#they can’t actually be this dense

[faithinlouisfuture]

how dare you look at the sky that is blue and breath the oxygen produced by the trees that are green

lmao I can’t believe these are real people!!! OMG it must be kind of freeing to be this stupid 😭

tHe wOrLd iS bLuE & gReEn f0r a ReAsOn 💀 helppppppp

[kneelingshadowsalome]

I know the König x secret admirer reader is not gonna be officially continued but I was wondering if you could maybe explore part of it😭 there’s a part that mentioned that König gets laid in the military and I was wondering how angsty it would be if reader found out?🤭

Yes of course! ^^ It would be angsty... and fluffy! These two are the silliest people who ever lived tbh 🩷🐥

König is young in this AU (around his early 20s) and wildly inexperienced compared to some of the other recruits his age.

His first time was with a girl who joined the army when König had been there for about 1.5 years already. Desperate as he was with hiding the fact that he’s still a virgin, he tumbled into bed with this lady after a night out at the bar. She thoroughly seduced him, and König’s instincts told him she was only looking for fun, but he went with her anyway because, well. Loneliness can kill you, you know?!

He tried to woo her a bit after that until it became quite clear that this woman was not planning to settle down anytime soon. If anything, she was looking for a new conquest – and it’s fine, totally fine, except that König had surrendered a tiny piece of his heart to her along with his dick... That’s just how he is, and it took him more than a few months to get over the fact that it was “just a shag” and he “shouldn’t take things so seriously”.

That’s also why he closed off from people again, decided to concentrate on work and training and gym – until our cute little angel stumbled into his life like the prettiest saving grace! König was a goner from the start because this girl's approach was very different, so gentle and sweet compared to grimy shot glasses and smudgy lipstick and raunchy jokes. It’s a given that he was a little shocked when she sent her that pic 🙄 reminding him of promiscuous women who are not looking for a soul but a body, but because he is what he is the first thing he did was crank things up a notch and send her a dick pic back…

Yes, he’s desperate, but he’s also an go hard or go home man and this time, König is relatively sure he’s dealing with a lovely, delicate soul. Someone who wouldn’t just leave him out in the cold after getting what she wants.

And everything is like a fairytale between these two until she finds out he’s not a virgin despite he seemed a bit… like one… (in this scenario I think reader is a virgin and she thought König was one too because of obvious reasons? lol) And it’s fine, totally fine for her as well, except that the image of König having the night of his life with some military babe is haunting her from dusk till dawn.

There’s bound to be some drama when she starts asking timidly whether she’s still there… Whether they see each other every day. If they talk to each other, if he trains with her, etc. What if they test rifles together, or go out again with the sniper crew and get drunk and König feels… a little lonely?

She knows he would never cheat on her, not in a million years, but knowing how much of a wet dog he is she can’t promise that she’ll be all calm and relaxed during weekends, knowing her boyfriend is out there, full of testosterone and heart, his heart somewhat susceptible to female influence… Maybe even good old seduction…

And what’s even worse is the jealousy, the envy.

What if she’s more badass than her? That doesn't take much... She must be fierce if she’s in the military, something completely different, a forbidden apple König might want to taste again. It’s maddening, and when she finally opens up about it to him, spitting it out one night when he asks what’s bugging his sweet angel, there’s a big fat silence that follows.

König can't even believe she has torn her heart to pieces over something like this, alone and upset and ashamed when she's a literal angel. He sits her nice and pretty in his lap and talks her ear off about how he has nothing against this woman, truly, but that she is nothing compared to his first (and hopefully last!) girlfriend. Their love could never be compared to what happened between him and that girl, these things can’t even be spoken together in the same sentence. If he’s completely honest, his first time was... disappointing. Awkward, humbling, a total drunken mess of which he remembers nothing except that the woman wasn’t completely present either and that he was ashamed that his first time had to be like this.

Honestly, he felt like he lost his virginity on the night when he came to see her. She’s everything he’s ever dreamed of, all he thinks about these days... It’s quite annoying, actually, because he’s supposed to concentrate on how the wind blows and that the ammo doesn’t get wet and that he’s properly concealed.

He could be lying in a ditch with dummy rounds whirling past him and all he could think about are her eyes and lips and giggling and tits and, and… that. How warm it is, how nice it is, how he would just want to curl himself next to her when he hops back to his bunk in the evening. Her smile is the last thing he sees before he dreams, her voice is what he hears. All the things she said, all those sweet, silly little things, chime in his ear before he sleeps.

And all the precious moments they’ve already spent together, the times he made love to her under the trees... There’s nothing like that in the whole world and if she thinks something else can top that she's even sillier than he thought. He could comb through all the continents and he would never find a girl like her.

So tell him again... Why would he go to a shot glass of saltwater when he has a jar of wild honey right here at home?

[designernishiki]

it’s kinda funny to me how that dumb scene in kiwami 1 of majima getting shot and left for dead in the harbor was basically just added as a half-assed way to explain majima not being around for a bit of the plot, but they accidentally(?) just made it seem like start of a chain reaction where majima ended up feeling slighted and heartbroken after being abandoned like that and then lashed out about it via smashing a big truck into the building kiryu was in. and yeah that isn’t inherently a romantic thing as-is but then they go and add the part where majima grabs a hostess and performatively hits on her as in-kiryu’s-face as possible, she says she’s already in love with someone, and majima lets her go immediately, no questions asked, making a big fucking point of it just to say see THAT kiryu? I appreciate when people are HONEST about their FEELINGS. people who won’t just BACKSTAB someone who CARES about them to save themselves. is that so crazy kiryu?? huh??? anyway make it up to me get down here and fight me right fucking now

[eloise175]

VADTD Novel spoilers - side stories chapter 32

A guide to seduction with the sillies: Penelope the girlfailure of them all who is actually very jealous over her not husband, and Callisto the idiot sandwich who is as dense as ever and got his clothes ripped to shreds because of it

Drunk Penelope is an absolute menace hfhsbsjs ‘Mr. Regulus’ is peak rizz, W Penelope rizz 🦅🦅

Callisto shall learn the true feeling of being manhandled into submission from this moment onward ✨

[tsuchinokoroyale]

Was soooooo happy with this phase 1 which is what made it so much funnier that I was immediately clapped by his phase 2 😂

[jewishbarbies]

bitch you spend your whole day talking to Taylor haters and answering them 😂. Imagine running a whole blog about hating Taylor, you don't have any life imao 🤡. You don't have any partner, I mean who wants to be with your pathetic loser self. So, spend your life forever talking to Tay haters, loser 🤣 as you are a loser and a failure.

it literally takes less than 5 minutes to answer an ask. y’all freaks are so obsessed with amounts of time I figured I’d clear that up. tumblr has this thing now called a mobile app and you can use your phone to answer an ask here or there without interrupting your day. I’m sure this is news to you, but you can use it while living your life and it’s super convenient.

also. why do you people always insist my blog is ONLY about taylor? are you just so far up her ass her shit is all you smell? maybe try, idk, using common sense and reading comprehension so your insults don’t make me laugh.

