#specifically curated for men

[boys-fashion-123]

MTJ Mehraab Perfume

MTJ Mehraab Perfume

MTJ Mehraab Perfume proves to be a valuable asset. Its enchanting blend of notes, specifically curated for men, makes it a fragrance that embodies elegance and allure. Whether it’s for a special event or everyday wear, MTJ Mehraab Perfume ensures that you leave a lasting impression.

World of Fragrances

Fragrances are much more than a pleasant aroma; they are a form of self-expression. From floral and fruity to woody and oriental, each fragrance category tells a unique story. Oriental fragrances, in particular, are known for their richness, depth, and opulence.

A Brief Overview

MTJ Mehraab Perfume is a true gem in the world of oriental fragrances. It captivates the senses with its intricate blend of scent notes. This perfume is a testament to the craftsmanship of the perfumer and the brand’s commitment to quality.

Fragrance Notes in Detail

Top Notes:

The initial impression of MTJ Mehraab Fragrance is a harmonious fusion of red berries, peach, and bergamot. These top notes provide a refreshing and invigorating opening to the fragrance, setting the stage for what’s to come.

[sora-of-uranus]

The removal of the sexism pisses me off not because it just affects Sokkas character but because it has ruined almost every woman in the show.

Suki takes off her make up often, as if it isn't a large part of her cultural identity and personality, as if her being a kyoshi warior and her destinctly femenine clothes are something to be ashamed off or that hinders her. Because its only her that gets this treat amongst the warriors, and shes the only main kyoshi warrior for the audience.

Yue's entire character is removed. It is replaced with what I think is meant to be a sympathetic princess to the people, she joins the nans in the kitchens and make deserts for the children. Like a disney princess whose quirky and silly and held back only by her title of a princess. Gone is the battle between her desire to help and her duty to be a water tribe ideal woman. Gone is her realising that the best way to help her people is to not be an ideal woman, but to take action and to do what no one else can, to become one with the moon so that she can forever help not just her tribe but the entire world. It is depressing, it is deep, it isn't fair to her but when has the world ever been fair?

Katara aswell. Her bending is forever unlocked by men (Aang and Jet), her defiance of authority is lessened and her naievety is also changed. A lot of her motherhood role is also completlty gone since they have changed Sokkas sexism into elder brother smothering. Her fight with Paku holds a lot less significance since she has no RAGE behind her. No rage that has built for YEARS as time and time again people have said no to her face for being a woman, for being weak, for not being enough simply because of who she is. that doesn't exist for her anymore because the water tribes are just...nice. We see one bad person in the water tribe and its Hadoka and he's mean to sokka! Kataras rage comes from Paku saying no to her, and whilst thats swell, it changes her entire "I'm a master now" moment into just...lame girlbossery. Thats kinda how the entire last 2 episodes felt like for her character. A common girlboss character without the emotional depth to make it femenism.

I think my main issue is that both shows set themselves up as being femenist by nature. The og show wanted to tackle issues with sexism, using book 1 as its main demonstration with it, but the theme still follows throughout the narative. netflix's show outright said they were removing the sexist elements. When you place youself onto that pedastal, any sexist writing you have becomes emphasised.

The og show undoubtably has sexist moments! Irohs comments to June are the most obvious to me, a long with a couple comments from Zuko later on. You can certainly argue that the extreme lack of GOOD mother figures is an issue (Kat and Sokkas mother is dead, Zukos is 'dead', and Toph is awful and rather quite compared to her father). Theres other examples, although currently my brain cannot think of any since I don't often write indepth critisms.

The live actions main point of sexism is its female main characters. we literally meet Yue in the kitchen! Women can be in kitchens but that is certainly a choice! Theres this strange hatred for make up aswell, yes with Suki but also with Sokka. His war paint is removed. Its like saying make up cannot be worn by strong fighters which is rather sexist. Speaking off: not putting Sokka in the kyoshi outfit is just...dumb? If you want to show him learning the style, having him wear the outfit. Its an aspect of the style and philosophy. A man wearing make up and a skirt doesn't emasculate him yet the show makes it feel that way with the refusal to do it. "Oh but then you'd have Sokka and Suki kiss in the kyoshi outfits" who cares. "it will look like lesbians" it won't. Even if it did, who cares? you can't be 'femenist' and anti-lesbian. Putting Sokka in the Kyoshi outfit, having him respect it, is just as important as having Aang learn the other elements, or Iroh creating lightning redirection. Why? because it shows a respect of culture, and how you can blend that into your own way of thinking. It's cultural extchanged based on respect.

When you name yourself femenist, yet have explicitly sexist writing, your GOING to get dogpiled with critism based on that 'femenist' msg.

[zhuhongs]

oh noninonononóooo

[imogenkol]

Looking to follow more blogs who primarily post sapphic/wlw content!

like or comment, especially if the sapphic content includes:

Original Characters/OC x Canon ships

Video Games

Star Wars

Gifs of sapphic relationships in movies/tv shows

[yieldtotemptation]

REPUTATION ft. Minji

minji x male reader smut

9k words

“So, you’re the one,” Minji says, an accusation to make you look up from your drink. “The one they warned us about.”

Firstly, you didn’t plan for this (you never do).

The night began, as always, with the best intentions. You promised your manager that you would follow his instructions to the letter: show face, smile for the cameras, and then slip out before the real party kicks in and you find yourself knee deep in scandal. Again.

And (if you were extra good) you would end the night by scrolling through the greatest hits on your contacts list, looking for a fellow insomniac needing to past the time, needing a bed to share.

A normal, everyday kind of night.

But yet, here you are now: cornered by the girl on everyone’s playlist, all fierce determination and pouty lips wrapped up in a tight black dress.

She doesn’t bother with an introduction—no, that would be silly—instead she just stands there, looking pretty, expecting your full attention.

You quirk an eyebrow. “I require a warning?”

There’s a smile there, just a hint, playing at the edges of Minji’s mouth, like she’s in on a secret that you’re not privy to. “Beware of male seniors. Specifically,” she adds, tilting her head to the side, raising her hand, peeling one finger off the drink she’s holding so she can point a single glossy nail at “you.”

“Hm,” is all you have to say, playing coy, like this is all news to you. Like you’re not aware of your own reputation, of the things you’ve been accused of, the things your company has scrambled to cover-up, the things you’ve actually done.

“So,” she says, so carefree, so easily charming. It’s all an act, of course, a meticulously curated ‘cool girl’ image, something well-rehearsed and played a thousand times before on a thousand lesser men, a tightrope walk between relatable and unattainable. “Should I be worried?”

You know what she’s really asking for: an assessment. Do you find me attractive? Do I tempt you? Am I the type of girl worth risking your career over?

And so, you take her invitation and do the one thing that always gets you in trouble. You look. Look at her legs, long and toned and smooth, begging to be wrapped around your waist. Look at her thighs, creamy-white and barely covered by the hem of her dress. Look at her chest, the soft swell rising and falling with every breath, her collarbone glittering with the sweat of excitement.

Look higher—at how effortlessly perfect she looks, as if she wakes up every day looking like the ideal type of every man and woman in Korea. Oh, there’s make-up, it’s subtle but it’s there, playing up her best features: the height of her cheekbones, the almond curve of her eyes, the fullness of her lips.

She’s so undeniably, obviously gorgeous: a bombshell wrapped in the guise of a girl-next-door.

It’s no wonder she’s so fucking popular.

You give her a non-answer, “Depends what they’ve been saying about me.”

Minji takes a sip of her drink, her eyes never leaving yours, her full pink lips curling around the straw as she sucks in the sugary liquid. It’s a deliberate move, so casually erotic—borderline pornographic, in fact—designed to make you want to grab her and kiss her and prove everything they’ve been saying about you right.

But she’s busy assessing you, you can tell, trying to reconcile the rumours with the reality—Can you really make a girl like her lose control? Make her beg? Make her forget about her image, her obligations, her entire life outside of your cock?

“Word gets around HYBE quick.” Minji’s eyes narrow just a smidge, she’s biting down into her bottom lip, and it has you imagining all sorts of things you’d rather she was doing with her mouth. “The girls at SM can’t stop talking about you. The guys at JYP hate your guts, so that says a lot.”  She smiles at that last point, before listing off, “fuckboy, heartbreaker, group-wrecker, industry villain.”

It’s funny, hearing your dirty laundry aired out like that, and you can only shrug, give a casual smile as if to say ‘who, me?’. It’s admittedly a practiced move, one you’ve used to get out of sticky situations before (you may have even used it as an ending pose once). “Is that what they told you?” You ask, nodding in the direction behind her.

Minji follows your gaze, glancing over her shoulder, the wall of noise and flashing lights of the club framing her face, painting her skin with a rainbow of neon shadows.

There’s her bandmates, doing a terrible job of spying, a trio of worry and concern and gossip: they’ve found their little bunny, and she’s been caught speaking to the big, bad wolf.

She muses, “we’ve all heard the same rumours…”

“And so you came to… what?”

