#objectified gin

[possumpawzz]

Gin art rq

My friend requested this

[sodaroniii]

Dayjectified au role list!!:

wagyu- kelvin

comet- sanjana

symbiote- watcher

minty- parker

brandy- gavin

sugarcube- becca (i changed her from gavins sister to his daughter just for this au so it makes sense-)

maple syrup- ryder

painkiller- arlo

fossil- surgeon

dragonscale- dakota

ghost pepper- mamo

gin- yronica

threespines- unforgotten

more characters to be added soon!! :33

[rustingspaceship]

Gin [Objectified] Graphics

Alt versions of the dividers:

Transparents:

It's hard to get proper transparents of her because she's always behind something like a text box or desk or character in every page of her comic

[sharkiethrts]

short prompt: dancing and singing ('vulgar', as sunday would call it) songs with sunday

relations: sunday x reader, robin mentioned at the end!

Notes: modern au. Highschool prom au? You can interpret this however- even Sunday going to a club for the first time (how did you convince him, even?) Nevermind, maybe a house party is more fitting? Sunday doesn't have his wings here since it's supposed to be modern au. Did not reread this by the way, so grammatical errors wouldn't be surprising.

warnings: borderline suggestive??? to be honest, it's just the lyrics of 'california girls' that you should be worried about haha Reader is gender neutral by the way (but if there is any insinuated of gender in the story I may have missed, please correct me!)

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

Walking into the crowded room, the blaring music and the rising temperature caused by the throng of students accumulating in one spot overtakes you. You try to stand on your tiptoes, eyes squinting to gauge how far you are from your goal- the dancefloor. You're far. Like, remarkably far.

You had planned to enter much earlier, discarding your coat at the coat-rack placed not-so-meticulously at an inconvenient spot behind the door, yet your diligent partner just couldn't let it be. Although Sunday has tried to seem more laidback while he was courting you (as he'd call it, you tried to call it 'chase' once, while abbreviating the blooms of your love story to your friends at a housewarming party, but he cut you off rather curtly- claiming that it made him sound predatory- he seemed offended when you laughed at that).

Nevertheless, he went on to smoothing out both your coats, folding them (in a way you've only seen store employees do) carefully and then stuffing them into a bag he had brought. The bag is then hung carefully at the middle of the rack, careful to not trip the other clumsily placed jackets of your mutual friends (some unknown to you, you realise now- Jess has always been popular).

You swear that he would have done the same to the rest of the coats if it weren't for the fact you pulled him incessantly by his arm, shooting him pouting looks and an annoyed cry.

You shoot your partner a brief glare, he returns a confused look right back at you but not bothering to ask for further details- you do have quite the idiosyncrasy only belonging to you, he reasons. Your interaction is cut short by the switch of the songs. Sunday seemed rather disappointed, it had been Robin's newest song after all. But it seems that you two came in too late (you'd pity him if it weren't for him suffering from the consequences of his own actions).

You, however, are absolutely beaming. California Girls.

You pulled him by his sleeve (you're not quite sure why he chose a stiff button-up for this occasion, but then again- you don't think he has any other attire that'd be suitable for this), "You sing right?" You say over the noise.

"What?" He doesn't seem to hear.

"You sing! You told me before- you were in a choir!" You scream this time, he seems to understand now- shaking his head to refuse.

"Sippin gin and juice!" You ignore him, taking the lead. He shakes his head, saying something like how it's too 'vulgar' and how the 'lyrics are disrespectful and have objectifying undertones'. You roll your eyes, "Tryna creep a little sneak peek- At us!"

You encourage him more, flashing your most earnest look (you do feel rather earnest, the only time you've ever heard him sing was when you had a nightmare, he had hummed you to sleep- but other than that? Nothing else. No lyrics, no nothing. Since then, you have been rather adamant on pushing more out of him.

He seems to have been convinced (weak, you'd tease- if it weren't for the fact that Sunday is petty enough to never sing again just for that) and you wait for him to join in, "But nothing comes close to the golden coast," Your eyes gleam at the gentle tune of his voice, with an expertly tuned technique. He makes this song sounds holy, even.

