disney movies and arguing over which one had the best songs. Vince always stood by The Lion King, while June staunchly defended Mulan. They baked cookies once—an idea Vince regretted the moment flour dusted the counters and chocolate chips melted into smudges on the floor. But the look on June’s face when they bit into the gooey, slightly misshapen cookies made the mess worthwhile.

Still, the novelty wore off quicker than Vince anticipated. After a few days of the same routine, they started running out of things to do. June noticed it first, her boundless energy clashing with Vince’s more subdued pace. “Daddy,” she said one afternoon, sprawled across the living room rug with her chin propped on her hands. “We’re boring.”

Vince raised an eyebrow from the couch, where he was attempting to beat his own high score in Tetris. “We’re not boring.”

“Yes, we are. All we do is play games and watch movies. Can we do something fun?”

“This isn’t fun?” he teased, gesturing at her with the controller.

“No,” she said flatly, then perked up. “Hey! Let’s go to Fright Fest!”

Vince sighed, already exhausted by the thought. Pinecrest Plaza’s Halloween festival was famous for its crowd-drawing antics, and he wasn’t sure he had the energy for that level of chaos. “You sure you don’t just wanna stay home and bake another batch of cookies?”

June groaned, rolling onto her back and flailing her arms dramatically. “Nooo! Fright Fest, Daddy! Please? It’s only here for, like, a couple weeks!”

Her excitement was infectious, and eventually, Vince gave in. “Alright,” he said, setting the controller aside. “But if we’re doing this, we’re doing it right. Costumes and all.”

That declaration set off a whirlwind of planning. June dove into her closet, pulling out every piece of clothing she thought could be repurposed into something spooky or silly. When nothing quite worked, Vince suggested the simplest option: a classic sheet ghost. They spent the evening measuring her height against an old pillowcase, cutting out eye holes, and debating whether or not to add jagged edges to the bottom.

That night, she was ready to go, and so was Vince—though he stuck to his usual slacks and sweater, claiming he’d be the ghost’s 'dad escort.' They had a blast at Fright Fest, playing carnival-style games, running through the haunted maze, and stuffing themselves with caramel apples and kettle corn. June’s laughter echoed through the crisp autumn air, and for the first time in weeks, Vince felt like he could breathe again.

On Saturday, June wanted more. This time, she unearthed a too-small fairy costume from the depths of her closet. “It still fits!” she insisted as Vince helped her wiggle into the glittery tulle.

“Barely,” he said with a laugh, but he didn’t fight her on it aside from making her wear a pair of shorts beneath it.

They returned to Fright Fest, June in her sparkly wings and Vince, once again, costumeless. As they walked among the vendors and performers, she tugged at his sleeve. “You need a costume next time, daddy.”

“I don’t need a costume, monkey, you’re pretty enough for both of us,” he argued, though the look she gave him suggested otherwise.

That night, while June slept, Vince scrolled through Amazon, half-heartedly searching for ideas. Then he saw it: a Star Wars costume set. Princess Leia for June, Obi-Wan for himself. He added it to his cart without hesitation, grateful for weekend delivery.

Sunday morning, he woke June up with a surprise. Standing in her doorway with the costumes draped over his arm, he grinned. “Guess who’s saving the galaxy today?”

June gasped, shooting upright in bed. “No way!” She scrambled to grab the Leia outfit, holding it up to her chest. “This is so cool, Daddy! You’re actually dressing up?”

“Don’t get used to it,” he said, smirking. “But yeah, I’m dressing up.”

June pumped a fist in the air with a full-throated “WOOO!” and Vince was too busy laughing to care much about how his left ear suddenly couldn’t hear so great anymore.

It was around 4:00 PM that they made it into the SUV, June’s dark hair coiled into two perfect space buns and Vince’s hands aching like a pianist with arthritis because he’d spend thirty minutes getting them just right. June chose her own music as soon as he powered the car on, having happily assumed the role of Music Dictator ever since she’d been allowed to regularly sit in the front seat. Three days ago, Vincent would’ve complained when she turned on pop music, but to his own horror and dismay, he’d become used to it.

Vincent tapped his fingers on the steering wheel to the beat, keeping one eye on the road and the other on June in the passenger seat, who was bouncing and belting out Taylor Swift with the kind of unabashed enthusiasm only a ten-year-old could muster. June had one hand in the air, fingers splayed dramatically as she sang, the other clutching the hem of her white Leia dress, which she’d been fussing over since they left the house. He couldn’t help but smile as he watched her space buns wobble a little whenever she hit a particularly powerful note.