Minji takes a step closer, close enough for you to get a whiff of her drink; one of those sugary mixes, deceptively sweet, but just as strong as the one in your own hand. “To find out for myself,” she answers, “to see if you’re really as bad as everyone says, to see if it's all hype, or if there’s actually some truth to the legend.”

“Legend,” you repeat, trying the word out on your own tongue (it sounds sweeter on hers). “That sounds a bit much, don't you think?” you ask, trying to ignore the way she’s leaning forward now, letting the top of her dress dip, revealing just enough cleavage to stimulate your imagination. A simple gesture, so perfectly choreographed that you'd think it was incidental if you didn't know better, if it didn't have you picturing what it would be like to rip that dress off her, to expose her bare tits, to grab, lick, kiss, and—

She’s giggling out loud now, like she can hear every single filthy thought racing through your mind. “I think I'd like to be the judge of that.”

There’s an alarm bell going off in your pocket, the vibration of your phone buzzing with messages—who else but your manager, demanding to know why you haven't gone home like a good little idol yet, begging you to please, please not make another mess.

But you ignore it and take another sip of your drink, savouring the burn of the cold liquor down your throat, giving you a moment to consider. You’ve got Minji figured out, you think. It's nothing you haven't seen before (nothing you haven't dealt with before). The dream girl, the ‘ideal type’ who’s growing tired of maintaining a perfect image, looking to see how far she can push, how much she can get away with (how much you’ll let her get away with).

Because she’s probably never been told no in her life. Because she's used to getting what she wants with a bat of those lashes or a pout of those lips.

In a way, coming to you is safe, because if the worst were to happen—if you were to get caught—no one for a second would believe that one of the nation's precious daughters was the instigator.

“I know what you’re thinking,” she says, cutting through the din of the club like a knife, making you believe that she just might be telepathic. “You're thinking: she’s just another innocent idol playing at being naughty for just the night, but the second things get too wild, she’ll be out of here faster than you can say ‘Dispatch’.”

“Because you’re not like other girls.”

“Please,” she scoffs, dismissing the idea entirely. “I always see things to the end.”

“Alright then,” you say. She’s thrown down the gauntlet, and you’re going to pick it up, if for nothing else than to see just how far she’ll go. "Shall we do this here? I'll rip off your clothes, nail you in the middle of the dancefloor in front of all our friends and peers?"

She’s grinning now, not backing down, in fact she’s moving closer, like yes, that’s exactly what I was hoping for. “From what I’ve heard that would be tame for you. Is it true, what you got up to at Inkigayo?”

“That was in a parking lot.”

“And at M Coundown.”

"Under the stage.”

“Music Bank?”

“The staircase, of course.”

“See,” Minji’s whispering now, close enough that you can hear her over the thumping bass of the music, her breath warm against your ear, “you are a man-whore.”

“I have a name,” you reply, dryly.

“That’s nice.” She’s touching you now, her hand sliding up your chest, fingers playing with the buttons of your shirt. “Wanna hear me scream it?”

Your phone is still buzzing, and you know that you should be walking away. It would be the right thing to do: it’s far too public, she’s far too popular, and getting caught leaving hand in hand with her would be nothing short of an announcement that will hit the top of every social media platform by sunrise.

But it’s too late—it was over the second you locked eyes with her from across the dancefloor, when she caught you staring, blatant and unabashed, lingering on the way her ass bounced, mesmerised by how her hips swayed to the beat. 

You just had to let her know she was wanted.

"Look," Minji says, her hands sliding higher now, fingers idly adjusting the collar of your shirt. "There's no angle here, no game. I'm not looking to get caught or land in a scandal, and I'm definitely not looking for love or a boyfriend or whatever fairy tale shit you sing about. I just want what all the other pretty idols are getting."

She's forward, no shame in saying exactly what she wants, daring you to dispute it, but all you can do is cock your head to the side, and flash a smirk of your own. "And what makes you think you're my type?"

Minji laughs, her teeth glinting in the neon lights—you both know it's a very, very idiotic question. "Please," she says, rolling her eyes, "I'm everyone's type."

Another glance over her shoulder, where her bandmates have been pretending not to hover, and now there’s a new face in the mix: Yunjin. Her eyes narrowed to slits, her arms folded, and her jaw is clenched so tight you can almost hear her teeth grinding from here. Unlike the other three, she’s not playing the concerned friend card; she’s the pissed off mother bear, ready to pull Minji away from the walking, talking red flag.

And so adds to your stellar reputation.

Minji notices your eyes flicker in that direction, and looking back at the group with amusement, she takes it as the cue she's been waiting for. "We better get out of here before they take your head off."

It's inevitable, really, this is how it always ends up: the sweet, innocent idol lured into the jaws of the industry monster. But you can’t help it, not when she’s looking at you like that, like she wants to be eaten alive.

You know the score, you’ve danced this dance before, and you’ve got a role to play. The only thing left to do is to take her hand and lead her out of the chaos—through the throngs of familiar faces, not giving them a chance to register what you're doing, or who you're with, or what's about to occur, again.

Not like anyone could stop it now, anyway.

"So, this is how it happens," you hear Minji murmur as you lead her out of the club, through a hidden metal door, and into the cold, night air.

-

Minji tastes like gin and lime cordial, her lips sticky and sweet against yours, her arms around your neck, her back pressed up against the back-alley wall. There’s something in the way she’s kissing you—giggling between breaths—like she can’t believe this is happening, like she’s getting away with the crime of the century.

Her hands are in your hair now, tugging gently, the cool metal of her rings pressing into your scalp, begging you to kiss her harder, to burn the memory of your lips onto hers. Your tongues meet in a dance that’s more battle than ballet, and she’s matching you move for move, her teeth nipping at your bottom lip, her nails scraping down your neck.

She’s eager, she’s pressing her chest against yours, making you feel just how hot she is. But yet, there’s still that annoying voice in your head, the last shreds of your conscience, telling you to give her that final out, to let her walk away with her dignity intact, go back to her members and tell them she just had to get some fresh air.

So, you pull back, tearing your mouth away from hers, giving her room to gasp for air, to let the world come back into focus, and you ask her, loud and clear, “Are you sure you want to do this?”

Minji’s panting, breaths coming in short gasps, little puffs of steam out into the winter air, and she smiles. It’s a wicked little grin, equal parts surprised and thrilled, like you’ve just passed some kind of test she didn’t think you knew existed. “Are you asking for my consent?”

You balk at that. Your reputation can't be that bad. “Is it so unbelievable that I'd ask?” Even though you already know, deep down, she’s not going anywhere, there’s a power in hearing her say it. Saying that she wants you, specifically, to ruin her.

“No, it’s just…” Minji starts, looking up with those big, dark eyes, and you can almost see the gears turning in her head, trying to figure out how to play this, before ultimately landing on the word, “nice.”

She pulls you back towards her, kissing you again, those soft, pillowy lips of hers meeting your mouth in a kiss that’s so inappropriately sweet, like she’s sealing a deal with sugar rather than ink.

“Yeah,” she whispers, her voice steady, sure. “I want to do this. More than anything.” Minji tilts her head back, exposing the column of her throat, inviting you to kiss it, to suck, to bite. “I want you."

You don’t need any more convincing than that. Your hands are on her body, running over the curves of her hips, the dip of her waist, the swell of her chest. And she’s leaning into your touch, needing to feel more of you, wanting you to explore her. And you do, greedily, feeling her breath hitch when you graze her nipples through the fabric, feel her hips jerk when you trace the line of her panties.

“Are we going to—gah—go back to your place?” Minji tries to ask, her question punctuated by a moan as your fingertips dance over the smooth skin of her inner thigh, the hem of her dress whispering against your skin.

You’ve already made your decision—you're not taking her home, you're not taking her anywhere with a bed, or even a chair. You're going to have her right here, right now. There’s no need to answer her, you just let her work it out for herself when you push her back against the wall, when your thumb finds the slick, wet heat between her legs.

“Here?” She gasps, turning to look down the darkened end of the alleyway, at the distant streetlights, at the crowds of people oblivious to what’s about to happen beneath the shadows.

“It’s not the dancefloor, but it’ll have to do,” you murmur, leaning into her, pressing your lips against her cheek, her jaw, her earlobe.

“B-but, what if—” Minji stammers, but you’re busy toying with the lace of her panties, nothing more than a mere formality at this point, only existing to get wetter, to be unavoidably ruined by you.

“What if someone finds us?” You finish her question, nibbling at her ear. “Then we’ll just have to make sure we leave them something to talk about, won’t we?”

She’s shivering at the thought of it—the headlines, the think pieces, the whispered scandals that will follow you both for weeks, maybe months, maybe forever. But you can feel her resolve hardening, her spine straightening, her body arching towards yours, and she replies, “Then don’t hold back.”

The challenge is clear: she’s embracing the thrill of the forbidden, the rush of potential disaster, the heady feeling of need overshadowing the fear of getting caught.

You don’t disappoint. Your fingers slip under the soaked lace, and she’s sensitive, so, so sensitive. She’s staining your fingers, needing only the smallest amount of pressure to garner a reaction. You tease her, drag your finger across her tender folds, dare to skim over her clit, torture her with anticipation.