[elnotwoods]

not these AI obsessed futurists preaching how this is the time for actors and writers to start utilising AI more, how they can use AI to fight big studios and just digitally clone themselves using AI so they could appear in an infinite amount of episodes of a tv show or movies, churn out massive amounts of writing thanks to AI etc. - how this is the time for creatives to hand over the creative reigns to a machine that’s been taught on stolen art, writing and more.

how creativity, that makes us inherently human and separates us from other animal species on earth, should be given up to fight greedy studios and streaming platforms that already don’t give a shit about the people that make them rich

[ghostickle]

“ I need cigarettes” I’m going to strangle you

[tinsnip]

"In recent years, there has been a rush on the internet to supply image descriptions and to call out those who don’t. This may be an example of community accountability at work, but it’s striking to observe that those doing the most fierce calling out or correcting are sighted people. Such efforts are largely self-defeating. I cannot count the times I’ve stopped reading a video transcript because it started with a dense word picture. Even if a description is short and well done, I often wish there were no description at all. Get to the point, already! How ironic that striving after access can actually create a barrier. When I pointed this out during one of my seminars, a participant made us all laugh by doing a parody: “Mary is wearing a green, blue, and red striped shirt; every fourth stripe also has a purple dot the size of a pea in it, and there are forty-seven stripes—”

“You’re killing me,” I said. “I can’t take any more of that!”

Now serious, she said it was clear to her that none of that stuff about Mary’s clothes mattered, at least if her clothes weren’t the point. What mattered most about the image was that Mary was holding her diploma and smiling. “But,” she wondered, “do I say, Mary has a huge smile on her face as she shows her diploma or Mary has an exuberant smile or showing her teeth in a smile and her eyes are crinkled at the edges?”

It’s simple. Mary has a huge smile on her face is the best one. It’s the don’t-second-guess-yourself option."

--Against Access, by John Lee Clark, a DeafBlind educator

[kateschi]

ᯓ★୭˚. RIVALS OR MORE?

જ⁀➴ “what are we?” event masterlist

synopsis: a question lingers between you and bakugou, sharp and biting, much like the competition that keeps pulling you back into each other's orbits.

pairing: timeskip!bakugou katsuki x f!reader

the rivalry between you and bakugou katsuki was the kind of tale that pro-hero rookies whispered about, an unrelenting contest that started years ago at u.a. high.

from the moment the two of you stepped onto campus, it was as though the universe had aligned you as polar opposites.

bakugou’s explosive temper and fiery quirk were impossible to ignore, while your sharp tongue and precise control made it clear you wouldn’t be overshadowed by anyone—especially not him.

it began in your first year, during basic hero training, when aizawa-sensei had paired the two of you for a sparring match.

bakugou’s smug grin was infuriating as he rolled his shoulders and cracked his knuckles.

“don’t cry when i wipe the floor with you,” he sneered, crimson eyes blazing with confidence.

“save the big talk for someone you can actually beat,” you shot back, stepping onto the mat with your head held high.

the match was chaotic. bakugou’s explosions came fast and furious, his relentless offense forcing you to dodge and counter at a breakneck pace.

but you refused to give ground. the air smelled of smoke and scorched fabric by the time aizawa called it a draw, both of you battered and breathless.

bakugou wiped a streak of soot from his face, glaring at you. “next time, I’ll crush you.”

“not if I crush you first,” you retorted, wincing as recovery girl dabbed ointment on a nasty burn.

from that day on, the rivalry became a constant. every training session was a chance to prove who was better.

even the smallest victories turned into battlegrounds.

group projects were a nightmare for anyone unfortunate enough to share the assignment with the two of you; more than one teammate had begged for reassignment just to escape the tension.

things reached a boiling point during the training camp in your second year. paired together for a survival exercise, the friction was immediate.

bakugou stomped through the forest with his usual impatience, barking orders as if he expected you to follow blindly.

“stop lagging behind!” he snapped, glancing over his shoulder to where you were scanning the dense undergrowth.

“I’m not lagging,” you replied coolly, stepping over a fallen log with deliberate ease. “I’m thinking. you should try it sometime.”

“don’t start with me,” he growled.

despite the bickering, the two of you worked with a kind of unspoken rhythm, covering each other’s blind spots without even needing to communicate.

you hated to admit it, but bakugou’s sheer power was impressive, and his instincts in a fight were razor-sharp.

it was during that exercise that the dynamic shifted, if only slightly.

when you stumbled into a hidden trap, a quick snare wrapping around your ankle, bakugou had reacted instantly. his explosions shredded the ropes in a matter of seconds, his glare more intense than usual.

“can’t believe you let yourself get caught like that,” he muttered.

you rolled your eyes, brushing off dirt as you got back to your feet. “thanks for the save.”

“whatever,” he huffed, looking away, but you caught the faintest twitch of a smirk.

those moments were rare, fleeting, but they stuck with you. even as adults, long after u.a. had become a memory, the rivalry burned just as brightly.

every headline that mentioned bakugou’s latest exploits made your blood boil. every time your name appeared in the rankings above his, you could practically hear him grinding his teeth.

it was a constant, infuriating reminder that he was always just there, always pushing you to be better—even when you hated him for it.

for years, you’d managed to keep your distance, tackling different missions. it was better that way. no distractions, no arguments.

but the pro-hero commission had other plans.

their reasoning was infuriatingly logical: two top-ranking heroes with a proven track record of results, a shared history of success despite—or perhaps because of—your rivalry.

and so, without consultation or warning, your paths were forcibly crossed again.

the moment you’d seen bakugou striding into the meeting room, your stomach had twisted in a knot of irritation and reluctant anticipation.

the years apart had done little to dull the intensity of his presence, nor had they cooled the fire of your rivalry.

bakugou walks to the far end of the table and plops down, his arms crossed over his chest, his usual scowl firmly in place.

his crimson eyes flicker with barely restrained irritation, and the rhythmic tap of his boot against the floor echoes in the silence, each strike a silent drumbeat to his rising impatience.

you sit at the opposite end, your posture mirroring his, arms folded tightly across your chest. your jaw locks, muscles taut as you resist the urge to roll your eyes for the umpteenth time.

“why the hell do I have to work with you?” his voice cuts through the silence, sharp and jagged, carrying with it a heat that isn’t entirely metaphorical.

his glare burns into you, daring you to fight back. so you lean forward, meeting his fire with your own.

“you think I’m thrilled about this, bakugou?” you snap. “this mission is too important to let your ego screw it up.”

his foot stills mid-tap, and for a moment, the room feels unnervingly quiet. then, he scoffs, his lips curling into a sneer as he leans forward, his tone dropping to a dangerous growl.

“my ego?” he bites out, the heat in his voice rising. “you’re the one who’s always trying to prove you’re better than me!”

you can’t help the smirk tugging at the corner of your mouth. there’s a certain satisfaction in lighting his fuse.

“that’s because I am better than you,” you shoot back, your tone teetering on smugness.

his jaw clenches, veins visibly straining against his neck as his temper flares. his hands twitch as though he’s moments away from letting loose a barrage of explosions just to make his point.

before he can retort, a sharp clearing of a throat slices through the air like a knife.

the tension snaps, both of you glancing toward the commission’s representative.

“enough,” she says, her voice steely and cutting. her gray eyes are cold as they flicker between you and bakugou, clearly unimpressed by your outbursts.

“you two are professionals. act like it. this mission requires complete cooperation, and I don’t care how much you dislike each other.”

the word cooperation feels like a slap in the face. you straighten in your chair, jaw tightening as you cast a sidelong glance at bakugou.

he glares at the holographic display now—typical.

the display flickers to life, illuminating the room with a sharp blue glow as the mission briefing begins. details of a criminal syndicate tied to a dangerous quirk-enhancing drug fill the room.

you nod along, taking in the information, though you’re acutely aware of bakugou’s every shift, every exhaled breath.

as the meeting draws to a close, the representative’s tone grows pointed.