"Once you party with us," You lead on, leaning in with a teasing push on your knees, your hands moving to grasp at his shoulders. He reciprocates by holding onto your back, completing your line, "You'll be falling in love"

Exhilarated by his concession, you let out an off tune and off time plethoras of 'oh's, to which he had laughed at- eyes wrinkled and head slightly thrown back- messing up his neatly combed long hair.

You grin. This was going to be a night.

You grip at his hand with your other, feeling the clammy surface of it. You realise he's nervous, baring his feelings like no other. He must be unfamiliar with the closeness of it all, with the downright sexual lyrics spilling out of his mouth at this point.

You lean in by his ear, breath hitting where he shivers.

"Sex on the beach," His cheeks bloom red- alongside with his ears that now look bruised in purple and red. He tries to pull back, definitely to scold you for your 'indecency'. You don't let him, ". We don't mind sand in our stilettos."

By the end of the night, you forgot your coats at the rack, walking home singing your surfeit of Katy Perry songs.

You remember to film a clip of Sunday belting the lyrics of 'Last Friday Night'. To which you sent to Robin, where she responded with long series of questions.

Funny, to think that you had been to shy to ever talk to her before this. Where she had given you her phone number when Sunday had first introduced you in a cafe. You had thought that she was just exchanging polite platitudes, to which Sunday refuted that Robin had been genuinely lonely.

With her excited response, you finally start to believe him.

'Send me more! You have more, right?!' to 'Where were you? Invite me next time! We should go together!"

You grin, it's the next morning (scratch that, it's one) and your feet are sore from the dancing (Sunday had spun you around once, you think he told you- 'it's my rendition of the galopede of the 1820s').

You call her, to which she picks up immediately, "He vomited the moment we came home," Was the first thing you said.

She understood you immediately, "He drank?"

"Vodka. Even took his part in games- won his first note, I'd wager."

You spent the whole afternoon recounting the night to her, to which she swooned and battered you up for more.

"Ah." You paused for a second.

"What is it?!" By this point, Robin has forgotten about her upcoming rehearsal in fifteen, to which she always comes thirty minutes early. She missed that mark fifteen minutes ago.

"I think we may have left our coats at Jess' house."

Robin completely lost it at that. So worth it.

[scruffedknife]

1st of all i LOVE ur oc arts even if I have no idea who they are or what's going on w them I love it

2nd of all would you drawwwwwww. Fuzzball or gin from objectified maybe...

^plus ths one i did like two nights ago :) THANK U THO ....!!! i hope... to eventually , gradually actually Post about my dumb ocs ... more than just droppin doodles of them and running GHPDFSDF

[baby-xemnas]

Bepo: i love you

Law: ....i love you too

Luffy: i love zoro

zoro: whatever...

Gin: i love you

Sanji: it'll pass

i love that lawbepo are normal

your wording on luzo is right cuz its always "i love zoro" and "zoro is the coolest" "zoro is mine" like luffy not only tells it to zoro but to the whole world, its somehow objectifying (but about luffy having full posession of zoro, not dehumanizing him) like "i love zoro" sounds absolute somehow? its hard to explain but you are so right

sanji is a self deprecating bitch. and i love a thought that gin says it freely. like he is not even super romantic about it (cuz how can he be, the awkward shit) but he is a matter of fact about it like "i love you' take it or leave it. he would even tell this to zeff's face and zeff would be like ew shut the fuck up i dont wanna hear it (obviously he knows ffs. not a single sane person would look at gin and not notice)

[kaleb-is-definitely-sane]

Okay time to talk about Phillis Wheatley. Because my hot take — that gosh darn it should not be that hot but SOMEHOW — is that you cannot judge a 18th century Neoclassical Enlightenment poet by 19th and 20th century Romantic and Postmodern standards. It’s unfair. Also: a poet has the right to write about whatever they hell they damn wish to, especially when that poet is a black female slave in an age of patriarchy, aristocracy, and race based chattel slavery. You do not get to further objectify and colonize her body by reducing her down to her ethnicity (or sex, but that one comes up less often) and demanding that she write “race poetry”: she’s an enslaved black female poet, her poetry is race poetry automatically by just existing. Her mere existence is “unnatural”. A woman of barely 20 years old is the subject of international debate and speculation. Leave. Her. Alone.

