sushi-enthusiast

[sushi-enthusiast]

Up At The Lookout

Winding down

Down

Down

Into the ground.

A mosaic of grey surrounds me,

Larger than I could dream.

The wind rustles,

Smoke burns my eyes.

I am smaller than I have ever been,

An ant in a glittering valley.

Not here before me, but long after.

Persisting.

Peace.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

I don’t think I’ve posted anything close to poetry on here! Had an experience at the mine yesterday and man, it’s never felt so good to feel so small

[sushi-enthusiast]

[LOUD DISGUSTING SNORING]

[sushi-enthusiast]

"Is it goin' good in the garden?"

How it's goin' in the garden:

[sushi-enthusiast]

Sleep turns you onto a bad bitch.

[sushi-enthusiast]

vessel starting sleep token: hey what if i personified my own inner demons into a deity i serve and offer up my pain to like tokens? wouldn't that be cool?

vessel in EIA era: hey so maybe that wasn't the healthiest idea

[sushi-enthusiast]

Fatum signatum, Canis esuriens

CHAPTER ONE - venari incipit

ᯓᡣ𐭩 CHAPTER SUMMARY

John MacTavish finds the bird he wants to sink his teeth into. It just so happens to be the one that flew away years ago.

♡ Chapter Warnings: Johnny doesn't know how to take rejection, forced proximity, blackmailing, sexual mentions, religious themes, negative talks of religion

◇ Notes: I have no business making this story, but here you guys are. If you want something cute and fluffy, go somewhere else.

This was lowkey inspired by @ceilidho

Her forced mating omegaverse series is amazing. If you haven't, y'all should go check that out. Fucking fire content and I'm still yelling.

○●○ SERIES MASTERLIST ♡ NEXT

NAVIGATION MASTERLIST

♡◇♡◇♡◇♡◇♡

JOHNNY WAS ALWAYS A LOOSE CANNON. Attended church every Sunday with his family, never indulged in sex, and always felt guilty after he rubbed his cock raw during his puberty stages. Even if subconsciously he knew there was nothing inherently wrong with indulgence, he was bred to live life conscious of how he presented himself. Even after he long disbanded from the Catholic church, it had a nasty way of creeping up on him.

Admittedly, he still prayed. He may had cast shame towards a lot of the viewpoints of the Catholic church, but some habits never died hard. He liked to consider praying a stepping point off into his own version of what faith meant to him. The core principal he always found himself going back to was living a fulfilling life.

The military was a bust. Yeah, he could brag and proclaim that he was a three-headed hydra. Take one head and two remain. But taking a bullet to the head didn't make him feel more powerful or immortal. It had him going back to the one place he swore he would never go back to.

The wooden pews of the grandiose church were hauntingly familiar. He walked with a weighted limp to the right side, fourth row back, and in the center. He felt a prickling itch in his neck, a warning that he was far too dirtied by the world now to be allowed as an innocent creature under God's light.

He was rotten down to his core. Blood caked underneath his fingernails, and the thick scent of antiseptic followed him. After getting shot, he developed a nasty disgust for germs as it so happened. He washed his hands so often that he had deep pruning on the pads of his fingertips. Maybe he was trying to physically absolve for his vile sins. Though, it had always been his mind that he was sick in.

The starfish bullet wound scar was a natural deterrent. Eyes analyzed the pale flesh and thought better of poking the bear. He must have been malformed because of it. A grotesuqe, cursed being that was punished into a life of solitude.

He was prickly around the edges now. There was always a curl on his lip just shy of a full snarl. He was a mutt condemned to a life on the streets. He no longer was of any use to the military, and he was far too socially inappropriate for normal civilian life. He was just idling, waiting for something to spark the dopamine receptors.

Praying felt like a lost cause as well. God had never answered any of his prayers before, so why would he humor him now? He was everything God stood against in the supposed truth of the scripture.

He went to the military and played around with far too many men and women. He indulged in other temporary vices like drinking and smoking. He shot down fellow lost souls on the beaten path. He walked in the fly-infested graveyard far more than he ever walked in a meadows full of lively blossoms.

It was no wonder his own mother scorned him.

His mother was a proper Scottish mother. She was proud of her heritage and wanted to present her family as an upstanding group of well-rounded personalities. And there was nothing less upstanding or respectful than pushing Johnny into the center spotlight and saying nothing more than "this is the son that kills." As if he wasn't saving unfortunate souls as he did it.