Whatever concerns she has evaporates as you kiss down to her collarbone—you’re going to leave a mark—and she’s already asking for more, “Please.”

She’s whining, parting her legs, desperate for you to do more than just touch her, needing you to rip through her panties and take her.

“You're right—I don’t care,” she sighs into the wind, handing her fate over to you. “I need you. Now.”

That's all you need to hear, everything you've ever wanted to hear someone as seemingly untouchable as Minji say to you. You pull down her panties, needing an extra tug as her slickness sticks them to her thighs—she’s so fucking wet for you—and you draw a circle around her entrance with your finger.

“Right there,” she cries. She’s much more honest when she’s desperate—gone is the posturing, the taunting, the act—she’s just a girl who needs to feel something real. So, you give it to her—push your finger inside, gliding in smoothly, a perfect fit around your digit.

Only knuckle deep but she’s already got you like a vice, squeezing around your finger like she’s trying to keep it captive—so wet, so tight, so fucking good. Her nails dig into your shoulders as you push in another finger, stretching her just enough to make her gasp, just enough to make her fulfill her promise to cry out your name, “Fuck—!”

Her pulse is racing like a runaway train, hammering against your lips—you’re pushing both fingers all the way inside her now, sawing them in and out of her, making her groan, making her repeat your name over and over again.

You’re in her ear, “you’ve got to be quiet, Minji.”

But she’s not having it. “Make me,” she laughs, daring you, another challenge she’s putting down.

You kiss her hard, replacing the laughter in her mouth with your tongue, muffling her cries as you fuck her with your hand, you’re going to ruin her now. You curl your fingers up to hit that spot that makes her toes curl in her sky-high heels, making her gasp, her head thunking back against the wall.

She’s trying, she really is, to keep it in, but she still needs you to keep her standing, to hold her up as your fingers delve deeper; to keep her from melting into a puddle all over your hand.

Still, you’re relentless, feeling her out, learning her rhythm, her reactions, the spots that make her sigh and fall apart. You know you’ve found it when her breaths turn harsh and ragged, and she’s rolling her hips against your hand, and there’s that noise—the sweet, slick sound of her pussy swallowing your fingers whole—and she’s whining into your mouth, “This feels so—”

“Hot,” you finish for her, watching as her cheeks flush a delicious shade of pink, her pupils blown wide, those angelic features of hers contorting with every thrust of your fingers. “You’re so fucking hot, Minji.”

And she is, she’s hot, she’s so hot around you, against you, her hips bucking at the praise, and she whimpers, your name a staccato prayer on her lips. “More,” she demands, but she’s tripping over her words—“more—please—how does it feel so—”

“I’m going to make you cum now, Minji,” you state, your voice low and sure, your fingers continuing their persistent rhythm inside her. She nods, panting against your neck. “And after that, I’m going to fuck you and make you cum all over again. Until you can’t walk straight. Until you forget every other name but mine. Do you understand?”

Her eyes flutter closed, and she nods again, a whine escaping her throat, and she’s biting her lip so hard it’s going to bruise—another mark she won’t be able to explain tomorrow.

You lean in closer, whispering, “Good girl.”

You’re finger-fucking her in earnest now, her body moving in sync with your hand, the alleyway walls echoing with the slap of skin and the wet sounds of your digits plunging into her, your knuckles smacking against her clit. She’s trying to keep it together, trying not to scream out loud, her eyes squeezed shut tight as if that could hold back the orgasm that’s barrelling down on her.

Her breaths are coming out in little pants, and you know she’s close, so close, she’s nearly crying. “Just your fingers—fuck—it’s just your fingers,” she’s repeating it in disbelief, like it shouldn’t feel this good, not yet, like she needs the mantra to keep herself grounded as your hand lights up every nerve in her body.

She’s there, right on the edge, only needing that extra push, that pressure in just the right place, just waiting for your word to send her spiralling over. “Cum for me now, Minji.”

And that’s all it takes.

You hold her steady, fuck her hard with your fingers, rub at her clit, and she’s clenching down, all tiny shakes and choked gasps, her eyes snapping open and then squeezing shut as she reaches the precipice.

"God—fuck—I can't—"

It hits her hard and fast and all at once—her whole body seizing around your hand, her cunt tightening, her hips thrusting forward, needing more friction. Her mouth opens wide, but you trap her lips before she can make a sound, kissing her fiercely, tasting the sweetness of her release on her tongue, feeling the tremors of her orgasm travel from her core to the tips of your fingers.

Her hands are all over you, her nails digging into your shoulders, leaving little half-moons in your skin as she clutches you closer, her tongue dancing with yours as if her life depends on it. You keep going, not letting up until she’s fully ridden the wave, and it’s a sight to behold—Minji coming apart against a dirty alley wall, her legs trembling like they might give out at any second.

When she does finally go still, when her breathing starts to even out, you break the kiss, pulling away to look into her eyes, searching for the usual signs of regret or embarrassment that often follow these kinds of moments. But she’s looking at you with something else entirely: a mix of awe and excitement, like she’s just experienced something she never knew existed.

“You okay?” You murmur, the question more of a formality than anything, because she looks absolutely anything but okay. She looks fucking amazing, a breathless, boneless mess against the wall, her chest rising and falling rapidly with every inhale.

Her eyes are still glazed over, wide and dark, her mouth slack and swollen from your kisses. You can see her trying to process what just happened, the reality of it all, but she’s still too lost in the aftermath of her orgasm to form coherent thoughts.

“Yeah,” she breathes out finally, nodding shakily. “I’m—yeah, I’m good.”

You withdraw your hand, giving her pussy one last gentle squeeze before pulling away, and she whines, a high-pitched noise that makes you twitch.

She’s flushed, her hair a mess from your hands, her lipstick smudged, her dress hiked up around her waist, panties around her ankles. The way she’s looking at you now, it's worship, like you're a secret that she’s just discovered and is desperate to keep to herself. “I fucking knew it,” she says. “The rumours were true.”

You smirk, wiping your hand on the side of your pants, watching her struggle to stand straight. “Ready for round two?”

Her gaze flicks downwards, to the bulge in your pants, and she nods, swallows hard. “Yeah, I—fuck yes.”

There’s no hesitation now, no pretending she doesn’t know what she’s signed up for. She’s all in, and you want her, here, now, because that’s what you do—you take what you want.

You kiss her again, deep and greedy, one hand on the wall behind her head, the other gripping her tight, keeping her in place as you grind against her, letting her feel the hardness of your cock, everything she’s been waiting for.

“Please, don’t stop,” she pleads, and you don’t—you can’t.

Not now, when she’s letting you tug down on her dress, letting it pool around her ankles like a discarded secret. She’s a vision, standing in the cold, stark alley in just her heels and her underwear—and there’s her tits, perky and perfect, begging to be touched.

You don’t even bother with the bra, you just yank it down, the straps snapping and the fabric falling away to reveal her nipples—pink and stiff and so fucking tempting. You can’t help yourself, they’re practically calling for you to taste them, so you draw one into your mouth, feeling her gasp against your ear, her hand sliding into your hair, holding you against her chest.

Her skin is hot against your tongue, and you suck, and bite, and lick until she’s whimpering, until she’s pushing herself into your lips. Your hand is exploring the rest of her naked body—running down her stomach, tracing the lines of her abs, feeling her stomach muscles clench with every breath she takes. She’s so tight, so toned—it’s like you’re touching a sculpture, or a personal playground made just for you.

“Oh my God,” she whimpers, “so good, so, so good, how does it feel—?”

Her words cut off as your teeth graze her nipple—she’s so reactive to every touch, and it has you wondering—has she ever been touched like this before? Has her body every truly been explored like this, pushed to these heights?

“You want more?” You murmur into her chest, your fingers returning to her wet folds, your thumb reintroducing itself to her clit.

“Your cock,” she says, sucking a harsh breath through her teeth. “I want it, I need it—please—I’m ready for it.” It’s that word—please—how it rolls off her tongue, the desperation in it, how it makes her sound so needy and vulnerable.

“Then take it,” you command, breaking away from her chest, stepping backwards to give her room to do exactly what she's been begging for.

Minji doesn’t miss a beat, hands gentle but determined, her fingers at your belt, fumbling with the buckle, loosening the zipper. She’s hungry for it, for this moment of truth, to verify for herself—what’s been talked about in whispers and rumours, what’s been taunting her all evening.

Your pants hit the ground, and she’s staring at your cock with wide eyes, and for a second you can almost see the doubt creeping in. But she swallows it down, and with a soft grip, wraps her small hand around you, stroking you from base to tip.

“So this is it,” she says, taking the full measure of your length, her thumb smearing the pre-cum over your head. “This is the cock that ruins idols. They said it splits women in half.”

You chuckle, but she’s completely ignoring you, well, ignoring all parts of you that isn’t your cock. Her hand is tentative at first, working its way up and down, feeling you grow harder by the second in her palm. You can feel her wonder, her excitement, a hunger matched only by the ache in your cock.