Also, just like a final thing: this woman died before Harriet Jacobs and Sojourner Truth were even born. She was alive during a time when, if a civil war had broken out against slavery, the pro-slavery side would have won. This isn’t the height of abolitionism: slavery is still incredibly profitable (tho it is slowly decreasing, until the mfing cotton gin). She wrote in the themes, motifs, and conventions that were normal for her time and place. And she did well. When you stop comparing her to 18th century white British men or 20th century black writers, shes beautiful. 

[cryinglittlepeople]

What do you think Izuru sees in Rose? He's been p fucked up by his relationship with Gin; and we know how Rose feels about Izuru but I've always been curious about the reverse... hehe

I think izuru sees safety, stability, comfort, a place he can let his guard down. Which may be a funny thing to say since rose is kind of an obsessive guy with a hollow in his soul and sadistic streak, but the thing about rose is that he doesn't hide these things. Rose never pretends to be what he isn't.

He is smitten with izuru and he's quite obvious about it. There can be no ulterior motives when his motives are so clear. After gin I think that's incredibly attractive to izuru.

But we also know, from canon, that rose is not just obsessed with izuru as a concept, but appreciates him as a person. He doesn't simply objectify him.

In one of the novels rose is hit with inspiration after seeing izuru's sad face, but he sets it aside so he can listen to what's bothering him. And izuru describes rose as "comfortable to be around". That's really impressive for izuru to say, who hasn't been comfortable around anyone a day in his life.

Along with all of that they also just have matching personalities. They both enjoy art, they both wear their philosophy on their sleeve, they both have a horrid trauma in their past, and they both have a really mean streak.

They match each other's freak, if you will.

Rose is also really hot so there's that. Rose is about sexuality and sadism in a non-predatory way, while gin is very much predatory.

[amberr-r]

hi hrlelo here is me rambling on about my ii/objectified au

everything in the story is basically the same except for microphone and taco, who still have a slight dislike of eachother as they team up to recover soap (fuzzball) and pickle (sharps, in this au taco and pickle arent together, yet when pickle died taco still had a feeling to recover him??)

anyways so basically

test tube - spool

fan - citrus

lightbulb - dynamite

paintbrush - mushroom

balloon - brandy

nickel - minty

bot - sugarcube

razor - microphone

gum - taco

fossil - oj

painkiller - paper

dragonscale - (ghost) bow (her group is baseball, knife, yinyang [seperated])

comet - either candle or tissues, maybe suitcase??

wagyu - apple (shes both rotting and has the infection)

fuzzball is soap,, gin is probably trophy? ? ghost (dragonscale’s wife) is marshmallow

might have to revamp the whole storyline of objectified a bit for this to work but whatever!!!!!

also lightbulb might be a cheetah and not a jaguar, still deciding

oj’s partner in marshlight (i forgot their name or who they were supposed to be) is salt

some doodles (somewhat concept)

i lovw creaturified mic🙏🏼🙏🏼🙏🏼🙏🏼godbless

[fictionkinfessions]

Razor thank you for killing me before the apocalypse began I would NOT have survived that

Also Fuzzball I'm sorry for being a dick to you —Gin (Objectified)

✉

[causticaprine]

i know i talk a lot (or maybe just think a lot, which is more telling) about how beautiful girls are, and woww i wanna kiss girl so bad. but let the record show i also 1) want to kiss and befriend boys too, i just have a beautiful wife (girlfriend) and filter my attraction thru how much i think about her. and 2) it must be said that i also wish to get to know girls. come to my place for a gin and tonic. do u want to play a ttrpg. come to the mall and swipe a plush from Spencer's with me. just walk around a city and snap pics of slaps and murals. tell me about your day and your hobbies. the sexy stuff is not just secondary, but even tertiary to just hanging out, and I'm always a little worried that knowing who i am and posting about what i like, in the amount that i do, comes across as objectifying. if not here, than on twt which i basically ONLY use to retweet porn and shoot the shit with kinky furries who always seem to make their accounts much more multifaceted than mine.