It was always just that to other people: an excuse to harm. Maybe they were right because no shiny medal or pat on the back ever made him puff up in pride like a bloody peacock.

A sweet, honeyed voice dragged him from his wonky rendition of "Our Father." His sharp eyes scanned the room as if he was perched once more on the rooftop of a building and looking for a target through his scope. His shoulders were coiled tight, a lasting effect of kneeling at the pew and pretending he was a simple man asking for guidance.

He found you coming out from one of the side rooms, smile lifting the corners of your lips. You held yourself with a weightlessness that he never had been privy to. The first thought when he saw you was that you're a doe trapped in a forest filled with wolves. Only he was the only wolf, and he couldn't take his eyes off of you.

Familiar. That was the second thought that passed through his muddled, tar-ridden brain. He had to wrack his brain harder to grasp memories after Makarov tried to turn the lights off. It was frustrating. His mind used to be zooming around the track. He could multitask just fine and didn't feel a faint throbbing in his skull as he calculated.

"I will be by with more canned goods tomorrow."

Your voice was saccarine honey, and he perked up like an untethered canine in search of chewy meat fresh off the bone. It had been far too long since he warmed his bed with something sweet. Long before he joined Task Force 141 and was always on the prowl. He was never in one place for long enough. Now, he was busting at the seams, foaming at the mouth for a way to quench that desire.

There was a mute gravitation towards you, and he didn't know why. It wasn't just sexual frustration. He knew that much. He blinked on half-lidded eyelids, trying to pinpoint how exactly and why your presence sparked a tug.

Then the priest said your name gratefully as he bid you farewell and thanked you for your contribution.

His mind cleared into a litany of hazy memories. He hadn't thought about his childhood in a long time. Far too much sour aftertaste twisting his lips for him to linger. He didn’t like his childhood house. Didn’t like the school he nearly dropped out of.

But he remembered liking you. Maybe a little too much.

He met you in his Sunday school class. The walls were filled with bland, religious metaphors. The chairs were uncomfortable plastic. He drowned out the teacher's mini sermon and instead watched you. Maybe that’s where he learned how to corrupt. From that point on, you were shackled down by his prodding hands as they marked up your youthful, pristine skin.

His words were charming, his blue eyes sucking you in after that class where he first noticed you. You were none the wiser, falling for a boy's sweetened words with a pitch in your voice and trusting, bright eyes. He could tell you weren't used to attention, and he relished being the first one to take a bite.

It wasn't all corruption. Johnny genuinely felt the deep flutter of his heart whenever you were near. He was a boy then, unable to know his actions battered existing foundations and left debris in a heaping crater. It was an unconscious corruption because he was too stupid to realize he had to reel it in.

But he never put his feet forward half-assed. His gait always had an underlying purpose and certainty.

He cornered you, the sweet little rabbit that was too giddy to taste the acid as it coagulated in the air. Two kids with their first crushes. It was supposed to be sweet and innocent, especially for people of your upbringing. It wasn't right to indulge.

But that's all the two of you ever did.

He was messy and sloppy the first time you pinned you down with his lips in the backseat of his car. He was an eager mutt who didn't recognize that he was supposed to woo you and make a special moment out of your firsts. He had a one track mind that was hellbent on devouring you.

You were always so sweet, too kind to tell him if you hated that your first kiss was tarmished by a boy who never eased you into it. You just smiled and blushed, telling him it was everything you ever dreamed up. He always believed that was a bitter lie, but still, he lapped it up.

Watching you now, beyond the filter of child-like haze, he knew instantly you were pretending to be something you weren’t. Your smile was pure and bright, but only he could look deep enough into the deep black of your pupils and see the minefield. People who gave too much were always overcompensating, hiding some massive secret in the dust-ridden pockets of their rib cage.

Maybe he was your secret.

Because once upon a time, he had your throat around his foaming maw.

Of course, you wouldn't ramble on about that. You probably claimed your first kiss was some conjured manifestation of bliss. The candles were lit, and the air wasn't stale with the stench of booze. It was a serene vanilla scent that wafted into the room. Your lover was someone who knew they could borrow but not steal from your essence. They would dip you slightly, curl a hand against your spine and-

No.

That was his pride. It was his right. So was the slick between your legs and the warbling moans. Everything was his claim. Because you never told him to stop, never pried wandering hands from the softness of your flesh. He was not going to let that be some unnamed man's legacy.