It's the way she’s not saying anything, just touching, feeling. Not that you mind the quiet—it's intimate, just the two of you, the sound of her breaths, your heart beating in your ears, and the distant thump of the world you left behind.

She’s gaining confidence now, her strokes more deliberate, a smug smile gracing her lips as she watches how you react to her touch. You bite back a groan, not wanting to give away how much she’s getting to you, but fuck, she’s getting good at this. She’s clearly learning on the job, eyes keen to see just how you like it—how fast, how tight—how to make you fall apart in her hands.

It’s time to reign her in, you’re heading into deeper waters now. You grasp her wrist, stopping her, ignoring her pouts and whines. “Not yet,” you say, “I’m going to split you in half with my cock now.”

That makes her grin. She does this thing, this cute little twirl, spinning around on her heels to face the wall, and posting herself up against it. Her legs spread wide, giving you a perfect view of her splayed pussy, glistening under the dim neon light. She’s got her hands above her head—she’s putting herself on display for you, like your own private Mona Lisa.

A look back at you and she catches you gawking—eyes glued to her ass, her pussy—and she winks. “Are you just going to stare, or do I have to make you fuck me?” She says it so casually, like she’s back at the bar ordering another drink. “Hurry up, please. I need it. Inside me. Now."

No more waiting, no further invitations needed—there’s teasing, and then there’s both of you craving it, dying for this.

You’re behind her in an instant, pressing her into the wall, her cheek against the cold brick, her juicy ass up in the air. You guide your cock to her entrance, the head nudging against her—she’s soaked, pussy drooling on your tip—and she gasps, looking back at you with those doe eyes, all wide and innocent—like she hasn’t been begging for this since the moment she looked in your direction.

“Fuck Minji, you're so fucking wet for me,” you say, running your cock down her slit, coating it in her juices, “so needy for me, aren’t you?

“Yes,” she whispers, her voice strained, like every moment without your cock inside her is torture. “I want it all. Every fucking inch.”

The first push is a slide into heaven—she’s tight, so fucking tight, so, so wet, like she’s never had anyone else—like she’s been waiting just for you. She’s teary, gasping, and you feel her body tense, but she doesn’t pull away, doesn’t dare ask you to stop. Instead, she arches her back, pushing herself back onto you, urging you deeper.

“God,” she’s chanting now, feeling inch after inch sliding into her, “it’s so—it’s already making me so—”

It’s slow, deep, fucking, stretching seconds into an eternity, stretching her pussy out with your girth, stretching her to fit you, to keep you, to never let you leave. It’s careful, almost tender at first—let her set the pace, let her show you how much she can take.

She’s moaning, low and guttural, and you wrap one hand around her waist to hold her steady as you thrust into her, let her get comfortable with your size, make her tits bounce with every pump, make her legs shake beneath her. And then there’s that lip bite again—she’s trying to keep quiet, but little moans are escaping her, getting lost in the night.

You ease out, then push back in, setting a steady rhythm that’s got her rocking back onto you. Minji seems like a delicate little thing, but there's a strength to her, a suppleness—she’s meeting you thrust for thrust, her pussy like pure velvet around your cock, gripping you tight, trying to milk you.

Hand finds her chin, tilting her head back so you can kiss her again—long, deep, tongue-filled kisses that make her whine and buck against you. She’s slowly, but surely adjusting to you now, her body learning the rhythm of your cock, getting used to being so completely filled.

It's in the way she's moaning into your mouth, like she's never been fucked like this before, never had someone so big, never had a cock so demanding of her tight little cunt. But she's so eager for it, her pussy so warm and welcoming, swallowing you up with every thrust.

It’s not normally like this—you’re not normally like this—but something has you asking between kisses, “You okay?”

She laughs, pushing herself back against you, pushing her cunt down on you, taking you deeper, burying your cock to the hilt. “I’m not going to break, I promise,” she says, looking over her shoulder, needing this. “I need you to fuck me—no holding back—I can take it all—everything you’ve ever given anyone else, all those other girls. I can handle it.”

“Show me.”

It’s throwing gasoline on a fire—she's asking for it, burning for it. You fuck her like you mean it—pull out all the way, force it all the way back in, hard, deep, rough. A shriek and she's wailing now, true to her word she’s taking it, taking it all, utterly lost in each perfect push into her cunt. She’s so beautiful like this, so open and raw—gone is the perfect idol, she’s just another girl getting fucked in an alley by some guy she just met.

Both hands are gripping into her hips, holding her in place, holding her upright, feeling her walls clench and release around you. Marks are going to be left there too, your fingerprints on her skin, bruises that she’ll have to hide with makeup tomorrow.

“So good—so fucking good—just—“ Minji can barely make out full sentences, let alone words as you fuck her, as you own her. “Harder! Fuck! Rougher!"

It’s like a drug, this power, watching her come apart for you, knowing you’re the one making her feel this way, knowing she’ll let you do whatever you want, whatever you need as long as it makes her come apart. And you’re feeding off of it, her words pushing you closer to the edge, letting her need for you drive you, unlock that primal part of your brain. Fucking her like this, so filthy and wrong and everything you love about this life.

You pick up the pace, driving your hips forward—"harder—fuck—harder"—until she’s shaking, her legs giving out, and the only thing keeping her on her feet is your cock and your arms.

“Fuck—I know what they said but—fuck! Is this what they all felt?” She gasps out, “is this how it always feels?”

Your lips on her neck, her hair sticking to your face, the scent of her perfume, of her, intoxicating. “It doesn’t always feel like this,” you answer, you grunt. “But you do. You feel so fucking good, Minji. So fucking perfect for me.”

“You're so big,” she says, her voice trembling, “I feel so—fuck—full.”

It’s not just the way she’s clenching around you, how she’s now able to take every inch of you like she’s been fucking you her whole life—it’s how she says your name, like you’re the only one that could ever make you feel this way, like you’re the one who ever will.

You grab her tits, squeezing them, seizing them, pinching and twisting her nipples between your fingers. All it does is make her beg, “fuck—I love it—how rough you are—” needing more of everything you have, “your hands—your cock—please don’t stop, don’t ever stop—I can take it please—rougher please—fuck!”

Something cracks inside you, and your hand comes down on her ass, the sound bouncing off the walls like a gunshot. Minji jolts, yelps, but the noise is quickly swallowed by a moan, a squeezing of her cunt around you.

“Fuck that felt—”

You do it again, and again, each slap a little harder, a little more punishing, the sting making her flesh jiggle deliciously with every impact. She doesn’t retreat, she’s slamming her ass back down on you, slapping her cheeks against your waist, needing to feel more.

“Gah—fuck—harder!”

She can’t help herself, minutes ago she could barely handle your size, now she can’t hold back from crying out for more pain, more excruciating pleasure.

Each smack, each groan, each breath that’s ripped from her lungs is a declaration of your power, of her need. And you revel in it, your hand coming down on her ass, leaving a trail of red marks against her creamy-white skin.

“More, please, more,” she calls for it, calls for the sting, the heat, her pussy clamping down on you, walls pulsing with every hit, her body needing the release that’s building up, inevitable and intense.

Her ass is nothing but a canvas painted by the strokes of your hand and the relentless pounding of your cock, and you can’t help but admire your handiwork, you're struggling to suppress the urge to lean down and kiss each spot you’ve marked.

“You’re going to be so sore tomorrow,” you say, your teeth grazing the shell of her ear.

“I know,” she answers, her voice a whine, a plea, a moan. “But this is what I wanted—to feel—to remember this—this moment—getting fucked like you own me—because you do—so don’t hold back—don’t ever hold back.”

You’re both sweaty, panting—you can feel her orgasm building, like a storm in the distance, thunder rumbling closer and closer until it's right above you, ready to break. And there’s your own, too, that delicious pressure at the base of your spine, the promise of release, coming at you just as quick.

But you’re not going to let her get there—not yet—not when you’ve got her like this, pliant and open and so in need. You lean forward, your chest pressing against her back, and slide your hand down, reaching around to find her clit.

It’s slick and stiff and wanting, and Minji screams—a high, keening sound that you want to hear again and again. You’re playing with it, swiping it with your thumb in tight circles, feeling her clench around you with every pass.

“I’m almost—God that feels so good—I’m almost!”

But you stop, pull out of her, abruptly, making her cry out, making her turn around, a mess of emotions on her face—desire, confusion, awe.

“What are you—” Minji tries to ask, but you’re spinning her around and pressing her back against the wall. Her leg comes up, wrapping around your waist, but you take it and lift it higher, testing the extent of her flexibility, throwing it over your shoulder.

She’s right on that edge, you can see it—her pupils dilate, her mouth opens in a silent scream, her body tenses, her cunt melting around you. But you weren't going to let her cum like that, not without watching her face, not without seeing the moment she cracks and shatters.

Now you’re face to face, chest to chest, her eyes needing yours to anchor herself to, needing to know what you’re going to do to her. No time for breaks—in one, deep thrust you're all the way back inside her, making her scream with the suddenness of it, the shock, the bliss of being so perfectly filled.