“Once upon a time, a few mistakes ago…” she sang, eyes closed, putting her whole heart into it, “I was in your sights, you got me alone…”

Vince joined in, deepening his voice comically and leaning toward her, his fake Jedi robe swaying with the motion. “You found me, you found me—”

“You found me-e-e-e-e,” they both sang, drawing out the note until it turned into something closer to a howl. Vince let his voice go ridiculous and warbly, and June cracked up, doubling over with laughter, her hand flying to her mouth. He felt that familiar warmth in his chest—this was what he loved most about these moments with her, the easy laughter, the way they fell into each other’s silliness so naturally.

“Daddy, you’re ruining it!” June laughed, straightening up and taking a mock-serious breath to dive back into the chorus. “I knew you were trouble when you walked in…”

“Shame on me now!” Vince joined in, raising his eyebrows in a dramatic expression of mock regret.

“Flew me to places I’d never been…” June sang back, her voice lowering, and Vince matched her, leaning forward as if he were channeling all the regret of a Jedi master.

“Now I’m lyin’ on the cold hard ground—”

They both lost it, barely making it through the next line. Vince’s laughter mingled with hers, his heart light, his worries a distant thing this evening. He stole a quick glance at her, memorizing the joy on her face, the gleam of her braces, the dimples that would probably disappear by the time she was grown.

Ahead of them, Fright Fest glimmered in the distance, a soft, festive glow cutting through the October night. Twinkling strings of orange and purple lights draped the trees like enchanted cobwebs, casting flickering shadows on the ground below. Inflatable ghosts swayed gently in the breeze near the entrance, their bulbous forms glowing faintly as if welcoming visitors to their haunted haven. The scene unfolded with charming vibrancy: booths offering games and prizes lined the central path, while smaller tents bustled with food vendors from local businesses, their signs promising everything from warm apple cider to freshly baked pumpkin cookies.

The entrance was framed by grinning jack-o’-lanterns and skeletal figures, their details illuminated by hidden LED lights that made them seem alive in the shadows. It wasn’t a massive festival—just a cozy neighborhood event—but it had a warmth and whimsy that felt larger than life. Against the black canvas of the sky, Fright Fest looked like something pulled straight from a Halloween movie, every glowing detail brimming with charm and magic.

“Ready, Princess Leia?” he asked, turning down the volume a little as they parked nearby.

She grinned, smoothing down the front of her dress like she was about to meet royalty. “Always ready, Obi-Wan.”

Vincent chuckled, grinning. “That’s the spirit.”

“The HALLOWEEN spirit!”

Now that the volume was down, Vincent jumped a little, pausing halfway to the keychain to raise his hand to his ear, wheezing a laugh. ”Jeesus, Junie — inside voices when we’re in the car, alright?”

“Okay!” June shouted, just as loud. If she noticed anything wrong with her response, it wasn’t evident in her expression, her whole body practically vibrating with energy. Glancing down at her lap, Vincent found that she was quite literally white-knuckling their lightsabers in her clenched fists.

“You are really excited for me to wear a costume, aren’t you?” Vincent asked, chuckling a little.

“Yes!” June shouted. “Let’s go!”

She tossed him a lightsaber and he caught it on a flinch a moment before it whacked him in the face. By the time he looked back up at her, the passenger door was slamming shut and June was gone. Vincent chuckled a little to himself, shaking his head and turning off the car. Catching his own reflection in the rearview mirror, Vincent thought to himself that if Stella hadn’t left for Chicago the day after the affair, she might wonder why the ‘seatbelt rash’ on his neck was still there after a week. By the time he resurfaced from that dark thought, his grin had vanished. He grabbed his things and hopped out of the SUV before it could get any worse.

Fright Fest was admittedly quite a bit more interesting when Vince was in. The festival was alive with laughter and the hum of families moving from booth to booth, their faces illuminated by the soft glow of the Halloween lights. June tugged at Vincent’s hand constantly, her energy contagious as she pulled him toward various activities. They played a ring toss game where she nearly got a prize, painted mini pumpkins together at the craft station, and stopped to watch a spooky puppet show featuring skeletons that danced to a pop remix of Thriller. Everywhere they went, people smiled at them, and more than a few complimented their costumes.

“You two look great,” one woman in a witch’s hat said with a grin as they passed. June beamed up at Vince, clutching her little Princess Leia blaster tightly.

“Thanks!” she chirped, nudging her father to say something too. Vince nodded politely, his Obi-Wan robe swishing as they moved on.

It was when they were near the food tents that another compliment came from a woman dressed as a dominatrix, complete with a leather corset and a whip dangling from her belt. “Love the Star Wars look,” she said, her smirk pointed and teasing as her gaze lingered on Vince’s face for a moment too long.