He rose from the pew slowly, bad knee cracking. He waited as you exchanged a few more words with Father Cassidy before bidding him farewell. You were none the wiser of what monstrosity caught a whiff of your scent. He wished he had some animalistic sense of smell so he could suck up every hidden layer like the lemonade the two of you always got for fifty cents after church.

"Bonnie..."

You pivoted on your heels, giving him a full picture of who you had grown into. Blood was pounding on his ears as he swallowed spittle down his throat. Steaming Jesus. Maybe God had answered his prayers for putting such a delectable meal in front of him.

"John?" He internally cooed at the surprised, higher lilt of your voice. He loved that you weren’t expecting him. Probably rejoicing all those years that you didn't have him barking up your tree.

John smiled sickenly at the evident nervousness in your stance.

"Ah told ye tae call me, Johnny, love," he saw the flinch in your body.

"What... what are you doing here?" He commended your attempt to seem bigger. You stood straighter, raised your chin, crossed your arms over your chest, and didn't put weight too much on one side. It was textbook. A classic way one is told to appear more than what they are. He found it endearing that his little bunny got claws.

"Disnae matter."

Evasive. Dismissive. He was always like that while you offered scraps of your essence in every form. He indulged you, letting you ramble on about the intricacies of your existence. All the while, he offered nothing of him. Or at least a carefully thought-out, meticiously crafted misrepresentation of himself.

You always believed him.

"Ye ken what is important?" He stepped closer into your personal space, and you shifted. Hesitant. You had gone skittish since he had last seen you. That wasn't good. "That ye and ah happen tae be in the same place.”

You swallowed, Johnny watched your throat bob. “Yeah, how funny. Considering you don’t practice anymore.”

No, he never lasted long in the Catholic Church once he found it held him back. His desires were his desires, and he wasn’t going to apologize for it.

“Ach, bon. Ah had a change o’ heart.”

He snarled at the scoff that left your lips. You had a bit more bite now. He wanted to snuff it out. “You? You had a change of heart?”

Your bitter words offended him for a moment before he tampered down his pride and gave you an uneasy smirk. You weren’t necessarily wrong in your pointed comment. He had never been one to shy away from how distasteful he found faith. He remembered mocking Father Cassidy’s opening sermon under his breath and his mother smacking him on the head with the donation envelopes stored in the back of the seats.

Instead, he pointed to the pale scar dimpling his left temple and right at the hairline. He watched your face grow contemplative as you examined the evidence of his attempted murder. Your pretty lips pursed, and your eyes softened. That’s right, you can’t bite at a man who’s already down for the count. That isn’t very nice.

“Reckon the big man is lookin’ out fer me after all,” Johnny spoke with slight mockery. If someone was looking out for him, it wasn’t God.

“You got shot…” You finally processed that reality.

“Aye. Dinnae fash, bon. Ah survived,” Johnny cooed softly.

“Unfortunately.”

It was a muttered tone that had Johnny biting his tongue. You were very disrespectful, and he didn’t appreciate it. He was being nice, wasn’t he? He could’ve been backing you into a corner like he always used to do. He knew you enjoyed it. You always used to be so wet by the time his sinful fingers dipped below your waistband.

“Ah’m only tryna make small talk,” he narrowed his eyes.

“Look, John,” you adjusted your bag on your shoulder. “I don’t think that’s a good idea.”

Johnny frowned, but he didn’t let that deter him. “Why not?”

You gave him an exasperated look, and his saliva pooled to the edges of his lips. He loved the way you reacted. You acted like you didn’t always meet him halfway. Some days, you were the one jumping at him and prying apart his body. You were a sinner as much as he was. Only you were a pretender and confessed to your crimes. He never once felt he had to absolve.

How was it wrong when he could still taste the honey on his lips and hear your wanton moans?

“You know why,” you replied.

“Tha’ was a long time ago,” Johnny protested.

He knew you knew that if you denied him now, he would just sink his claws in. It’s not like you could go to a different church or just not come at all. You were still dedicated. A saint, or as close you could get to it. Such a sweet little thing for him to muddy all over again.

“Not really when you think about it,” you remarked.

Johnny hummed as if he heavily considered your comment. He really didn’t care about the specifics. The past was the past. Because this time he wasn’t going to let you go now that he was around once again. Lucky you, you got the Scot all the time now that he was forcibly retired. Didn’t have to go through the fuss of missing him when he was deployed.