She groans, weeps with each pump into her, and she’s smiling through it all. “So—” she asks, struggling to form intelligible sentences. “How do I—fuck—how do I—mmmph—compare to the others?”

You grunt, barely registering the question, your mind clouded by the spasms of her cunt around you. “What others?”

“The other girls—God—the other idols,” she says, strained. “The ones you’ve fucked before—the ones you’ve ruined—how do I—aah—compare?”

You kiss her again, a bruising, punishing kiss that steals the question from her lips. You don’t need to answer that. You’re showing her. You’re fucking showing her how she compares, how she’s the best, the tightest, the wettest, the most eager. You’re showing her how she’s going to be the one they whisper about in the halls of HYBE and beyond, she'll become the story that will be told as a warning, about the sweet, innocent idol ruined in a dirty alleyway.

Your world is spinning around you now—there’s your hand on her throat, a gentle squeeze, just enough to make her eyes water, to make her breath catch. But she’s not scared, not with the way she’s grinning, not with how she’s grinding her hips to meet yours.

“Fuck—make me scream—” It’s a plea, a demand, she’s so stunning, so tortured in her need for it, “do whatever you want to me, whatever you need—just—make me cum harder—God please—harder than any of them ever did.”

Any care you had for getting caught, about the consequences of what you're doing—where you're doing it—dissipates into the ether. Nothing exists outside of the race to her orgasm, outside of your hips recklessly pounding into her, reducing her to moans and shakes and trembles.

“Cum for me,” you growl, “right here, right now, Minji—cum for me again—show me that you’re mine.”

“I was made for you,” she says, and it’s not just the heat of the moment talking, it’s something else, something deeper. She’s not just saying it to get off, she’s saying it like it’s a revelation, like she’s been waiting for you, for this exact moment.

“Prove it.”

It hits her like a fucking truck, and Minji’s screaming, filth belted from her mouth and into the night, her pussy quaking around your cock, her whole body entering into seizure. You keep going, riding out her orgasm, feeling her cum on your cock, feeling her body go rigid, her muscles tense, it’s those abs, so tight, it’s those absurdly strong contractions that have you falling after her.

“God—fuck, I—can’t believe—can’t believe—”

You’re fucking her through it, not giving her a moment’s reprieve, not letting her come down from that high, because you’re not ready for this to end, not when she’s so helpless. You hold her tight through it, let her shake, rattle against you, let her nails dig into your arms, let her cum drench you.

“Fuuuuuuck!”

It’s too much for her to take, and once the storm has finally subsided, Minji is just a ragdoll in your arms. Her legs are limp, held up by your grip alone, still trembling from the aftershocks of her orgasm. Her makeup is ruined, a mix of sweat and your kisses, leaving dark streaks on her cheeks. Her hair, plastered to her forehead, her eyes half-closed, and there’s her body—marks of your teeth on her chest, her breasts, the bruises of your fingers around her hips, the mottled red of her ass, a map of your dominance painted on her perfect skin.

It’s not just the physical marks you’ve left on her; it’s the way she’s looking at you now, awe, desperation, realisation that it’s all true, every rumour, everything they’ve said about you—and she’s the latest filthy chapter in your story.

But you’re not done yet, you haven’t finished. You’re pulling out, and she’s whining, making your cock throb with her pleas. You guide her to the floor, to her knees, her dress puddled around her, the cold concrete biting into her skin.

You’re standing over her, looking down at her like she’s a prize, your prize. “Open your mouth,” you tell her, and she does, without hesitation, without question.

You grab your cock, still slick with her juices, and stroke yourself, watching her tongue dart out to lick her lips, watching the anticipation build in her eyes.

It’s the sweetest, most erotic sight you’ve ever seen—Minji, the girl that's everyone's type, the girl who could have anything she wants, anyone, on her knees for you—tongue out, mouth wide open, waiting eagerly for your cum.

And then you do it—you let go, shooting ropes of hot cum, painting her face, letting it dribble down onto her chin, onto her chest, onto her toned stomach, covering her until she’s a sticky mess of lust and desire. She doesn’t flinch, doesn’t pull away—she loves the feeling of it, shivering as your hot cum hits her skin.

She holds position through it all—knees on the ground, eyes closed, a serene smile as if she’s just been blessed. And when you're done, when your cock is finally spent, she looks up at you with a grin that's pure sin.

Minji takes a finger, dips it into the mess on her chin, and tastes you. It's a bold move, it’s messy, it’s wrong, it’s perfect. There’s the glimmer of triumph in her eyes, the knowledge that she's made you do something so raw, that she made you lose all control.

For a second there’s nothing but the sound of your ragged breathing, the come down from your euphoric high. Minji speaks, still shaky from the orgasm that ripped through her. “That was—” she pauses, searching for the right word. “—incredible. Fuck!”

There’s a rush of arrogance, a smug smile of satisfaction at her confession. “So, do I live up to the legend?”

Minji wipes her mouth with the back of her hand, smearing your cum across her cheek. There’s a glint in her eye, like she’s got a secret that she’s dying to share. “More than I could have ever imagined. You’re not just a man-whore, you’re a fucking artist.”

You laugh at that, as you tuck yourself back in, smoothing down your shirt, trying to compose yourself, pretending like her words don’t mean anything to you, like you don’t take pride in the validation of every girl you fuck.

“How do I rank?” she asks, the question coming out of nowhere, and you blink down at her, your brain trying to catch up. “I mean, out of all the idols you’ve fucked?”

“Rank?” you repeat. "I don't keep a list, that would be..." You trail off, realising what you're about to say, and now it’s her turn to laugh.

“Crass?” she supplies. “I know, but I’m just curious.”

“You’re fucking fantastic, that’s for sure,” you reassure her, making her giggle, the laughter bubbling up from her chest like it’s the best compliment she’s ever heard. “Why—do you keep a list?”

Her smile falters for a moment, but then she’s grinning again, looking even more wicked with the cum pasted across her face, and it makes you want to bend her over and fuck her all over again. “Of course I do. And you’ll be happy to know that you’re number one.”

“That’s good to know.”

But then she says, “Of one.”

And you freeze. The air around you turns to ice, and she’s looking up at you with those big, dark eyes, and you realise what she’s saying, what she’s just admitted to you. You’ve taken her virginity, and she’s looking at you like it’s the best thing that’s ever happened to her.

“You were…” you start, but she cuts you off.

“Don’t,” she says, her voice firm. “Don’t make this something it’s not. I wanted this, and I wanted it to be with you. I told you: I can handle it all.”

But that doesn’t stop your mind from racing, trying to process what she’s saying. You had your suspicions—she was so tight, so new, so untouched—and now she’s yours, in a way that no one else can claim. You wiped away her innocence, and she’s not running, not crying, not regretful.

The weight of it settles in your stomach, a strange cocktail of pride and guilt. You’ve ruined her, in the best way possible. You’ve claimed something precious and pure, and she’s given it to you willingly, eagerly.

“Fuck, Minji,” you start, trying to find the words. “If you had told me, I would’ve—”

“You would’ve what? I lost my virginity by having filthy, mind-blowing sex in a dark alley with the best cock in all of Korea,” she says, pridefully, with her entire chest, fully believing every word she's saying. “Can you really tell me your story was any better? I bet whoever it was with didn’t scream like I did. Or cum so hard she couldn’t see straight.”

You cast your mind back to the past, and you have to concede the point. “I see what you mean. But still—” You feel like you should say something, but what? It’s not like you can apologise, not when she’s looking at you like that, like she’s just won the fucking lottery. “How does it feel?”

“A-ma-zing,” she draws out, rising to her feet. “Everything I’ve ever heard about, multiplied by a million. You might’ve ruined sex for me completely.”

You watch as she puts herself back together, sliding her panties back on, tugging her dress over her head and down her hips. She’s smoothing her hair back, trying to fix the mess you’ve made of her; wiping at the cum on her chin, her cheek, trying to erase the evidence of your encounter, trying to put the mask of the sweet, innocent idol back on.

But you know better. You know what’s hiding beneath that polished exterior.

“Come home with me,” you find yourself saying before you can think better of it.

Minji turns to you, her eyes sparkling with mischief, and there's that hint of challenge again. “Why?” she asks, tilting her head to the side. “You want to cuddle and fall asleep together? Wake up, have breakfast in bed?”

“Yeah,” you nod, honestly. “After I’ve fucked you senseless again, of course. But yeah, come home with me.”

“That would be nice,” Minji says, a soft smile on her face. It's surreal, this moment, so at odds with the grimy alleyway and the smell of sex sticking to her skin. She looks so pure now, in complete contrast to how roughly you were fucking her just moments ago. Her innocence wasn’t lost, it was just painted with a fresh coat of your sin.  “But—you know I can’t. They’re waiting.”

“Worth a shot,” you shrug, not bothering to hide your disappointment.

And then she produces your phone, holding it out to you. “You need to be more careful with your things.”

“When did you—”

“Now you’ve got my number,” she says. “You’re welcome to do whatever it is you want with it. But I’m hoping you use it.”