“this mission is high-stakes. your ability to work together effectively will determine its success—or failure.”

bakugou stands abruptly, the screech of his chair against the polished floor startlingly loud. “fine,” he mutters, his voice low and clipped as he stalks toward the door.

you sigh, rising to follow. “try not to blow everything up before we get the intel, okay?”

he shoots a glare over his shoulder, but there’s something almost amused in the way his lips twitch, like he wants to snap back but can’t quite muster the effort. “just stay out of my way, h/n.”

the door shuts behind him with a heavy click, and you let out a long breath.

the mission hasn’t even started yet, and already you feel the weight of it—not just the stakes but the inevitability of clashing with bakugou.

the city below buzzes with its usual hum of activity: flashing neon signs, the occasional honk of a car, and distant murmurs of a world that never quite sleeps.

the syndicate’s hideout looms in the distance, nestled within a secluded section of the city that seems to thrive on the shadows.

the building is plain, but you know better than to judge based on appearances.

you glance at bakugou, who is already adjusting his gauntlets. the metallic clicking of his gear fills the silence between you, his movements sharp and methodical.

“I’ll take the front. you sneak in through the back,” bakugou says, his voice laced with the kind of confidence only someone like him possesses.

he looks at you, his crimson eyes sharp and unyielding. “stay out of my way.”

you raise an eyebrow at his commanding tone.

there’s something about it—something that always gets under your skin. but you refuse to give him the satisfaction of showing it.

“typical bakugou,” you say with a smirk, shaking your head in exaggerated disbelief. “always going for the flashy entrance. no wonder they call you ‘dynamight.’”

bakugou’s lips twitch into a smirk of his own.

“yeah? and what do they call you? ‘miss perfect’?” his voice drips with the challenge, and you feel the simmering heat of competition between you two.

you raise your chin, your confidence just as unwavering as his.

“‘h/n,’ actually,” you correct, your voice dripping with mock sweetness that masks the genuine pride you feel for the name.

“because I get the job done without leaving a mess behind.”

his lip curls into a scowl, and he mutters something under his breath that you don’t quite catch, but you’re pretty sure it’s some variation of “show-off.”

you chuckle as you move into position. his temper is always so easy to provoke, yet it never fails to amuse you.

crouching low, you disappear into the shadows, the familiar rhythm of working alongside bakugou settling in like a second skin.

despite your constant bickering, you have to admit there’s a certain harmony in how you two work together.

as you make your way to the back entrance of the hideout, you hear the distant thrum of bakugou’s footsteps as he moves toward the front.

you know he'll create a commotion, likely to draw attention and give you the perfect opportunity to slip in unnoticed. it’s his style—loud, chaotic, and effective.

you pause for a moment, assessing the situation. the back door is guarded, as you expect, but not too heavily. you’ll have to move quickly, but this is your element.

the guards are predictable, and you can use that to your advantage. with a quiet breath, you step forward, easily dispatching the first guard with a well-placed kick that sends him tumbling silently into a dark corner.

everything is going according to plan, and for a moment, you feel the familiar rush of adrenaline that comes with the territory. you aren’t just good at this—you’re damn good at it.

but as you near the main floor, the sound of shouting catches your attention, followed by the unmistakable crackle of bakugou’s explosions.

your heart skips a beat. it’s too early for things to go sideways—he isn’t supposed to be discovered yet. but, knowing bakugou, you don’t doubt he’s already drawn half of the syndicate’s attention.

the man never does know how to be discreet.

you curse under your breath but push forward, pressing yourself against the cold concrete wall as you move deeper into the compound.

every instinct you have screams at you to hurry, but you can’t afford to be sloppy—not now.

as you round a corner, a sharp crack of sound pierces the air—one you immediately recognize as a gunshot.

before you can react, something slams into your side, sending you sprawling across the floor. pain shoots through your ribs, and the world spins in a blur as you fight to stay conscious.

you stagger to your feet, heart racing.

your vision is blurry from the shock of the blow, but you manage to focus. the guards have noticed you—no surprise there—but now you’re outnumbered.

as you prepare to defend yourself, the familiar sound of bakugou’s explosions rings out, closer than before. your mind screams at you to hold on, but the pain is beginning to cloud your thoughts.

the world seems to slow as you brace yourself against the oncoming guards.

blood pounds in your ears, your vision narrows, and every muscle in your body screams for you to move—but you’re frozen.

you can feel the gunshot wound throbbing, hot and raw, in your side. your breaths come in sharp, jagged gasps as you prepare for the worst.

and then, everything explodes.

it’s as if the entire world has been set on fire.

a massive blast of force erupts from the far side of the room, so powerful it shakes the walls and sends debris scattering.

you instinctively throw yourself to the ground to shield yourself from the shockwave, your hands scraping against the cold floor.

when the smoke and dust begin to settle, a familiar voice cuts through the haze.

“hey! move, dammit!”

bakugou appears in the doorway, his silhouette framed by the fiery remnants of his explosion. his eyes lock onto you with a terrifying intensity.

you barely have time to process the sight of him before he charges toward you, his powerful form cutting through the remaining guards with ease.

with one swift motion, he sends a group of them flying, his explosions igniting the air with a deafening roar.

the remaining guards scatter, too intimidated by bakugou’s wrath to continue their assault.

“y/n, get up!” he barks, his voice sharp as a whip.

his eyes are on you now, and the anger in them isn’t the same as usual—it’s raw, a mix of frustration, fear, and something else you can’t quite place.

you push yourself to your feet, stumbling slightly, the pain in your side making every movement feel like you’re dragging a weight behind you.

“don’t you ever do something so goddamn stupid again!” bakugou growls, his voice low and thick with rage.

he isn’t even looking at the enemies anymore, but at you—his gaze pinning you in place.

you straighten, ignoring the blood staining your shirt, and shoot him a glare.

“what were you thinking, bakugou?” you snap, your voice rough but defiant. “you think charging in here like that’s any better?”

bakugou’s jaw tightens, and his eyes narrow. the tension between you is palpable. but then, with a sound that almost resembles a growl, bakugou snaps.

“don’t try to turn this on me!” he barks. “you could’ve been killed! you think I’m gonna just let you die in some goddamn back alley like this?”

his voice breaks, cracking just slightly as he glares down at you, his fists clenched at his sides. “what were you thinking?! do you want to die or something?!”

for a moment, you’re struck silent. the anger in his voice is so raw, so unfiltered, that it takes the wind out of you.

but the hurt behind it makes your chest tighten. you have never heard bakugou sound like that before. never seen him this...desperate.

“why do you even care, bakugou?” you ask, your voice softer than intended. you hadn’t meant for it to sound that way, but it’s too late to take it back.

bakugou freezes, his eyes widening for a fraction of a second before he scowls, looking away as if he hasn’t just heard you.

the silence that stretches between you is suffocating, and you can’t help but feel exposed.

you aren’t sure what possessed you to ask such a question, but the way bakugou is standing there, his posture tight and his fists still trembling, makes you feel the need to.

“I just—do, okay?” bakugou finally mutters, his voice gruff and not nearly as confident as he usually sounds. “now quit acting like you don’t need help for once, and let’s get the hell out of here.”

you stare at him, disbelief gnawing at you. he’s...worried. maybe even scared.

for a moment, the world outside of you falls away, leaving just you and bakugou standing there in the wreckage.

but you don’t want to let him see how much his words affect you.

not now, not while you’re still trying to make sense of everything.

“don’t get all sentimental on me now, bakugou,” you mutter, a weak smile tugging at the corner of your lips as you try to brush off the intensity of the moment. “I’m fine. just need a second.”

but bakugou doesn’t seem convinced. he steps forward, his hand—hesitant but undeniably gentle—hovering near your side as though waiting for your permission to help.

you catch his eyes for a moment, and for the first time in a long while, you see something other than his usual cocky arrogance. something softer.