[courtesons]

It took about thirty minutes for people to arrive, all of them being people Zane had seen and met before. All of them were men between Zane's age and Ethan's with varying jobs such as teachers, lawyers, mechanics and four of them in total. But more importantly where Zane would have met them all was the local kink bar that Ethan had been a regular at and he'd introduced Zane to years ago. Meaning they were people Zane knew, who knew about and were involved in this kind of lifestyle or scenarios. They could be trusted.

It seemed to be it was just a catch up and drinks, Ethan getting people some wine or gin and tonics - whatever they were feeling as they hang out primarily in the kitchen or the living room. And there was Zane, just a part of the decour and not someone involved in this little social visit. Something to show off, with one or two of the guys going up to the cage and remarking to Ethan about his new decour.

"It's a new piece I've obtained, I think it suits the room rather well. I think I'll keep it in here" Ethan remarked casually, before the questoning about touching the piece was asked. There would only be a moment of pause before he'd not, allowing the man's hands to brush along Zane's skin and biceps and inspect him like the art piece or trophy he was. After all, it wasn't the first time Zane had felt those hands on him, if not in this context before. But then the hands were gone and the man was back on the couch, talking to Ethan and Zane was simply made to stay there - bound, powerless and objectified.

Zane didn’t hesitate when he heard the familiar snap of Ethan’s fingers — his body moved on instinct, crawling into the cage like he’d done countless times before. It wasn’t about obedience for the sake of submission; it was about trust. About the way his heart beat faster at the sound of that snap, about how right it felt to offer himself up so freely to someone who knew how to handle every inch of him. As the door creaked shut behind him, his breath caught in his throat in anticipation.

The cool feel of the chains brushing against his skin, the careful way Ethan fitted the straps around his torso and throat, it sent a thrill through him that pulsed low in his stomach. Being restrained like this — not in pain, not even in discomfort, but bound with purpose — made him feel like he was being transformed into something beautiful. Displayed. Cherished, in Ethan’s own way. Even the gag wasn’t about silence, not really. It was about surrender. And Zane had never felt more at ease than in this state, helpless but adored, unable to do anything but exist under Ethan’s control.

When Ethan stepped away and casually began making a phone call, Zane’s eyes fluttered shut for a moment. He couldn’t hear every word, but he didn’t have to. The sound of Ethan’s easy confidence, the way he invited his friends over with amusement in his voice, it made heat flood Zane’s chest. There was something intoxicating about being shown off like this — a shared secret being made public in the most brazen, casual way. He wasn’t just decoration in the corner of the room — he was Ethan’s, and that alone had him straining against the restraints in silent, hungry appreciation.

[missmolsa]

bo men in stem (skirts, tight pants, mesh tops and eyeliner)

[dooppooo]

mdni - loss of virginity, oral (f receiving), objectifying, prostitution, Megumi is 18

-

This fucking edit.

It sparked the idea of Gojo taking virgin Megumi out on his eighteenth birthday and giving him lessons on how to be a womanizer.

He'd walk him around Tokyo, take him to a few shops and point out women, deeming them respectable or just a good fuck.

Megumi wasn't too keen on the idea and thought the way he labeled women was just disgusting, but as Gojo drilled it into him, the more he came around to it.

"I'll get you laid by the end of the night."

This of course had sweet virgin!Megumi shaking in his boots. Sure him and Yuji (mostly Yuji) would 'jokingly' watch porn together, but everyone always said that the orgasms were fake and that the women were just actresses. So how do you actually treat a woman?