You take it out of her hands, swiping away the string of missed calls and messages, the digital proof of how much trouble you’re going to be in come morning. But for now, it’s irrelevant. For now, there’s only Minji, and the way she’s standing there, looking up at you, smiling like she’s just stepped off the stage.

“You’re going to go back to them?” you ask, gesturing towards the club entrance, to where the rest of her group are probably still gossiping, plotting your downfall.

“Of course,” Minji says. “They’re my friends. They care about me. They’ll want to make sure I’m okay.”

“And when they find out what we just did?”

“Oh, they’re going to want to kill you,” she answers, with a giggle. You’ve had enough of these types of conversations to know she’s not joking. “Except Dani, maybe. She’ll probably want a shot at you too. If I let her.”

"Noted," you say, trying to keep the image of Danielle, splayed against the wall like Minji before her, out of your head. "What exactly are you going to tell them?"

Minji pauses, thinking, before landing on a succinct summary. "I’ll just tell them that you fucked my brains out and then ditched me in an alley.”

You sigh, “sounds brutal.”

“Well, it is what it is,” Minji says, and she’s pressing a kiss to your cheek, her lips still sticky with the residue of your cum, the last traces of what's just happened.

You watch her go, watch as she turns away, walking back towards the club, a little stumble, a little trouble keeping steady. You should be feeling guilty, you should be regretting this, but all you can think is how good it felt, how right it felt. And you know you’ll do it again—you know it deep in your bones.

Minji turns back to you, catching your eye, catching you staring again, and she smiles. “You better go now. You do have a reputation to maintain, after all.”

[but-how-do-you-drive]

i can't tell you the amount of times i open reddit's front page or tumblr's login screen (so, not curated to me specifically) and it's just Sexy WomenTM. it's some shitty pornographic art piece of a woman (yes, ALWAYS a woman) or some photograph of women in lingerie, or some stupid anime art with a girl(VERY young looking) with huge boobs/ass & tiny waist, etc. etc.... what is this teaching women & girls? what are we taking away from this? it's misogyny in motion, teaching women that THIS is the goal in life (nothing but physical characteristics - you HAVE to be sexy.) & it's teaching MEN that 1. this is the only desirable feature about women & nothing else matters about them & 2. MEN don't need to try to adhere to these physical standards because OTHER things about them matter. but not for women. women exist to be sexualized & fantasized about. HOW IS THIS HEALTHY FOR WOMEN? HOW IS THIS HEALTHY FOR MEN? HOW IS THIS HEALTHY FOR ANYONE?

[starmocha]

When you accidentally notice a running theme in your writings 👉👈

For those wanting to scratch that special itch (so to speak), I curated this list of all of those...special fics and scenarios of mine if you're looking for a specific something-something (read: breeding kink 😈 and/or family fics 🥹). Please be mindful of the ratings. Yes, there will be more in the future, I've accepted my fate. 😔🫶

LINKS: Regular Masterlist ⋆ ★ Series Index ⋆ ★ Tag List ⋆ ★ AO3

last updated: jan. 4, 2025

FAMILY FICS (SFW)

Featuring the LADS men as fathers. Most stories will center primarily around fatherhood, but some may just be a short scene. While the majority are SFW, the ones that aren't will have MDNI listed alongside them.

sing little birdie

Stories about Sylus and his three-year-old daughter. status: ongoing indefinitely // updated sporadically 01. Rock-a‐Bye 02. Hide-and-Seek 03. Little Dino — random scenarios: 01. Taking Little Birdie to the Amusement Park 02. Daddy is a Kitty?

standalone fics & scenarios

— fics: Sunday Reset i'm on the run with you, my sweet love — 《 MDNI 》

sweet little snowdrop

Stories about Zayne and his three-year-old son. status: ongoing indefinitely // updated sporadically 01. 12:30 PM Checkup 02. Carrot Cake

pretty little coral

Stories about Rafayel and his three-year-old son. status: ongoing indefinitely // updated sporadically [coming eventually i have writer's block for the fishie lol help]

standalone fics & scenarios

— random scenarios: Decorating Nursery

bright little starlight

Stories about Xavier and his two-year-old daughter. status: ongoing indefinitely // updated sporadically 01. Time-Out

[CALEB - COMING SOON <3333 - BOY DAD CALEB 💖 BOY DAD CALEB 💖 BOY DAD CALEB FUCK YEAHHHH 💖💖💖💖💖]

BREEDING KINK (MDNI)

( ͡° ͜ʖ ͡°) baby making time yes i'll probably get to the others eventually it depends on my demon, i mean my muse........

SYLUS

— light breeding kink Relentless Conqueror want me, need me, love me — intense breeding kink Elysium birds of a feather (series) 01. but if it's forever, it's even better 02. it was always you 03. epilogue (coming...eventually) Bride of the Dragon King (series - in epilogue only) 01. Prelude 02. Bride of the Dragon King (coming soon) 03. Epilogue (coming soon) — random scenarios: Horny Tribal!Sylus Thoughts

ZAYNE

PLACEHOLDER BECAUSE SNOOKUMS BREEDING US IN A 3-PART SERIES IS MY 2025 WRITING PROJECT /SRS

RAFAYEL

PLACEHOLDER <3 WILL HAVE THE FISHIE BREED US WHEN I AM LESS OF A COWARD ABOUT WRITING SPICY RAF LOL intertidal zone does make me want to help repopulate lemuria i mean what

XAVIER

PLACEHOLDER <3 BLORBO BY PROXY THE MAN THAT YOU ARE devs i want to suck his thumb (and his cock)

CALEB

PLACEHOLDER <3 THE 3-PART CALEB BREEDNG KINK SERIES OF MY DREAM WILL COME TRUE EVENTUALLY

All Love and Deepspace fanfics are posted only on Tumblr (@starmocha) and AO3 (loveppears (108am)). They will always be cross-posted to one another. Stories are prohibited from being posted elsewhere. Reblogs are ok and encouraged! ♡

If you would like to translate my stories, please message me first for my permission and conditions. Thanks for reading! ☆

[selkymaiden]

Are you blonde? Because then we might be working with something here

I still think it's tragic that genuine misandry seems to be dead on here. I should be able to say "I'm sorry for being a man" and then have multiple people will tell me that my crimes can't be forgiven

[self-loving-vampire]

I think the idea that TERFs don't actually hate men based on the idea that they are generally dishonest kind of misses the specific form their lies and general ideology take, even if it's also obviously true they're willing to trade all other possible values in favor of more transphobia and have a particular hostility for trans people going far beyond anything they may feel towards men. These are not mutually-exclusive ideas.

TERFs are profoundly gender essentialist and have very conservative views of sexuality. Their lies on this are more in the form of denial (denial that they are essentialist, denial that they are transphobic) rather than just switching out who their actual target is. It's not simply that they use "men" as a code for "trans women" but that they classify trans women as a particularly depraved type of man.

A lot of their behavior does not make sense if you persuade yourself that TERFs do secretly view trans women as women and are only pretending to hold any hostility towards men.

For one, because of the above-mentioned essentialism TERFs have convinced themselves that women are fundamentally benevolent and safe. I have seen TERFs outright say women cannot be rapists and rely on archaic UK laws for support on this. They think the genders are "predator" and "prey" (which is a binary Serano has written about before as actually being disturbingly common in mainstream society) and assign practically magical properties to penises.

I'm pretty sure that if essentialist transphobes actually saw trans women as women then their #1 stereotype for trans women would not be that of a violent and depraved sexual predator. In fact, when they encounter news articles of cis women committing those sorts of crimes they immediately jump to the conclusion that the criminal is actually a trans woman and start the transvestigaton.

But you don't have to just trust me. You can just check what they say to each other (rather than just what they present to outsiders) in their own reddit clone. They have an entire tag that is just a curated selection of news stories (mainly from stuff like the Daily Mail) that they use to mutually radicalize each other by maintaining constant fear and anger. Many of these stories don't even involve trans people (though unsurprisingly they do go out of their way to feature them disproportionately).

Many of them are standard carceral stuff about how society is too lenient on rapists and how porn is genocide.

(Not even hyperbole.)

So yeah, I do think radfems sincerely hate men and that denying this requires a lot of reaching and conspiratorial thinking. They just hate trans women even more and are willing to make political alliances with even abusive religious conservatives if it will help them attack trans people.

[lostintransist]

Chiseled Heart | When A Heart Reacts | Part 1

CW: none this chapter

AO3

When he left the military König missed the action found in the theatrics of war. He signed up with a company that would get him close to that again. He felt alive in those moments of pops of gunfire and the scream of missiles. Everything else became muted as a consequence. He worked with KorTac, leading one team (instead of several, doing that left him with hives) KorTac filled his needs until a bullet through the knee saw him in recovery and left behind.

König worked for a year to recover and train back to the standards he would need to reach to again take missions. He attempted three times and failed three times. When tears slid down his face they were absorbed by his makeshift cowl. A tired-faced woman had walked him into an office following his last failure. She spared no extra effort to look at him as she settled behind her computer. Slapping a stack of papers on the desk between them she spoke.

“Name?” She didn’t look at him, eyes on her screen and fingers poised for typing.