“don’t push yourself, alright?” he mutters, his voice quieter now, almost awkward. “I don’t want to drag your ass out of here next time.”

you swallow the lump in your throat and nod, trying to ignore the warmth spreading in your chest at his words.

for a few moments, everything seems suspended in time.

the world outside is still, the only sound the occasional rush of wind.

you can feel the intensity of his gaze lingering on you, his presence more solid than ever before.

it’s a strange feeling—this unspoken connection, the weight of his concern settling between you like an unvoiced understanding.

despite his usual tough exterior, there’s no mistaking the softness in his actions, the care that has been there all along, hidden beneath layers of pride and deflection.

and for the first time, you can’t ignore it.

the moment passes, though, and as quickly as it comes, you both fall into your familiar roles, quickly finishing up the mission.

the two of you barely speak on the way back, the silence stretching between you as you navigate the now-empty streets.

every once in a while, bakugou glances your way, but he never says anything.

as you both enter the safehouse, the cold interior air does little to ease the pounding headache building in your skull.

bakugou drops his gear by the door, his shoulders stiff with tension. he moves like he’s still on edge, as if the mission hasn’t quite ended for him.

you take a seat on the couch, trying to ignore the throb in your side as you start to peel off your tactical vest.

“you should get that looked at,” bakugou says, his voice still rough with exhaustion. “you’re lucky I didn’t leave your ass behind.”

you shoot him a pointed glare but don’t respond.

instead, you take a breath, looking down at the hand gripping the fabric of your vest before finally speaking, your voice quieter than usual.

“bakugou,” you start, the question from earlier swirling back in your mind. “why do you care so much?”

his back stiffens, and you can feel the tension in the room crackle like static. he turns to look at you, his expression unreadable for a moment.

then, his eyes soften—just barely—but enough to make your heart race in your chest.

“you think i’m gonna let some idiot hero get themselves killed?” his voice is harsher than it needs to be. “I don’t need to explain myself to you.”

but the words feel like a cover-up.

you see it in the way his hands ball into fists, the slight tremor in his jaw, like he’s trying to push something down.

you tilt your head, an eyebrow raising. “no, seriously. you’ve been acting like a goddamn wrecking ball this whole time, but that’s not really your style, is it?”

bakugou glares at you. “shut up, will you? I did what needed to be done. not everything’s about you.”

but you’re not ready to drop it. there’s a knot in your chest that won’t loosen, and you can feel the words slipping out of your mouth before you can stop them.

“don’t lie, bakugou. you’re acting weird. you’ve never cared this much before. what’s going on?”

there’s a long silence. you watch as bakugou’s eyes flick to the side, his lips pressed. finally, he lets out a breath, long and slow, and walks over to the window.

“I don’t have time for this, alright?” his voice is low. “I just—”

he pauses, like the words are stuck in his throat.

the long, drawn-out silence stretches between you like an unspoken confession. it’s raw, and despite every instinct telling you to back off, you don’t move.

“I just... I just don’t want to lose you, alright?” his voice cracks just slightly as he finally turns to face you, eyes burning with a mix of anger and hesitance.

“you make me—damn it, you make me lose my focus. every damn time, you just keep going and doing stupid shit, and it pisses me off. but I can’t—”

he shakes his head, his fists clenching again as his cheeks flush.

you blink, your heart skipping a beat at the words, unsure if you’ve heard him right. “what are you talking about?”

bakugou’s frustration is palpable, but it’s different now, tangled with something softer. he exhales sharply, as if the very act of saying it is painful.

“I don’t want you to die,” he says, eyes still locked on yours. “I don’t want to keep pulling your ass out of dangerous situations,

but every time, it just...it matters more than it should. and I don’t know why. I just—” and his voice drops into a groan.

your mind races, but all you can do is stare at him, trying to process everything he’s just said. is he...admitting something?

is he actually confessing to you?

you try to respond, your voice shaky but determined. “bakugou, I—”

before you can finish, he huffs, stepping back slightly.

“forget it. this isn’t—this wasn’t supposed to happen,” he mutters, visibly trying to shake off the moment. “I didn’t mean to...whatever. you should get some rest.”

“no,” you snap, your heart pounding as you take a step forward.

you’re not about to let him hide from this, not this time. “no, you’re not just going to walk away from this. not like this.”

his scowl deepens, but there’s something in his eyes he can’t quite mask. he crosses his arms, clearly uncomfortable, but his voice is still tight with frustration.

“what the hell do you want me to say, huh? it’s not like I can just...do this shit the ‘right’ way.”

you move even closer, your gaze unwavering, and something inside you surges, something you can’t hold back anymore.

“I don’t need you to do it the ‘right’ way, bakugou,” you say, your voice steady but intense. “I just need you to stop pretending this doesn’t matter.”

his lips part, like he’s about to snap back at you, but he falters, his eyes flickering with uncertainty.

“I don’t know how to...how to deal with this, alright? I don’t—” he clenches his fists at his sides, frustration evident on his face.

“you’re not the only one who feels this way, you know,” you cut in, your words sharper now, tinged with your own frustration and longing.

“you’re not the only one who’s...frustrated.” you swallow, your heart pounding in your chest, the words tumbling out in a rush.

“I care about you, too, bakugou. and I’m not going to sit here pretending like what happened didn’t matter.”

he freezes.

his eyes widen, and you see something—his lighting up just a bit.

“you—” he stops himself, jaw tightening. but his voice is unsteady when he speaks again. “you care? what—”

you nod, your heart in your throat, but now you’re certain. “yeah. I do. a hell of a lot more than I want to admit.”

he shifts on his feet, confusion warring with reluctant relief. “so what the hell do you want from me, huh?” he grumbles, his frustration still biting, but it’s calmer.

you take another step forward, closing the distance between you. “I want you to stop running away from this, bakugou. stop pretending it’s something you can ignore.”

his lips press together in a hard line, but for a brief moment, you think he might dismiss it again.

but then, after a long, measured breath, he looks up at you, and this time, there’s a small smile on his face.

“fine,” he mutters, gaze dropping to the floor, chuckling as he runs a hand through his hair. “I guess...I want to be with you too, alright?”

your heart skips a beat at the bluntness of it.

it catches you off guard, but you can’t help the smile spreading across your lips. “so, what, you’re saying you’re into me now, huh?”

bakugou flushes, the scowl returning to his face quickly and the blood rushing to his face as he quickly turns away, clearly embarrassed.

“shut up! don’t make me say it again.”

you laugh softly. “guess I’ll take that as a yes, then.”

bakugou sighs heavily, but then his eyes flick to you for a second. you stare back at him, an eyebrow raised in confusion.

he grabs your wrist and pulls you into his chest. your eyes widen as you collide against him, and you snap your head up, ready to yell at him.

but you halt as he cocks his head to the side and replies with a smirk, “damn right.”

— you've got a new message!

kofi — navigation — masterlist

do not copy, translate, or plagarize

[moonstruckme]

would you write a part two to whimsy!reader totally knowing remus’ secret? i feel like r would be so sweet and casual about it that remus would cry

Thanks for requesting!

cw: post-moon werewolf Remus, mention of blood and wounds (no description)

poly!marauders x whimsical!reader ♡ 1.4k words

The boys usually send you away this time of month. They try to be subtle about it, encouraging you to go visit your family or sleep over at a friend’s house, but you’re not one to let the full moon pass you by without notice. It didn’t take long for the pattern to reveal itself. 

Still, you don’t argue when James gifts you tickets for you and a friend to see a band you like out of town. You know they’re all most comfortable doing things the way they always have, and you worry that letting slip what you know would do more harm than good; Remus would be anxious and upset, and the other boys would only be doing more damage control than they’re used to with you around. So, you let the full moon pass you by without complaint. 

The next day, however, when you know James and Sirius will have gone to work and left Remus to rest and heal, you sneak into your apartment. 