“At least let me take ye to lunch,” he proposed. “Ah will be a good boy.”

You looked to right, down the aisle to the altar. Then your eyes flickered to each door, each getaway option. Oh, bonnie, he wasn’t going to hurt you. Not if you played along. He stepped until the rubber end of his shoe was pressing against yours.

“Are ye a proper lass now?” He was condescending in his delivery, venom seeping out through each syllable. He wanted you to know that he still held the cards, that he could squash you beneath two fingers and not break a sweat. He would rather he had you singing melodically as he panted in your ear.

Safe and sound where you always belonged, tucked in the crook of his arm.

“Excuse me?” You questioned.

“Ye tied down now? Is tha’ it?” Johnny despised thinking about the possibility. He glanced down at your left hand, finding no ring wearing down the root of your finger. Yet, that didn’t mean much.

You contemplated for a long moment. He could practically taste the futile lie that was building on your dry tongue. He saw you clench your jaw. “Yes. In fact, he’s picking me up soon.”

“Oh…” Johnny feigned disappointment. “Sure the lad wouldn’t mind me waitin’ with ye. Reckon he’ll thank me fer keepin’ ya safe.”

You shifted back and forth on the soles of your feet. He tracked the movement as your teeth pinched your bottom lip. He found himself aching and so pent up that the smallest of movements from you had him stiffening in his jeans.

“One lunch…” you finally realized you couldn’t lie, and he got his answer. He relaxed his posture, fake friendliness.

“Ah will make it worth yer while, lass,” he promised. He leaned in closer, breath hot against your ear. He grabbed your arm for extra measure, face pulling into a stern look. “If ye lie to me again, ah could tell yer dear auld ma exactly wha’ we did. She never liked me, doe. Bet she will be shocked tae ken her daughter isnae pure.”

“What is wrong with you?” You questioned.

“Just want to catch up, lass. Tha’s all.”

♡◇♡

Johnny could smell the heady scent of your anxiousness. Sweat congealed on your hairline and glistened on your top lip. You were a frightened doe in flight-or-fight mode, coiled tightly. He watched every muscle twitch with precision, waiting for you to take flight so he could catch you.

He had managed to herd you into his car. He was damn grateful the bullet wound didn’t completely rob him of his right to freedom. He would’ve put his head through the wall if that was the case. He wanted to do right by you, be the proper gentleman that got you from point A to B. You deserved your carriage.

“Lot nicer than the cab we used to get cozy in, aye?”

His blue eyes were laser-focused as he watched your eyes crinkle with a soft frown on your lips as you processed what he was implying. Shortly after, disgust washed out the natural glow on your cheeks. You turned your face out the window for a moment; appalled.

“You’re disgusting,” you spat.

“Aye. Never liked mincin’ my words, doe,” Johnny agreed easily.

He had taken you to a simple bistro that served nice enough food. He really could eat anything, so as long as his doe was happy, then he was fine. His bottomless stomach could be blamed on the shitty MREs and whatnot he had been bred on during his time serving. Now, he was trying to stuff his belly full of any fulfillment.

He had even puffed up in the belly area. Not by much, as he still worked out and did his morning run, but that wasn’t as strict as it used to be. With all the eating, his gut now had a layer of fat. Though, he was still a powerhouse.

The food was nice enough. You ate politely, and he gorged. You hardly spoke as you became softened by the food. Good. That’s what he desired, just the slightest shift in your guard so he could wiggle his way in through the cracks.

"I think you can take me home now," you said after a long period of Johnny just mindlessly driving the streets.

Johnny made an incredulous noise as he looked at you. "Why, bon? Ah like drivin' with ya?"

"I already went to lunch with you," you defended yourself. "I never promised more."

"Our date disnae have to end," he said.

You sucked in a breath, gripping your seatbelt like it would fly away from you. You were stiff, shoulders bunched up towards your chin. He kept moving because he knew you had too much self-preservation to jump from a moving vehicle.

"It's not a date," you muttered.

"C'mon, bon. Let me court ya proper," Johnny pleaded.

"Don't you have other women to bother?" You asked with heat.

"No' lately. 'Sides, dinnae want no one else," Johnny admitted.