Gojo had many tips and tricks on that too. Most of them made Megumi red in the face, seeing as he wasn't as numb to the idea as his mentor.

"It's your middle and ring finger - yeah can he get a Shirley Temple and I'll have a gin and tonic, thanks - not your pointer and middle, okay?"

Fushiguro covered his face with his uniform and looked away bashfully, "Jesus Gojo-sensei, don't you have a filter?"

The bar tender at the hotel slid their drinks toward them and Satoru slapped down his payment.

"Megumi, you need to know these things! Your first time is awkward because you don't know what you're doing, so that's why I'm going to teach you!" Gojo flashed a childish smile.

So he carried on with his lessons to swoon women in the bedroom, all while Fushiguro melted into his seat with molten cheeks.

The night carried on nicely, and Gojo tested Megumi by pointing to women in the bar and asking which group they fell into.

But then Megumi's eyes locked onto you. Gojo had to repeat himself a few times until his student mumbled out an answer, and he knew that you were the one to rip Fushiguro of his virginity.

Maybe it was the way you laughed at that geezer's joke who bought you the champagne, or how you leaned against the bar with your elbow propped against the wood and your hips tilted so the garter beneath your short dress slipped out.

Or maybe it was how you blurred the line between a one night stand and a woman worth marrying. It was obvious your job was to seduce the old rich men at the fancy hotel bar, but you carried yourself so respectably that it made Megumi's head fuzzy.

The primal urge to rip your expensive Jessica-Rabbit-dress from your body ran hot through his veins and pooled in his groin. He had to have you - his perfect eighteenth birthday gift.

Gojo massaged his student's shoulder, "Everyone is watching her, she's definitely a threat to the other workers here." Megumi had also noticed this and nodded, "But I'm afraid...you aren't her ideal client."

Megumi whirled around, "We won't know until we ask."

"Until you ask."

A healthy color drained from Fushiguro's face and left behind a ghastly expression. Of course he wanted her, but he'd be damned if he made the first move. Gojo was expecting too much of him.

"N-no. Just forget about it." Megumi commented hopelessly and sipped on his sweet drink.

But Satoru wasn't taking no for an answer, "Ah-ah-ah, I know what I said was discouraging, but you're young and cute" - he pinched Megumi's cheek - "so she may be interested in the younger crowd for a change."

With a groan, the student returned his gaze to his bright red mocktail (much like your dress), and let the wheels turn in his head. This was turning out to be a once in a lifetime opportunity, and boy would it be something to brag about. It had to be done.

So, now hot and bothered, Megumi slipped off his coat to reveal his white button up and rested it over his teacher's lap, "Atta boy!" Gojo cheered.

You had lost interest in the old, plump man who had offered you a free yacht trip in exchange for a blowjob, seeing as you didn't leave the hotel. This was your workplace, and you loved the atmosphere, but that's not to say you wouldn't love wearing a skimpy bikini and eating overpriced seafood.

It was time for the next gentleman to get your attention. The night was still relatively young, but by this time you were running your pretty finger up their thigh and smirking. You began to nonchalantly survey the bar in search for your next pay day, but found yourself bored with your options and took to an empty table.

It didn't take long for the chair across from you to be taken, but the boy to take it caught you by surprise.

His nervous blue eyes were glued to your body, "Could I ask you a question?"

"That was a question."

You sipped your drink and smirked at the sight of his pink cheeks, "I-I mean, uh-"

You folded your arms and rested your chest on the table to lean closer to him, "Listen honey, you're adorable, but I don't know what you're white haired daddy was thinking letting a minor like you in here."

"I-I'm not a minor! I just turned eighteen today actually."

Humming and nodding, you studied his outfit. Nothing extraordinary or annoyingly expensive, he was clean and proper. Hell, why not? It might be fun to have someone a little more maneuverable in the bedroom, seeing as the older crowd had a hard time even crawling into the bed.

You plucked the maraschino cherry from his drink and nibbled on it as you spoke, "You're so nervous baby, I'm nothing to be afraid of."