“König.”

When no second name followed she lifted a brow as she looked at him.

“One of those, okay.” Keys clicking her eyes tracked along the monitor. “Looks like you put away most of your earnings into a pension, good for you. Now to be eligible for the release of the pension all members leaving KorTac must complete regular therapy sessions. You can choose any therapist, if they don’t accept the insurance then KorTac will reimburse you for the out-of-pocket costs. You have insurance through KorTac for the next five years. They pay into a plan that will cover insurance premiums for the next fifty years, though you will require an evaluation every five to confirm that your injuries are still causing issues in your day-to-day life. When it comes back you are still having issues they will extend your coverage.”

She rattled off this information as if it were rote and not shocking news to him. This was more than the Austrian government had provided after years of faithfully serving. She lifted a hand from the keyboard and clicked a few times before turning to look at him again.

“I’m printing off your specific details but everything I just told you is contained in these papers,” she tapped the papers she had put down first. When König did not respond she stood and strode out of the room. She reappeared within moments, more papers held firmly in her hand. Once settled back in her seat she lifted all the paperwork, tapping them into a neat stack. König took them when offered.

She looked into his eyes as she held onto the papers, “Mr. König I would suggest finding a hobby, I find the men who find a hobby are less likely to fall into despair and die by their own hands.”

König pulls the papers from her hand slowly, the advice uncomfortable sitting atop his numbed feelings.

He had taken the advice though. It took him nearly a year to find something. He thought he had found peace in metal work but the hot forge became too large a barrier to enjoyment. Sculpture found him. He found extracting his images from stone a task that kept him focused and a challenge enough to pull him back time and again. His therapist put him in touch with a curator of a local art gallery when he complained about running out of space to store his finished pieces. No one was more shocked than König when his art began to sell, and sell well. Art became the outlet for his emotions and the gym became his outlet for his body. That is where he ran into you. Would it be cliche to say you became the outlet for his fantasies?

It happened so innocuously. You became waving buddies at the gym. This particular gym stayed open late but had locked doors after eight PM. One would use an app to unlock the door or notify the front desk staff to open the door.

You appeared one day after eight, in the middle of his sets. König carefully maintained the program he had worked out with his physical therapist. That meant five days with two rests. His rest days were Sunday and Thursday. You made smiles that filtered into his dreams on Mondays, Wednesdays, and Fridays.

Several months slid by. He tracked the seasons by the length of your sleeves, always long workout pants for you. König helped you with form once when you were getting noisy and visibly frustrated with your lifts at an increased weight. Swallowing hard on his anxieties he decided to help. His therapist would be proud of him for not letting his social anxiety prevent him from helping someone. He had been challenging him to branch out for months now.

Stepping up near you he waited until you looked up and caught sight of him in the mirror. He waved with a slight shift of his hand.

“Keep your shoulders wide as you lift,” he mimed the corrected posture.

You narrowed your eyes as you watched, flicking from watching the mirror to his profile.

“Okay. Let me try that,” turning back to the weights you lifted, form perfect.

Settling the weights back on the mat you shot him a brilliant smile, not deterred at all by the scars creeping above his surgical mask. He had worked hard to shift away from his hood in public spaces. It still got much use at home though.

“Thank you! I couldn’t figure out why I was having so much trouble with this lift.”

König nodded and went back to his set several feet away. If his eyes strayed to you more than once, well who noticed? He liked the look of you, how solid and real you felt as compared to most of the women who floated through the gym. He, as a big man, had never understood the fascination of other large men in finding the smallest woman to bed. How did they make that work?

You hadn’t appeared in his art until the second time you interacted with him. Appearing before him as he finished a bicep curl you waited, left hand curled around one finger on your right. A sheepish smile sat on your face.

“I’m so sorry to bother you, but can you help me?”

“Ja,” he set his weight down, standing.

The top of your head reached his shoulder, hair pulled back and away from your face.

“My grip slipped while trying to remove one of these plates and caught my finger. Can you help me by putting them away? I am done for the night after this. Need to go get my finger checked out.” You send him a half smile, cheeks a warm color.

He nodded once before removing all of the plates and returning them to their respective racks while you watched on, awkward smile firmly in place. Your cheeks reddened further when he looked at you after finishing the task.

“Thank you.”

König notices blood trailing down your arm. Without further thought, he pulls out his handkerchief and presses it to your arm. Startled you look down at your arm.

“Fuck, I need to go take care of this. Can I take this and wash it? I see you every time I’m here.”

You look so distressed König can do nothing more than nod. Watching as you disappear and then reappear from the locker room König runs the past few moments back in his mind. The wave that required both hands you sent him sticks in his mind.

It sticks so hard when he rises the next morning to start a new piece it is your face that appears as he carves away the stone.

Resting both hands against the work bench, fingers curled around his chisel König hung his head.

“Scheiße.”

Chiseled Heart Masterlist | Masterlist

@scaredyspooks @backseatsoldier @demothers-empty-blog Since you all asked to nicely.

[femaletobitch]

💖About Miss💖 (18+)

Hello everyone, I'm a confused girl that was finally brave enough to make a blog for misgendering instead of pretending to be something I'm not!! I'm a 20 year old fakeboy cis woman here to be misgendered, deadnamed, humiliated, and feminized by anyone who wants to teach me my true nature.

Sometimes I like asking people to call me he/him (in-kink) or to stop calling me my deadname, but when this happens this should not discourage you!! It only means you need to misgender me more because I'm very confused. (And because the resistance and refusal to gender me correctly is extremely hot to me.)

If I actually don't wish to be misgendered anymore, I will specifically tell you in a way that you'll know it's out of kink. But likely if I don't want to be misgendered anymore, I'll just log off lol.

I'm not actually transphobic and I don't think trans men are women. When I say something in-kink that's feminizing towards trans men, it's not meant to be directed towards the transmasc doms into this kink or transmascs out of kink. I just say things that turn me on, if it makes you uncomfortable then just assume it's not towards you and move on. IRL I am happy with my life as a man, but on here I love to be invalidated and disrespected for being a confused girl instead🩷🩷

Kinks (a few of them):

Hucow

Detrans/misgendering

Tradwife/misogyny/patriarchy

Breast/nipple growth

Pregnancy

Birth

Deadnaming

Forced feminization

Rape kink

Large insertions

Exposure

Humiliation and degradation

Bimbofication

Limits:

Posting about me without getting explicit consent

Screenshotting my posts posting them other places without my username visible (just give me credit)

Asking me to shave, but sometimes I like shaving in a fantasy scenario

Actually detransitioning

Expecting me to do difficult tasks for you without asking or talking about it first

Asking me to use another app

I don't have a lot of limits on here because I curate my own experience online. If I don't like something I just avoid it, but I like almost all kinks that have to do with feminization. I'm not great at intros but I hope I can be the perfect girly slut for you to abuse and violate as you wish 💕💕

[lautity]

"ppl keep talking abt" theres like 4 lesbians doing this can you just block us.......