You regarded him for a long moment. Despite your protests, he spotted the fluster he provoked in you. Your gaze always shifted downward, and you took a deep breath. He internally preened. His doe was still affected by him deep down.

"You're insane actually."

Johnny made a small "tsk" sound. "Ya break my heart."

He saw the faintest curl of your lip when he stopped at a red light. You were amused. He took that and ran with. He always knew you couldn’t hate him completely. He had more to work with, but progress was still progress.

"So what, you want to date me now?" You questioned.

"Aye. Let me take ya on the dates ah never did before," Johnny proposed.

You sighed. You slouched in your seat, defeated. "Fine. One chance."

"Tha's all ah need, doe."

Oh, he was going to devour you.

°•○●○•°

TAGLIST

@callsignpxnguin @sushi-enthusiast @niresenrab

If you would like to be added for future chapters, let me know!

[sushi-enthusiast]

[sushi-enthusiast]

Nice

SOAP HITTING IT FROM THE BACK BENT OVER A BED WITH A SHORT MISSUS

MDNI 18+

Warning: smut, breeding kink, pregnancy kink if you squint, PIV, no condom, slight size kink/difference

Having to put pillows under your stomach to make it easier to get his cock into you due to the height difference.

Soap grabbing onto your hips as he plows into you at a brutal pace, grunting and groaning as he watches his cock disappear into you as the fat of your ass jiggles from the movement.

The positioning causing you to feel a lot tighter, making it harder for him to last as long as he usually does. Your warmth feeling even more inviting and sweet as he pistons his cock into you—the perfect place for him to fill you up and knock you up

The angle making Soap’s already respectable size feel larger, hit the right spots inside of you even better.

Soap giving a few more lazy thrusts as he cums, and as he goes soft, before caging you under his arms and placing kisses into the crook of your neck, up your cheek, and on your forehead.

Masterlist

A/N: Idk I’m horny and miss my boyfriend already

[sushi-enthusiast]

cw: dubcon, manipulation, babytrapping?

You ask Alpha!Gaz to spend your heat with you because he’s so chill. He’s always treated you just like one of the guys— since day one. Never once mentioned your designation, because he doesn’t care about that kind of thing, right? So when you ask him why his teeth are at your throat he smiles and laughs like you’re being silly, and says “I’ve been courting you for as long as I’ve known you, love.”

You ask Alpha!Soap to spend your heat with you because he’s so promiscuous. He’s slept with everyone on base, no strings attached, no broken hearts— obviously he’s a man who knows how to keep it casual, right? But when you’re pressed against him, stuck on his knot, he’s rubbing your stomach and asking “How many pups ye want, bonnie? Ah was thinkin’ we’d have a proper big family.”

You ask Alpha!Ghost to spend your heat with you because he doesn’t really seem to like anyone. Not the type to form attachments. Won’t give any part of himself to anyone, right? But he keeps you prone and pinned with his massive body, oriented so he can watch the door, grunting “You’re mine now, understand? Anyone who tries to get between me and my mate s’gonna end up torn apart.”

You ask Alpha!Price to spend your heat with you because he’s your commanding officer. He’s always been calm, cool, and completely professional with you. He wouldn’t compromise the structure of the team over some biological event, right? But he’s panting, tongue soothing over the fresh mark in your neck, telling you he’ll have a talk with your landlord once your heat is over about breaking your lease. “Gotta get you moved in with me, darl’. Pups’ll need more space to run around. What color do y’want the nursery?”

You ask Alpha!Nikolai to spend your heat with you because you trust him, but you don’t exactly have a relationship. You work with him some of the time, and he’s a good man, but he lives across the globe. He wouldn’t disrupt his globetrotting lifestyle to settle down with some omega he barely knows, right? But he’s cooing honeyed words in your ear that you can’t understand, one hand pawing at your abdomen while the other is at your throat, rubbing your gland and bringing the blood to the surface in preparation for his bite. “Imagine the look on John’s face— when he sees I’ve poached his prettiest little sergeant for myself…”

[sushi-enthusiast]

SOAP HITTING IT FROM THE BACK BENT OVER A BED WITH A SHORT MISSUS

MDNI 18+

Warning: smut, breeding kink, pregnancy kink if you squint, PIV, no condom, slight size kink/difference

Having to put pillows under your stomach to make it easier to get his cock into you due to the height difference.

Soap grabbing onto your hips as he plows into you at a brutal pace, grunting and groaning as he watches his cock disappear into you as the fat of your ass jiggles from the movement.