The fact of Remus’ ailing is immediately obvious; the boys’ things are strewn all over the place, evidence of James’ and Sirius’ running about without Remus to pick up after them. There’s a pot of half-eaten stew that’s been left to cool and congeal on the stove, an abandoned roll of bandages on the coffee table, and the entire apartment smells like disinfectant and heartache. 

When you find Remus in the bedroom, your heart aches, too. He’s sleeping, but even in rest his face is pinched with discomfort, and there are several bandages visible above where the bedsheets rest halfway up his torso. It’s about what you expected, but it still makes your eyes burn. 

You try to let him sleep as long as possible, working with the environment first. You open a few windows to get out the smell and let in the new day, clean the common spaces, start your lavender incense burning in the bedroom. You’re brewing tea when Remus pads into the kitchen, a blanket wrapped around his shoulders. 

“Oh.” He startles to see you. “You’re back.” 

You’re startled, too. “Hi, I’m sorry,” you say, hurrying over to the windows to shut them. “Did I wake you? Is it too cold in here?” 

“No.” Remus looks wary, watching you flit about the living room like he’s not sure he’s actually woken up. “It’s nice. When did you get home?” 

“Just this morning. I didn’t see the sense in staying another night, and anyway I wanted to be with you.” You make your way back around the room to him, taking his jaw gently in your hand. His skin is warm to the touch. “How are you feeling, lovely?” 

You feel more than see Remus’ face tighten. “I’m alright. How are you?” 

You let him go, giving him a small smile. “Better now that I’m back with you, thanks for asking.” You go back to the stove to stir your pot. “If you’re warm, you don’t need to keep that blanket on for me. I’ve already seen the bandages.” 

You hear his quiet intake of breath, and then a few moments later the sound of the blanket dropping to the floor. 

“Are you in the mood for some tea?” you ask without turning around. “If you want to get back in bed, I could bring it to you there. I don’t imagine standing is very kind to your legs right now.” 

You’ve been reading up on wolf versus human anatomy. If Remus’ transformations work the way you think they do, the bones in his heels and legs would have to either break or otherwise shorten and elongate to create the legs a wolf needs; you can’t imagine it’s a painless process, or that he’s not still feeling the effects of it now, so soon after the moon.

For a dense handful of moments, Remus lingers on the edge of the kitchen. But soon you hear his footsteps, heavier than usual in a way that makes your stomach hurt, go back towards the bedroom. You finish making his tea and bring it to him with a few pieces of his chocolate. 

He’s sitting up at the edge of the bed, propped up on pillows and watching the smoke curl up from your incense with a haunted look in his eyes. 

“Hi,” you say softly. He accepts the tea and chocolate with a quiet thanks. “Do you think it might help things if I opened the curtains? Some sunlight might be good for you.” 

Remus hums his assent. Everything becomes crisper once you let the light in. Remus’ dark circles and the blood visible through his bandages, but also the healthy flush to his cheeks and the strength of his body beneath the dressings. 

“What is this?” Remus asks you, sipping his tea. 

“Bay leaves. It’s for pain relief. It helps more if you put it directly on the wounds, but I didn’t think you’d want to mess with your dressings any more.” 

He nods. Sighs. “Come here, dove. Come sit.” 

You’re eager to comply. You round the bed to avoid crawling over him, settling against the pillows beside your boyfriend with your shoulder touching his. A support, if he needs it. 

“What’s the incense for?” he asks. 

“It’s lavender. It’s also good for pain, but I thought it might help you sleep as well.” 

Remus nods again. He turns to you, his eyes some mixture of distressed and resigned. “Why are you doing all of this?” he asks. “Why did you come home?” 

“Remus,” you say gently, “we don’t have to talk about anything you don’t want to.” 

His brows hook in the middle, a small crumbling. “But you know already.” 

You cradle his face in your hand. Your voice is soft. “Yeah.” 

You pull Remus towards your chest when he starts weeping. He dampens your shirt while you comb your fingers through the hair at his nape, saying nothing. Steam wafts up from his tea until it doesn’t, but that’s okay; you’ll make him another cup when he’s ready. 

James and Sirius are surprised to find you when they come home. 

“Angel—” 

“Shh.” You cover one of Remus’ ears with your hand, his head in your lap. “He’s hardly slept all day.” 

James lowers his voice, setting his bag down on the floor. “When did you get here?” 

“This morning.” 

“But you were supposed to be away until tomorrow afternoon.” Sirius climbs up onto the bed. His expression goes tender as he looks down upon Remus’ sleeping face, and the kiss he presses to your lips is gentle.

You card your hand through Remus’ hair. “I didn’t want to be away from him,” you admit softly. “I understand why you want to do things without me on the night it happens, but I’d like to help before and afterwards at least.” 

Sirius’ brow pinches, his eyes narrowing cautiously. 

“When what happens?” James asks you. 

You speak softly, not wanting the words to potentially agitate Remus in his sleep. “The transformation.” 

There’s a thick pause. 

“Who told you?” Sirius asks. 

“No one had to tell me.” 

There’s a quiet chuckle from the end of the bed. James kicks his shoes off, crawling up the covers to meet you. “I told you she knew.” He gives you a kiss, soft and syrupy sweet. “Thanks for looking after him for us, sweetheart.” 

Remus grunts, coming awake. “James,” he groans. “Your knee is on my leg.” 

“Oh. Sorry, love.” James moves, then bends down to give Remus a kiss of his own. “Did our angel take good care of you today?” 

“Better than this.” 

“That’s the moon talking,” Sirius says flippantly, though the hand he uses to rub Remus’ shoulder is exceedingly gentle. “That’s something you’ll learn as we go along, gorgeous. He loves us, really.” 

You feel your brows pinch. “I thought he was as nice as always today.” 

“Wonder why,” Remus mutters, but the look he gives Sirius is teasing. 

James gives Remus another kiss, standing. “I’ll get you some of your soup.” 

“Oh, I…” You give him a sheepish look. “I washed that down the sink. It got left out, the meat was bad. There’s tea on the stove that should help him heal faster, though, if you want to get some of that.” 

James and Sirius stare at you. 

“Seems like we should’ve brought you in on this a lot sooner,” Sirius says after a moment. 

You shrug. Remus mumbles something that sounds like agreement.

[melon-fodder]

-> KINKTOBER MASTERLIST <-

♡ WARNINGS: NON-CON! mind control, forced orgasms, semi-public sex, multiple orgasms, creampies, aphrodisiac quirk

♡ WORD COUNT: 1.6k

♡ NOTE: y’all, for real, this is straight up non-con. There is nothing “dubious” about this. It’s dark and dirty.

As soon as the cloud of pink hits him, Shinsou knows that something is wrong. It tickles his nose, coats his throat, makes his mouth taste like too-sweet candy. He coughs, but it only makes the pressure in his head grow. Vision blurring, blood burning, Shinsou can only watch as the small-time villain turns and runs away. The condescending laugh that rings out behind her is almost as dense as the pollen settling over his uniform.

Dropping to his knees, Shinsou clutches his stomach, groans as arousal threatens to boil his insides. Fucking aphrodisiac quirks. He’s been warned about them, but he’s never experienced one.

Within seconds, he’s rock hard, leaking into his pants, pre dripping out of his dick with every god damn beat of his heart. He has to cum. Immediately.

There’s an alleyway a few yards away, dark and secluded and out of plain view. He can make it that far. He can–

“Hey, are you okay?”

The voice of a goddess–a siren singing the most seductive song. Shinsou looks up to find the source to be you, a civilian, frowning down at him in concern. His senses were already heightened from adrenaline, but something about the quirk is overloading them. He can see every color in your worried eyes, hear every one of your breaths, smell your perfume and shampoo, sweat and…

“Can you hear me?”