the bi erasure is pretty wild on this fandom. like ppl keep talking abt linda being a lesbian and shipping her with becky when she and gerald are one of the only couples that say they love each other ik? why cant linda be bi? the biphobia is showing

~~~

[comeforthepizza]

TW: Pedophilia Men., Abuse Men.

Note: I've talked some about people in the past, but I don't want to name any specific names here to keep the peace of myself and my loved ones in the fandom. That being said, I will openly suggest staying away from the Showbiz Mafia as an entity. If you don't know what that is- you're already on the right track!

Okay. So. I wanna take a step back and rewrite the post I wrote yesterday with a clearer mind. Because a lot of it came from a genuine place, but I want to make my point clearer/less aggressive.

I love the Rock-afire. I want to keep making content for it. I was in an exasperated place yesterday, but today I've resolved not to let terrible people destroy something that has meant so much to me since I was a kid.

But the gist of it is: this fandom has a genuine problem with terrible people. And I don't mean slightly mean people, I mean bullies. I mean predators. I mean abusers, manipulators, suicide baiters. And what's just as scary are the people who seem nice but will turn on you and go to bat for any of these people in the blink of an eye.

I'm genuinely glad that a lot of people have responded to my posts about predatory behavior in the fandom with actual surprise, because it means that there's a part of the fandom that's spearheaded by genuinely goodhearted people who are here because they love Showbiz, and because they want to make friends with other people who love Showbiz. I LOVE the Tumblr side of the Showbiz fandom, because y'all have such a legitimate passion for it. As far as I know, the problem has NOT made it here.

But I've witnessed a lot of it firsthand in other spaces. If not the abhorrent behavior outright- adults preying on teenagers, doxing, death threats- then definitely people outwardly defending the behavior, or the people who did it. And that makes me genuinely sick to my stomach. And it's teaching a LOT of kids- especially young boys- that this behavior is okay as long as you have a solid collection.

My enjoyment of the Rock-afire comes secondhand to the real problem here: that too many spaces in this fandom are facilitating a place where REAL people are GENUINELY getting hurt. And too many fandom members are banding together to protect the people responsible for that pain.

That being said, I warrant you: protect yourselves. I'm not trying to cause anything, I'm not trying to tell you that you can't trust anyone in this fandom, but I am saying that personal safety is more important than EVER in Showbiz spaces. Trust me when I say the block button is your friend. If ANYONE- and I mean ANYONE- says anything that makes you uncomfortable, block them! Even if they're a prominent fandom member, they have no real power.

You have a right to curate your fandom experience in a way that keeps you safe. NEVER let ANYONE tell you otherwise.

TL;DR: Please understand that while there may not be a predator/bullying problem in the Rock-afire fandom on Tumblr, there definitely is in other spaces. Always put your own safety and protection above a pervy adult's feelings. Love you guys. <3

[old-fandom]

I really really REALLY want to see some good ol' Jealousy Stancest, especially Jealous Stanford. Add in a dash of some old flames and a secret relationship, and it gets real juicy.

Picture this. Stan and Ford come home after months on the Stan o' War II, being in an incredibly passionate and intimate relationship with each other. The open sea gave them the privacy to be a couple without the fear of others finding out. However, once back in Gravity Falls, Stan and Ford come to understanding that they have to keep their relationship on the down low around the family and the kids. They understand what they are doing and don't want to drag others into it by accident, so they tell themselves they will keep their relationship strictly platonic in public.

While settling back home and the kids arriving, Soos (who is still Mr. Mystery as Stan does not want to take away Soos' role as the curator of the Mystery Shack) gets some unsuspecting visitors, demanding to speak to Stanley Pines. Not Stanford Pines, STANLEY PINES!

This obviously raises some alarms in Soos as that kind of information is still relatively new to the town and even newer to the outside world. The kids end up hearing this and run to Ford. They tell him that two very scary men just walked in asking for Stan. Ford, who has been told all about Stan's past while out at sea, believes that these are some of his old enemy's coming to hurt him.

Mabel describes one of them as a tall bulky blonde man with a leather jacket, a handle bar mustache, and dark sunglasses. She describes the other one as shorter, stockier, and speaking with a thick Spanish accent. They both look mean and cold, and obviously tough enough to start and finish a fight. Dipper pipes in saying that they don't look like they like each other too, like they're waiting for the other to say something to start an argument and fight. Ford goes out there to confront the two men. As Ford approaches them, demanding that they state their business with his brother or leave, they're both shook, as Ford looks like Stan but isn't. They have an argument, one that scares all of the other customers out of the store and has Soos leave the gift shop and hover near the kids.

Before long, Stan enters the gift shop in freezes. All eyes lock on him.

Stan is looking at two faces he never thought he'd see again, Jimmy Snakes and Rico. The tension is thick and before Ford can pull out his gun to force the two men out and away from his family, both men start yammering to Stan but more importantly, they start confessing.

You see, what Stan did not tell Ford, or anyone else for that matter, is that Stan dated both Jimmy and Rico at one point of his life. They weren't just past enemy's (or in Jimmy's case, "friends" with benefits), but past lovers as well. (Sue me, Rico being Stan's boyfriend in Colombia would be funny. Also, Stan hiding from Rico's men would be a lot less gory if these men weren't trying to actually kill Stan but to bring him back to Rico as a runaway boyfriend.) Stan is very confused, the kids are very confused, and Ford is very confused and enraged.

Through their confessions, it comes to light that both men heard the news of Stanley Pines basically saving Gravity Falls last summer, both proving that he was alive and that he was still up to his old tricks. They both drove up to Oregon to get back with Stan, but only for their own selfish reasons, which they don't tell Stan. They see that Stan has become a town "hero" and they believe that he has been awarded in some way, specifically monetarily. They believe that if they can get back with him, that money could be theirs. However, upon meeting each other on the way up there and realizing their plans are the same, grew serious animosity toward each other. Killing each other before arriving at Gravity Falls didn't work, so now they have to try and woo Stan in some competition to get his money.

Stan is not stupid, he knows these men, and he knows what they are after (or at least understands that they are after something other than him.) He's telling them to take a hike, and they're trip up here was in vain, that "No, finding out I was alive after 30 years did not make your heart skip a beat. You want something. I'm not stupid." Stan is more than capable handling these men on his own.

Ford is obviously very angry by this and tells them both to get the hell out. They aren't listening to him and Rico fully insults Ford, which is the catalyst for a right hook to the face.

I'm not sure what happens next but I do know that Ford ends up chasing both of them out of the Shack, beating them up quite extensively to give them a real reason to not come back. Probably on the porch threatening their lives if they ever came back and tried to harm Stan or his family ever again. Blah Blah Blah, Stan gets all goo-goo eyed for his boyfriend being so protective of him even if he is a little peeved at being rescued. Blah Blah Blah, Ford needs to release some of the adrenaline from that fight, excuses himself and Stan to the basement for a "talk". Blah Blah Blah, Stan can't walk probably for an hour after being fucked so viciously by Ford.

I honestly don't know where this was going but I love Protective Ford (Stancest or Platonic) and I love him going ham for Stan.

[lesbiansforboromir]

Hey! I am going to talk briefly about the sexual abuse allegations against Fr John Tolkien (as in JRR Tolkien's eldest son). I have no idea how to start this post, nor really how to write it, nor even really that I should?

But I've known this for a long while now and been holding it in the back of my head for all that time and I have never seen it mentioned by anyone, which does seem wrong to some degree. Like we have all these private notes from JRR Tolkien and there's a whole film about his life and Edith's too, and there is this very curated view of the Tolkien family as a whole. But this is relagated to niche wiki entries. Like you have to click on Fr John Tolkien's specific wiki entry to read about this, it is not included in his summary on the main 'tolkien family' page. And, kind of notably, the most prominent accuser died extremely bitter about it's suppression, his daughter says "It tortured him. Until the last 12 months of his life, it was all he spoke about." [source]

John Tolkien, as in JRR Tolkien's eldest son, was accused by at least six individual men (then boys) of sexual abuse when he was a catholic priest. Christopher Carrie was the first and I think only one to do so publically, but after he did so others came forward with their stories. We know about this because of an IICSA investigation that was conducted after the whole catholic priest abuse story broke. You can read about their specific investigation into John Tolkien [here]

None of these allegations were prosecuted due mainly to John Tolkien being nearly at the end of his life by the time he was officially accused, though Christopher Carrie recieved a settlement from the archdioscese for 15000£. However, the only other thing I will add to all this is that according to the Guardian, Carrie, and Carrie's family he actually went to John Tolkien's home to confront him about the abuse before accusing him. And in a recording Carrie took of the conversation, John Tolkien (who had alzheimers) claimed to not remember if he had done it. He did, however, claim to have been abused himself as a child in his home by one of his father's friends, though he doesn't name anyone. [source]

So, that's it! I found this out a few years ago because I wondered why we hear a lot about Edith, Christopher and Michael from the published Tolkien letters, but John is kind of absent. My guess is this is why. My hope is people will agree that this is information that should be known? But I could be wrong about that, and of course legally speaking this was never and can never be proven whatsoever.

[ustulia]

⊹ ࣪ ˖ The Archives ˖ ࣪ ⊹

A curation of creators and creations that I highly recommend. Will be continually updated as I get more time to work on it.

18+ content warning

My Works

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Series that I absolutely adore ♡

Painted Smile, @worldofkuro

Summary: You couldn't wait to meet new friends. What you didn't expect was this smiling little boy, only one year older than you, that would take such a big place in your life.

Taking Care, @valerie-is-in-the-cupboard

Summary: After Alastor comes home injured, you tend to his wounds. Despite his attempts to hide this dark side of him, you eventually learn to accept it.

Zoologist Series, @inuhalfdemon

Summary: Reader has a degree in zoology and is a menus to the residents of the hotel, specifically to Alastor

Caught, @redvexillum

Summary: You wake up in Hell one day with memories holey as swiss cheese. Despite your disadvantaged state, you're determined to challenge Heaven's judgment. But as time ticks on relentlessly, your memories slowly return, and you fight tooth and nail to prevent your faith in redemption from tarnishing.

Until...it does.

If Music Be The Food of Love, @deafsignifcantother

Summary: Reader is a deaf ex-overlord who has shut herself in her home away from society until on of her overlord friends, Alastor, reappears after seven years.

A Misdemeanor of the Heart, @redfoxwritesstuff

Summary: Fading away in an abusive marriage, each day passes just the same as the last. Painful monotony eats at you until a pair of warm brown eyes sparks the idea that you could have something more. When a business deal between men sparks a torrid affair, how long can you keep things going before the fire either leaves you a burnt out shell or burns up everything around you? And what becomes of the radio host who thought he was above the fickle fires of the heart when the match he strikes burns his hand instead? Can he possess what rightfully belongs to another man without leaving everything he has fought for in ashes?

Creators that never disappoint ♡

Writers: @alastor-simp, @fraugwinska, @hazelfoureyes, @klttn, @lurochar, @6esiree, @whatswrongwithblue

Artists: @az-roser, @notherpuppet, @oxavane, @re-unknown, @strawijuice

For more broad recommendations, please use the tags under this post to help navigate through my blog