He fumbled with his apology, which was cut short when the cherry stem you had tied in a knot with your tongue was slipped into his breast pocket.

This boy would be a jittering mess all night. However, you could finally use that to your advantage and have some control over your own orgasms...and even his. You smiled at the thought.

"I'll have you know I'm not cheap. You get what you pay for." He quickly nodded in understanding, "So, since it's your birthday, I'm guessing you want all night?"

He wanted to turn to Gojo and ask him if this was a good deal, but Fushiguro was an adult now and had to start going off of his own judgement.

"Yes."

Your teeth pinched your bottom lip to hide the unapologetic smile daring to sweep across your face. Tonight would be fun.

As you left the bar with your arm wrapped around his shoulders, you noticed the indignant glances shot his way. Not only did it inflate your ego knowing that several other people wanted to be him, but it boosted Megumi's confidence knowing that he got you.

"What's your name anyway sweet cheeks?" You wondered as he unlocked the hotel door with the key card.

"Uh - Megumi Fushiguro."

It made you giggle how he revealed his full name; so naive.

And with him being so naive, you treated him accordingly. You were slow and sensual, let him ask questions, even experimented a little bit. It was clear you were his first ever woman to experience this with so you needed to make it special.

You had him between your thighs with his tongue swirling around your clit. He wasn't bad for a newbie but was far better than your usual crowd, so you didn't complain. It was a damn miracle he could find your clit in the first place.

Then he said, "Here, let me try something my teacher told me about," and slipped in two fingers. You gasped at the sensation, then that same gust of air hastily left you in the form of a moan when his fingers curled to hit your g-spot.

Was his teacher the lean man with the white hair? He was a regular at the bar, but never seemed inclined to want to do business with you. That had to change.

After reaching your climax - making sure to call out his name to sprinkle some pride over him - you heard the sound of his belt.

"I-I'm sorry ma'am, but-fuck-it hurts."

And it did look painful. His pretty cock was dripping with pre-cum and an angry red at the tip, just dying for some attention. Once again, he proved himself full of surprises when he slipped the condom on by himself, hissing the entire time from the much needed friction. With that you spread your legs once more, gathered some of your slick onto your fingers and pumped it over him while he sighed and squeaked.

"Go slow okay? I'll be fine...but I'm worried about you not lasting very long."

Granted, that probably wasn't the best thing to say to a virgin, but he needed the brutal honesty.

"And even when you are with someone else, you should go slow, because it can be painful."

His eyes were squeezed shut and a soft, "oh-okay" barely made his past his lips.

When he was ready you helped to guide him in, humming and sighing at the way he stretched you out. Even with the protection, the vein trailing up the underside of his cock still made an impact on you. Megumi made an impact on you.

It was a near perfect fit and you let your head rest against the pillows while you sighed.

You searched his face and loved the way his jaw had dropped, eyes now a navy blue and almost entirely consumed by his pupils, brows pressed together. His hands held the underside of your thighs and kept your legs propped up, his nails digging into your skin.

"You set the pace baby."

He licked his lips and nodded to affirm he heard you through his pussy drunk haze. The strength it took for him to not cum was causing his girth to be even more painfully hard, whimpering at the feeling.

Yet, he dared to roll his hips and a quivering breath shook his body. For the first time that evening he smiled: at the sensation of your pussy sucking him in, the pleased grin on your glossed lips, the smell of sex in the air. He wanted to do this all fucking night.

So he didn't give a rats ass when he came the hardest he ever had after a few more strokes. You tried to soothe him through it, but he ignored every word you said as he slipped on another condom, shoved you against the pillows, and pushed himself right back into you.

You tried to tell him to wait, to take a second to evaluate himself and how he was feeling, but all he was worried about was ramming into you to make you both cum over and over and over again.

He grasped handfuls of your tits and massaged them in his hands while he developed a rhythm, eyes growing wide at their jiggle with every thrust of his hips. It didn't take long for him to cum again when he saw you reach down and rub your clit.