Shinsou nods, tells you in a strained voice, “I’ll be… fine,” then without making the conscious decision, activates his own quirk. Your pretty face goes slack, gaze blank, and just like that, Shinsou has himself a little puppet.

“Fuck,” he mutters. He really hadn’t meant to do it. But he’s not thinking straight. He can’t think straight. Not when the fabric of his hero suit feels like it’s rubbing his dick raw. “Help me to the alley,” he commands, and you obey without a word.

That’s all. He’s just going to get to a hidden place, release his quirk, apologize and thank you for your assistance. It’s the dead of night, anyway. You should be getting home and out of harm’s way. You definitely shouldn’t be in this dirty fucking alley, least of all with Shinsou while he’s in this state.

Because even as his back hits the wall, all he can do is stare at you. Stare at you and pant, lick his lips while imagining what yours would feel like around his cock.

It’s disgusting. You’re a stranger. A civilian. Absolutely helpless. And Shinsou is a pro-hero with so much fucking power over you. He could make you do anything–could make you kneel, lick his boots, walk right into traffic, strip off every single piece of clothing.

“Stay still,” he tells you, and you do.

You know you’re in danger. Fear tickles the edge of your mind, but it dissipates before fully forming into anything useful. It’s like a whispered voice telling you to run, but even if you wanted to, you wouldn’t be able. You can’t do anything unless he tells you to.

You’ve seen him before, the hero patrolling the streets in the middle of the night. He wears all black except for the scarf haphazardly looped around his neck. Purple hair hangs down around his face in thick tresses, unkempt and rugged. If you were actually cognizant, you would think he was hot, but currently all you feel when you look at him is a strange, contradictory mixture of calm and unease.

You’re still, just as he told you to be, but not stiff. Your body moves according to his touch, shoulders shrugging when he pushes your coat off. You feel the cool air against your skin, should shiver but can’t as if something has shut off your higher-level thinking as well as your base instincts. All you can do is breathe and feel.

“Against the wall,” he says.

Your feet are heavy as you take the few steps toward the bricks, facing them with your back to him. He doesn’t tell you to turn around, so you can’t see him when he undoes his utility pants, just hear the rustle of fabric and the low groan that leaves his throat.

“M’sorry about this,” he huffs, “I really am. I’ll try not to hurt you.”

Your heart is pounding too fast in your chest, but you’re only vaguely aware of it, just like you’re only vaguely aware of what’s about to happen to you.

“Pull your pants down.”

You do, hands moving without your permission as you pop the button on your jeans and push them down to your thighs.

“Panties, too.”

It’s cold, and you’re very exposed, but your head feels so empty. Or maybe it’s too full. Stuffed with tangled string or rough wool while something that resembles actual human intellect tries to wiggle out of the depths.

You don’t know. You don’t know anything except there are fingers probing your entrance–clumsy and desperate, and the man behind you swears when he realizes you aren’t prepared in any sense of the word.

“Can’t just shove in dry,” Shinsou mumbles, taking a shaky breath before stealing yours when he orders, “cum.”

Your eyes don’t roll. You don’t moan or cry or buckle at the knees. But you do feel the heat form and explode in your gut all at the same time, feel your pussy spasm and clench and coat your insides with slick arousal just in time for the hero to stuff your hole with his cock.

“Oh, fuck, fuck.”

His forehead is clammy against your shoulder, fingers gripping your hips as he impales you over and over. It’s fast, and rough as your body stretches around his unfamiliar length. He’s huge and hot inside of you, fat mushroom head dragging against gummy walls.

Shinsou loses it as he buries himself inside of you, hips snapping back and forth with no real rhythm. He just wants to cum, needs to, and he’s already so close. You feel so fucking good around him, pussy fluttering helplessly as he shoves you harder and harder against the grimy building.

He doesn’t bother pulling out, just groans deep in his throat when he shoots his load inside of you. It feels good, relief flooding his system for about three seconds before his cock starts twitching with need again.

“God dammit. God dammit.”

He thrusts in harder, panting an apology when he fists a hand in your hair and shoves your face into the wall. It’s absentminded and disingenuous. Truly, Shinsou doesn’t care about anything now, only focused on getting rid of the pressure in his balls. He wanted to be nice and gentle, but he feels like he might be going crazy.

The scent of your arousal hits his nose, and Shinsou lowers his face to your shoulder, licks up your neck and leaves a trail of spit on your skin. His eyes are rolling in his head, sweat is dripping down his back, and something is leaking out of his cock– a steady stream of semen dribbling out of his tip to keep from fucking aspirating it.

“Cum,” he commands, not thinking when he says it again and again.

You convulse in his grip, cunt clamping down on him as you’re hit with multiple orgasms back to back. He should feel bad, but he can’t–not when you’re milking his cock, not when he’s filling your pussy with more of his spend, so much that it starts flowing down your thighs.

“Fuck, sorry–feel so good, though.”

Shinsou keeps moving, keeps fucking you even as you go limp against him. His teeth find purchase on your throat, and he whines like a dog as he drools all over you while rutting into your abused pussy. One hand grips your hip while his other arm is across your body, securing you against him as he squeezes one of your tits.

He still isn’t done. Even after he fucks a third… a fourth… a fifth load of cum into you, it isn’t over. Shinsou doesn’t think he’ll ever come back from this. Maybe this is who he is now–a villain, taking girls off the street and assaulting them in alleyways.

Because that’s exactly what he’s doing. You didn’t give him permission to do this. You didn’t willingly let him put his hands on you. No, there’s a word for what he’s doing right now, one he never thought would apply to him, but he’s too lost right now for it to sink in. He may have taken away your ability to think, but Shinsou is definitely the one who’s lost his mind.

“Cum again,” he growls,” and when you don’t he realizes you’re unconscious.

A rough hand grips your chin, jostles your head until you wake up. There is a split second of clarity, seeing the dark brick in front of you, feeling the cold air against you, the way your sore body is being stretched and handled.

“Wha–oh my go–”

“Ah, ah… shh…”

Just like that, he’s in control again, and you’re a little doll for him to play with as he pleases. You feel achy and full and messy. Viscous fluid leaks out of you, slithering down your legs and staining your pants.

You don’t know how long this will last, don’t know how many times he’ll empty himself inside of you, how many more times he’ll force you to cum. You just hope that once it’s all over, he’ll give you one last command:

Forget.

[portgasdwrld]

★ Hickeys

ೃ⁀➷do they suck (lol) at hickeys, giver or receiver?, how? all answered down below by your beloved Tomie✨

ೃ⁀➷Psss this is a head-canon, take it lightly~

ೃ⁀➷ Suggestive, implied f!reader, NSFW language

ೃ⁀➷ monster trio + Law+ Ace

: ̗̀➛ Luffy

He’s the type to receive them more than to give

When he realizes he has hickeys, he’s just gonna wonder how it’s even possible and if smth hit his neck during a fight💀

Probably gonna bug Chopper about it, until he brushes him off mentioning it’s nothing

Then when you’re making out and you linger on his neck, it clicks into his mind. He yells a « ooohh, It was you! » after realizing that, it surprises you and you almost bit his skin-

He’s down to try it when you explain that you want them on you too

« You want me to suck your skin a little until it bruises? A bit like when you bruise after a fight? »

« Ugh… not the same but you got the spirit? »

He’s dense, but he tried and he didn’t do as bad as you thought

: ̗̀➛ Law

LMAO?? Wouldn’t he be the type to lowkey hit you with a scientific facts that hickeys can kill you if done wrong🤓😭

Ik he would. Im so sorry😮‍💨

On another note, tbh I feel like he’s just sooo into it, when his mind is fogged by lust. He will be making out with you and damn, he’s now leaving wet kisses all over your neck. That itself, just awaken some type of possessive strike and you’re left with hickeys a bit everywhere.