“Uh, thanks,” he said quickly, his cheeks heating up as he instinctively pulled June closer. She barely noticed, already scanning the horizon for the next attraction, but Vince found himself highly disturbed by the whole exchange. Jesus, it’s a family event, he thought, glancing at her outfit again before politely steering June in the opposite direction. Hot, but… seriously?

The food area was bustling with delicious smells—grilled meat, fried dough, sugary caramel apples—and Vince’s stomach growled as they wandered past the various booths. “How about that one?” he suggested, pointing toward a stand advertising loaded baked potatoes.

"Look, Daddy! It’s the cook from the diner! Johnny Cage!"

It was like all the air had been sucked out of his lungs. June’s voice, so gleeful and innocent, bounced around in his skull, but he couldn’t make sense of it. His feet felt rooted to the ground, his body refusing to cooperate as dread clawed its way up his spine. No, no, no. Don’t let it be him. Please, god, fuck, not here.

His neck stiffened as he forced himself to turn in the direction she was pointing, every muscle in his body bracing for the worst. And there he was.

Tony.

The Drifter's Diner banner stretched lazily above him, flapping gently in the breeze as he stood at the booth. A red flannel hung open over a tattered shirt, the fabric hugging his chest and shoulders in a way Vince felt in the pit of his stomach. The werewolf makeup on Tony’s face wasn’t just good—it was damn near Hollywood quality. His cheekbones looked sharper under the dark contouring, his brows furrowed with dramatic shading, and there were claw marks painted down his neck, the streaks of red and silver a striking contrast against his tan skin. Even his beard had been dusted with a hint of gray, giving him an aged, wild edge that Vince couldn’t tear his eyes away from.

Tony wasn’t just dressed up. He looked incredible. Too incredible.

The sight of him hit Vince like a punch to the gut, every detail drawing up memories he’d been trying—and failing—to bury. He could still feel Tony’s hands on him, gripping his hair, pulling him close; his lips dragging along his jaw, his voice low and growling, calling him mine. The heat that shot through Vince was immediate, shameful, and he swallowed hard, his mouth dry as his gaze lingered on the way the tattered shirt clung to Tony’s frame. His chest rose and fell as he worked, large hands deftly wrapping up a taco and handing it off to a kid in a demon costume who barely muttered a thanks.

It wasn’t just the costume, the physique, or the way his sleeves were rolled up to show off forearms that could make someone weak in the knees. It was the way he carried himself—easy, confident, like he owned every inch of space around him. And Vince? Vince was rooted to the spot, his pulse thrumming so hard it felt like his ribs might crack under the strain. He tried to find something—anything—to say, but all he could do was stand there, staring at him, his mouth hanging open like an idiot.

The air between them felt electric, like it might snap if Vince moved an inch. His chest was tight, every breath shallow, and for a brief, panicked moment, he thought he might actually pass out. He tried, he really did, to find a way out of this. “June, maybe we should—” But her grip on his hand tightened, her determination unwavering as she tugged him forward, her little Leia buns bouncing with each step.

“Daddy, come on!” she insisted, her excitement contagious in any other context but now.

Every nerve in Vince’s body screamed at him to turn around, to steer her toward another booth, to find literally any excuse to avoid this. But he couldn’t say no to her. Not when her eyes sparkled like that, not when her smile was so wide and unguarded. His stomach churned as she pulled him closer, and before he could stop it, they were standing at the edge of the booth. Tony was right there, barely a few feet away. Vince’s heart slammed against his ribs as he watched the man wrap up the last taco and turn slightly, his movements fluid and relaxed. God, he looks incredible, Vince thought bitterly, his jaw tightening as he tried to keep his composure. Every inch of him felt like it was on fire, his mind a chaotic mess of regret, guilt, and something else he didn’t want to name.

June didn’t hesitate, stepping right up to the counter with the unshakable confidence only a kid her age could have. “Hi, Mr. Werewolf!” she said brightly, her voice cutting through the buzz of the festival. “Obi-Wan and I are gonna get food and cotton candy! You should come with us!”

Vince blinked rapidly, forcing his legs to move as he stepped forward on autopilot, his fatherly instincts taking the reins even though his mind was screaming at him to run. He reached out and put a gentle hand on her shoulder, his voice steadier than he felt. “Ah-ah,” he said, managing a faint smile. “Don’t forget the stipulation. We’re gonna get food and maybe cotton candy if you’re a good girl.”

June’s grin widened, unbothered by the correction. “Oh yeah. We’re gonna get food and most likely cotton candy. Come on!”