And once again he quickly discarded the used condom and shoved his hand in your purse to grab another.

The tables had turned significantly, but this time you didn't mind the man who had taken charge, for he wasn't some wrinkly senior who could only last but thirty seconds and cough up his payment. It made you realize that your clients were just mere boys, but Fushiguro had finally broken that wall and would probably the last real gentleman you'd have for a while.

Surely he'd come back, considering you were his cherry popper and how he knew your body well.

You'd see him again - your sweet virgin gentleman.

[howaboutcastiel]

Steven fingering himself and moaning like crazy for reader pls.

Writing this like a hc because I’m feral

Adding to this because where’s the fun without a little embarrassment first ( ͡° ͜ʖ ͡°) [note: don’t read past the bold if you don’t like exhibitionism]

OBVIOUSLY 18+ EXPLICIT

Steven is drunk. Not plastered drunk but certainly tipsy enough that he’s not on his best game. It calms his nerves, gives him a boost of confidence.

He’s alone in his flat. It’s late at night on a Friday and he’s just woke up to find that Marc has downed way too much gin. He doesn’t have work tomorrow, though, so he doesn’t sweat too much the inevitable pain he’ll be in come morning. He pops himself some microwave popcorn—without butter, of course—and settles into his fluffiest chair, flipping his radio on for background noise.

A song comes on that reminds him of you. It was playing one day at the museum when you stopped by his desk to bring him a coffee cup. No one had ever displayed such a gesture before. You showed him that you cared about him, that you thought about him sometimes when you were away.

Images of you flash in his jumbled brain. Your smile, even as a blurry picture in his head, brings a warm feeling to his chest. Or maybe its the alcohol. He catches a glimpse of you again and he can imagine your voice. Your laugh.

No, it’s definitely you.

He turns off the music and plops down on the bed. Part of him feels ashamed at the way the image of you makes him twitch in his pants. The damage is already done, though, and he can’t get you out of his head.

Steven licks the salt from his hands as he tries to control his thoughts, but he can’t seem to let you go. You’re just so pretty, so sweet, so sexy. Oh god, he’s passed the point of no return now.

He reaches into his trousers, already half out of his mind. He wraps his fingers around his cock and he starts to pump them up and down, but it doesn’t feel right. It doesn’t feel like enough. The alcohol has him bucking into his hand and hes writhing for more.

So, he reaches his other hand down and circles his rim. A low hum escapes his lips and so does your name, though he never meant for either noise to come out. The alcohol has his tongue moving without the permission of his brain. It has him pushing his hand deeper, rocking on his fingers.

He imagines you underneath him, holding him together and breaking him apart all at once. He’s sobbing quietly into the sheets, stuttering your name deliriously.

He doesn’t even hear the knock at the door.

If he was a tad more sober, Steven would have remembered to check that the door was locked.

It wasn’t his fault, really. When he came to the front with a half-drunk bottle of booze in his hand, how was he supposed to know exactly what questions to ask?

How was he supposed to know that Marc had invited you over for dinner? And that he had had too much gin because he thought you blew him off, not receiving your text that you would be dreadfully late getting off of work?

“Steven?” He freezes when he heard your voice. It’s angelic in his ears, but wildly out of place. He’s paralyzed with fear and shame.

You don’t even give him the chance to start rambling apologies. I didn’t know you were coming. I wasn’t trying to objectify you, I swear. You don’t need to hear any of it.

He swears that he imagined the words coming from your lips. “Keep going, baby.” He must have conjured it up in his mind.

But he looks up at you and there’s no mistaking it. Your cheeky grin and determination and the sweetness on your face?

And you repeat it, of course, for good measure. And of course, he obeys because he’s a good boy.

Listen, I just think this is how it would happen.

(I should not be allowed to observe long weekend holidays. They allow me to be too much of a goblin. )

[dramaphan]

Dan's tweet about gin was gross but it did make me feel better about some of the jokes we've said around here. If he knew the lore about his own ears he'd add it to his set.

I feel comfortable objectifying Dan because he started it