Will quietly eye them when y’all are cuddling after sex. He won’t comment on it beside if you point them out.

“They look great.”

It would be the most reaction you will get out of him. He’s so hot though- intrusive thoughts but they are real 😔

He doesn’t mind at all if you leave some on him fr. Like if it’s done within the right vibe and y’all are just kicking it and you’re riding him or y’all in lotus position, he might even groan and moan a little louder and curse under his breath.

: ̗̀➛ Sanji

Oh his mouth is ALLL OVERR your body. He’s kissing, praising, leaving hickeys all over your body. On you chest, between your thighs, on you collarbone.

He’s almost in a trance while he loves your body and mark it. He’s gotta to enjoy his pretty lover and you bet he’s gonna make it known that you are his and he’s the lucky man who has you!!

He’s so sweet about it, with sweet compliments, but it’s a bit messy too. Wet patches, mumbles from his muffled lips.

He’s SOOOOO down if you wanna do it on him. He gets very excited and can’t stop smiling and touching your body.

“Yes of course I’m down! Wanna try it rn? We got time yk..”

Best boy 🤧

ೃ⁀➷ Zoro

His neck always has some hickeys from you. He thought he hated it, but he quickly got over it and finds it hot now.

He doesn’t care too much if someone stare at them, but he will throw a curse out with a deadpan expression, if someone made a snarky comment.

He also has this possessive strike, so you bet you’re gonna have some type of bruises-hickeys on your body after y’all are done. Because he doesn’t go easy on you, he will be thrusting deep into you, while silencing you with his fingers deep in your mouth. Along with that, his mouth is nibbling on you neck and all your sensitive spots.

It’s an overstimulating mess.

He smirks satisfied when he sees you marked up, moaning his name and completely lost into his touch.

ೃ⁀➷ Ace

Oh, this man here has the biggest possessive strike out of all the men here.

I touched on the subject a little on my NSFW head canon, but he definitely love giving them. He whines when you do, because he’s apparently allergic to shirts and get slightly annoyed when each of his friends on the ship makes some jokes.

He loves that everyone knows you’re his. Because he gets to have one person for him, that actually feels love toward him and someone he can trust??! That’s the life prize!

Every time he fucks you, he makes sure that hickeys are created everywhere on your body.

He will shower you with attention and cocky comments as he sucks on to your skin.

It’s his specialty😮‍💨

[hazelistired]

someone on twitter said “some lesbian was in that studio when they came up with this character design”

YEAH AND THEY SHOULD HAVE STAYED DURING THE FUCKING CASTING

Update:

Since a lot of y’all are extremely stupid and dense, this is not about sexualizing anyone especially a goddam 14 year old, most of the whole casting thing is shit to the point where they can’t even cast a single muscular woman that is literally in the story to be huge, tlou is a game that’s known to enhance women and their physical appearance without caring about the male gaze ( which didn’t happen in the series ), plus I’m not complaining about bella looking young for the role since ellie is 14 in part one, however I find it weird that most of the cast for season 2 looks like an old disney show cast, it’s the entire acting industry sexualizing young looking actors/actresses with sexual scenes not me!

it’s not that hard to find people who are talented, looks like the character and doesn’t look like a 14 year old ( literally look at what the fans chose ), another thing, I’m not hating on bella I think their acting is great and I loved it, at some scenes it was even better than the game and it was great for season one, I just hoped someone else would get the role for season 2, thats my fucking personal opinion and I’m allowed to say it and u r allowed to fuck off of my blog if u don’t like it.

I actually didn’t think people would make such a big deal out of it since it’s literally a tumblr post lol.

AGAIN I’m not sexualizing anyone, why the fuck would I do that anyway, y’all are just repeating what the crowd say at this point.

[inkykeiji]

⋆₊˚⊹♡ alastor + allowing you to ride him

character: alastor warnings: 18+ minors do not interact, pet/master dynamic (use of the term Master), toxic relationship, edging, pet names, fem!reader words: 665

Alastor doesn’t normally enjoy being ridden; Alastor doesn’t normally allow you to ride him. It relinquishes too much control, grants you too much power, and leaves him feeling bored and restless.

Most of the time. 

But sometimes, he gives in. Sometimes, he lets you use him like a toy.

And sometimes, when he’s feeling especially cruel, when he’s feeling like he wants to put in the effort and play, he’ll force you to edge yourself on him, eyes never leaving the pages of his novel as he nonchalantly instruct you to speed up, slow down, swivel, bounce, stop, hold, hold, hold—cockhead digging into that swollen patch of flesh buried deep within you, his hips shifting in micro-circles as he grinds into sensitive flesh, pained little sounds climbing higher and higher, tinged with pleasure, and don’t you dare fucking cum, darling—now begin again. 

So you do, and he drones on, commands drawling from his lips without casting you a single glance, eyes skimming over the words in front of his face, sometimes hovering, sometimes retracing their past trails, but never leaving the page. 

It’s almost offensive, how bored his tone is, how much he acts as if this doesn’t matter to him, as if he doesn’t care, as if it’s all for you, despite the way his cock twitches and his breath hitches, the very edges of his words gone wispy whenever your orgasm is on the cusp of cresting. 

He knows your body so well that he doesn’t even need to see you—doesn’t need to read the expressions on your face, features twisted tight with hedonism, doesn’t need to witness the harsh trembles rippling through your flesh—to know when you’re teetering on the edge of full-blown pleasure. 

No, he can feel it, feel it in the way your cunt begins to pulse with irregular flutters around his shaft; he can hear it, hear it in the cracked gasps he keeps forcing from your chest, fragments catching on thick moans; he can smell it, smell it in the dense, heady arousal copiously coating his thighs, slick and shimmering. 

“Please, Master,” you’re finally sobbing, when every muscle in your body has gone achy and heavy with continuously coiled tension, never allowed to loosen, release, snap, constantly rewound with a few simple orders. “Please, please, let me cum. It—It hurts!” 

It’s supposed to hurt, you silly little girl. It’s not fun if it doesn’t. 

“Now, now,” he’s saying conversationally, the slight breathlessness to his tone the only indication he’s being affected at all. “You wanted this, remember, sweetheart? You asked for it. Begged, actually, if I recall correctly.” 

You did, you did, but you’ve been at this for over an hour now, your body lacquered with sweat, quivering as tiny tremors of overstimulation bolt through your veins with each brush of your clit, each rub of his head, leaving your flesh feeling hypersensitive, overexposed. 

“I just—I thought—I wanted to—” hiccups stutter your words, nose twitching with a harsh sniffle.

A coo drips from his lips, spoiled syrup, sick and sadistic. Poor, pathetic baby. 

It stings, his disregard corrosive, gnawing away at your cheeks. A fresh torrent of tears floods your eyes, casting a thick watery shield that bulges along your lash line, wavering on the verge of overflowing, a single slow blink sending them cascading down your face in glittering streams. 

“Really, you should’ve known better,” he’s saying as you collapse against his chest, weeping into the curve of his neck. “What else did you possibly expect?” 

You don’t know, you aren’t sure, you can’t remember, brain gone melty and stupid beneath the constant enticement of pleasure, held just out of your grasp. Something tangles on your tongue, garbled and wet as it seeps into his flesh, fingers curling in starched cotton as you attempt to pull him closer. 

“Oh, dear,” he sighs gleefully, a palm petting your head. “If you want to ride me, you have to pay the price.”