@tex-mex-tony

[vampyrs-and-witchers]

EMIEL REGIS - NSFW ALPHABET

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

A sweetheart who'll make sure you're okay and talk to you if you've the energy for conversation. If not, he'll gladly hold you and stroke your hair, press kisses against your skin and forehead.

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

Their favorite body part is their hands and legs. The favorite body part of their partner is their chest, legs and face.

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

He's a polite man and won't cum on you unless you expressly state you want him to. In that case, he'll gladly cum on your face.

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

Definitely wants to try some light bdsm but is too shy to admit it.

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

Fairly experienced, he's had sex with a few human women and a few bruxas. Hell, he's even had sex with Dettlaff!

F = Favorite position (this goes without saying)

Missionary always, wants to see your beautiful face. But if he's feeling particularly frustrated, Doggy style.

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

Definitely a healthy balance between the two, he'll try and make you laugh while also making you moan. He knows how scary and serious sex can be, he just wants you to enjoy it.

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

Very well groomed! He's more salt than pepper down below compared to above.

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

Very romantic, likes to take things slow and ease you into it.

J = Jack off (masturbation headcanon)

Hardly jacks off, but when he does just know he's very frustrated at the moment.

K = Kink (one or more of their kinks)

DD/LB (prefers younger (20-30s) men)

BDSM (mild to light)

Pet play

Master/Pet or Master/Slave

L = Location (favorite places to do the do)

At home or in the garden.

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

You!

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

Won't bite you no matter how badly you ask him, he doesn't want to accidentally risk drinking blood and becoming re-addicted.

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

Both, but definitely prefers giving more.

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

Slow and sensual.

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

Not the biggest fan of them but will do it if you want one or two.

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

He's open to spicing up the bedroom!

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

Two perhaps three if he's really frustrated.

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

Vibrators!

U = Unfair (how much they like to tease)

A huge tease but he definitely knows when to stop if he's made you uncomfortable or upset.

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

Fairly loud, but he'll try and be quiet if the circumstances call for it.

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

He watches porn on occasion if he wants to masturbate.

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

Average length, girthier. Grower! Head is a pale baby pink.

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

Average if not slightly lower.

Z = Zzz (how quickly they fall asleep afterwards)

He'll try to stay awake and make sure that you're okay, but if he's especially spent - expect him to pass out.

[postsforposting]

when sex is violence, mercenaries are sex workers. soldiers are pledged monogamists to the government god. and the xmen, whose number one rule is no killing, are ascetic monks. virgins, preferably. they don't "have a go" at people. they're the church. who will take anyone, just like strippers and sex workers.

wade explicitly starts his own franchise. his own church. (we're the worshipers).

logan never joined the xmen. he wasn't taking a vow of chastity, of self denial. self denial is the avengers' definition of a team: "it's not about what you want, it's what other people need".

but it doesn't count if you do it over the clothes because there's no blood. no cherry involved. if you can't see the blood, it's not real, it doesn't matter, yeah? like wade's red suit.

red is pleasure, happiness. orgasm. mutant jesus cable knew what he was saying when he called wade a clown dressed up as a sex toy: it was literally true, and it was a COMPLIMENT. that was flirting. he was....having a go at him.

wade doesn't acknowledge it, lets it slide. oblique bodyslide reference to the cable comics. it's metaphorically sex and marriage.

i think wade's line "grower not a shower" is a reference to "don't ask don't tell": a grower is "not telling". but he IS a shower, a flasher, which is showing not telling in two ways. first is literally flashing, and second is he's verbally lying while having shown the reality. in the cable comics, one of wade's famous lines is that he and cable have a "don't ask don't tell" thing going on. which is why he's "not showing" aka not telling: don't kiss and tell. if wade's "not telling" and "not acknowledging".....what happens metaphorically and offscreen is where you find the real crack.

the meta layer--the power of the pen--is real for wade, who can see the fourth wall. cable's carrying a pretty big phallic metaphor. cable is also a jesus foil like wade. can he see the fourth wall? he certainly slides through time, the fourth dimension. i think he slides in and out just fine, and he's....not telling 😘

for the xmen, verbally attacking people doesn't count as having a go, as doing it for real. plausible deniability, justifiable, something they can let slide over the clothes: that's negasonic. it's why scissoring is fine because that's just sliding your bodies around, aka getting married, a commitment, what shiny jesus colossus wants from everyone.

if you wear a red suit that hides the blood, that's offering plausible deniability to keep going at it. he's hiding his orgasm to ask for more. to go again. both sex and violence are until "a little death" do you part.