[covid-safer-hotties]

To My Unmasked Friend in the Fifth Year of COVID - By: Anna Holmes - Published Aug 17, 2024

I’m going to be honest with you, because I love you, and you deserve nothing but honesty. I’m going to try really hard not to be angry while I do it, but it’s probably going to slip out every now and again. But I need you to hear me out, all right?

By now, we’ve talked about my reality. My personal struggle with long COVID, the isolation I live in, why I am so angry all the time.

But let’s talk about you. You just went to a big convention overseas. You got on a plane, got a little gussied up, talked shop with some insiders, geeked out over awards and merch, ate, drank, were merry, left with your social cup and your heart full.

You’re a good person. We wouldn’t be friends otherwise! You’d never dream of tripping a person with a red and white cane, using the r-word, excluding a disabled person from an event because of something they can’t help.

You might even acknowledge that the COVID response from governments and organizations has been ableist and inadequate.

But you didn’t wear a mask.

For whatever reason — you wanted to show off your makeup, it makes you itchy, you believed the messaging that COVID is endemic (what does that actually mean?), you just don’t think about it anymore — you made a choice that actively excludes people like me from participating not only in an event like a convention, but society at large. And yes, it is a choice. Every time you step out into the world without a mask on your face, you have made a decision that your very good reason, whatever it is, supersedes the right of disabled and at-risk people to exist safely in your orbit.

Well, hold on, you say. It’s not any one individual’s fault, it’s the inadequate public health messaging. Isn’t that what you’ve been saying?

And I have. In the past, I have talked about how it is unconscionable that health authorities have thrown their hands up and rescinded guidance that would have saved hundreds of thousands of lives and prolonged a pandemic that, to hear them tell it, has been bested. It hasn’t. Worst of all, the financial motivation that we all know is driving this premature victory lap isn’t even being fulfilled. Long COVID and other post-COVID complications are costing the global economy one trillion a year. Meanwhile, article after article handwrings about nobody wanting to work anymore, about the sagging college application scene, about declines in military enlistment, and the strain on our healthcare systems.

All of this is very much the fault of our leaders, who have decided the political ramifications of “normalcy” are more important than the health and lives of the 400 million people living with long COVID across the globe, the immunocompromised folks who are increasingly being shut out of every conceivable public space, and the disabled community which has been screaming into the wind about our marginalization since before the virus even hit US soil.

But I want to be very clear. You are helping them do this.

The reality is that we have been living in this deeply flawed landscape of “personal choice”, and you’ve made yours. You’ve opted not to look into how densely clustered cases are. You’ve stopped listening to your friends who have informed themselves. You’ve given yourself permission to put COVID on the back burner. You’ve earned it, right? Four and a half years of trauma?

COVID doesn’t care if you’re tired of being scared or careful or considerate. COVID is not something you can personally overcome by being smart or virtuous or brave. It is a virus which only seeks to infect and replicate, and it is getting very good at those things. While you’ve looked away, my community has been scrambling to avoid variants that skirt immunity and don’t show up on rapid tests until day five-seven. The constant battle has changed since you were last in it. It’s not sufficient anymore to get your shots and test before a big event. You could well be asymptomatic and infectious, or have symptoms and convinced yourself it can’t be COVID because that second line hasn’t popped up.

You have come to the conclusion sometime between 2022 and now that you just have to decide what level of risk you’re comfortable with and live with it. The problem with that is scale. It’s you and everybody else doing that, and a lot of people have decided they are comfortable with a high level of risk. Despite what you’ve been told, you’re not just making that decision for yourself. You are making it for every person you come in contact with.

Think back to the early tense days of 2020. We were told to select a “bubble.” Those people would be our social lifelines, and through those, we could control our exposure.

My bubble is quite small. It includes my husband, my sister, and two friends I see relatively frequently.

My husband goes to work via the bus, and to the grocery store. Every person he comes in contact with there has the potential to infect him, and then he has the potential to pass it along to me. He mitigates this by wearing a well-fitted respirator at all times.

My sister goes to work at a busy public place. She masks when public facing and takes it off in the back office. She goes to restaurants, bars, concerts, hangs out with friends and her own partner unmasked. About 75% of her interactions have the heightened potential to infect her, which she might then bring into my house when she visits me.

My friends do not mask anywhere except my house when asked. They attend concerts, shows, cons, bars.

Obviously, I am in control of whether I wear a mask around these people. And as we approach one million new cases a day, I will be around everyone but my husband. But science is clear: reciprocal masking is more effective at infection control than a single person masking — especially when that single person is trying to protect themselves, not others.

This is settled science. We’ve known this since 2020. It says clearly that the choice you make is not personal- it has implications for everyone you come in contact with.

And being clear — if I could, I’d make everyone wear a mask for their own health. I don’t want people suffering with what I have. But you’ve been told this lie that you can take your risks for yourself, so you feel comfortable going out without a mask. You’ve been told this lie that it’s possible to completely recover from a COVID infection, so you assume that even if you do catch it, that’s what’ll happen to you, despite evidence showing that every body is indelibly changed by an infection, and that risk only grows with each subsequent infection.

And the greatest lie of all — that only the sick or elderly have anything to fear from COVID — has given you unfounded confidence in your own “good” genes or immune system or fitness. You can get long COVID even if you’re in peak form — in fact, may even be more likely to be hit hard.

So you have decided, individually and collectively, that only the sick or elderly should have to take precautions, and you freewheel through life, only to get surprised and dismayed when you bump into COVID in the wild. It’s back, people declare every summer or winter, as though it ever left.

But I want you to really think about the implications of your choice. Besides yourself. Because let’s be honest here, that’s who you’ve been thinking about, right? Your risk. Your comfort. Never mind your bubble, never mind the bubble of everyone you come into contact with, never mind the people like me who are literally hiding from people like you.

You’re not masking at the doctor’s office. You’re not masking at the airport. You’re not masking at the giant superspreader you just attended, and you’re not masking in the bars and restaurants where we know the virus flourishes. And then you’re bringing that exposure back to your family and friends. Back to the grocery store, where you run across people like my husband, shopping for someone who is unsafe to leave the house, or your elderly neighbors, or an immunocompromised employee.

You’re a good person, or you like to think of yourself that way. That’s why when you’re asked to mask, you dismiss it out of hand — because that changed behavior implies that you’ve been doing something wrong.

And my friend, I’m telling this because I love you: you have been. You might have been doing that on faulty information, but be honest with yourself and with me — you’ve heard me begging people to take this seriously. You’ve seen the information I’ve been sharing. You have had the opportunity to seek out the correct information all along, and you have chosen not to.

It isn’t too late to change your view of the risk you’re imposing on the people around you. It’s not too late to push public health to become more effective. It’s not too late to act in solidarity and be the inclusive person you think you are. It’s not too late to take care of yourself.

Ultimately, that’s what I have been screaming myself hoarse about. I don’t want you to end up with what I have. I don’t want you to inadvertently impose that on someone else. And yes, I’ve been angry, because you’ve been advertising your absolute lack of concern with group shots of your naked faces on social media. It doesn’t seem to bother you that I am stuck at home like it’s 2020, except for doctors’ appointments that I literally have to risk my life to go to. You’ve told yourself that it’s not your problem, because only the sick and elderly have to take precautions.

You know better. You can do better. For your community, yourself, and me, do better.

Please. I love you.

Anna

PS. If you’re feeling upset and embarrassed right now, the best thing you can do is take action. Get yourself good masks (the surgicals and cloth ones don’t cut it anymore), donate to mask blocs so others can access good masks, write to your representatives and the President, comment on upcoming CDC guidance, schedule yourself a booster, and talk to your loved ones about doing better, too. The only way we get out of this is with community care. So care.