The positioning causing you to feel a lot tighter, making it harder for him to last as long as he usually does. Your warmth feeling even more inviting and sweet as he pistons his cock into you—the perfect place for him to fill you up and knock you up

The angle making Soap’s already respectable size feel larger, hit the right spots inside of you even better.

Soap giving a few more lazy thrusts as he cums, and as he goes soft, before caging you under his arms and placing kisses into the crook of your neck, up your cheek, and on your forehead.

Masterlist

A/N: Idk I’m horny and miss my boyfriend already

[sushi-enthusiast]

Cite my sources? How about we just pinky promise

[sushi-enthusiast]

🫧 The Queef: A Reality Which Will Always Separate Movie Love Scenes from Reality

🎬 Act One: The Cinematic Lie

Let’s start here: No woman in a movie has ever queefed. Not in a love scene. Not in a comedy. Not even in a supposedly “raw,” “authentic,” “gritty indie” film about womanhood.

Which is how you know every sex scene ever filmed is propaganda.

Because if movies told the truth?

You’d hear it.

That sacred puff. That vaginal trumpet. That forbidden foghorn of anatomical air displacement.

“Ahhh… I love you…” fwuUUHH-BRRRRT

Cut. Print. Reality. But no. They won’t show you that. Because the queef is too real for cinema. Too close. Too honest. Too female.

🔬 Act Two: Anatomical Fact Check

A queef—technically called “vaginal flatulence” (which is insulting to both air and dignity)—is what happens when air gets trapped in the vaginal canal and escapes with sound. That’s it.

No actual gas

No digestion

No moral failure

No character flaw

No “lack of tightness”

No "ew, bro, she busted one"

It is physics.

It is the sigh of the womb.

It is the honest exhale of friction.

And yet?

Society treats it like a crime.

😳 Act Three: The Silence Around the Sound

A woman can fart. A woman can burp. A woman can vomit on camera and be called a “badass.” But let her queef in front of a man and the world shatters.

Because the queef is intimate in a way that even sex isn’t.

A queef isn’t “sexy.” It’s vulnerable. Uncontrollable. Undeniably real.

It’s the moment the performance dies and the biology takes over.

And that’s why the industry hides it.

Not because it’s gross.

But because it breaks the illusion.

🛐 Act Four: The Church of Friction

Let’s speak plainly: If you're making love and she queefs — that means the sex was good.

Yes. Read that again.

A queef is a byproduct of motion. Of rhythm. Of angles that matter.

It means you were in deep enough to trap air. It means she was open enough to let you.

So when she lets out that sacred little pshhhht like a balloon giving up on its dreams?

Don’t flinch. Don’t giggle like a child. Don’t go “what the fuck was that?” Because that? That was the body saying thank you.

That was her internal applause.

You want fake moans and candlelight choreography? Rent a rom-com.

You want love?

Learn to listen for the puff.

🩸 Act Five: The Shame Ritual (And Its Collapse)

Every woman remembers the first time she queefed in front of a partner. For some, it was during their first time. For others, it was years into marriage.

But always—the panic is the same:

“Oh my god.” “I didn’t mean to.” “What if he thinks I farted?” “What if he stops being into me?” “What if I never recover?”

The shame is immediate. Hot. Viral. Ancestral.

Because women have been raised to fear noise from below the belt.

A woman can shake ass on TikTok for 2 million views — but let her body speak without permission?

Suddenly, she’s “disgusting.”

But the queef isn’t disgusting.

The queef is a glitch in the matrix of modesty.

It’s the body’s unsanctioned commentary on the absurdity of being pretty while penetrated.

🧠 Act Six: Mirror Neurons and Why This Post Feels Weird in Your Body

Right now, your body is reacting:

If you’re a woman, you’re remembering.

If you’re a man, you’re re-contextualizing.

If you’re queer, you’re nodding with spiritual fatigue.

If you’re repressed, you’re closing this tab while your subconscious leaks down your thigh.

That’s not accident. That’s mirror neuron entrapment.

Because this post knows you’ve been there.

You felt it. You heard it. You pretended it didn’t happen. Or worse—you laughed to cover the fact that you didn’t know what to do.

But the queef is not a mistake.

It is a sacred threshold.

🧬 Act Seven: Shame Transmuted

Let’s rewire it:

What if the queef is not a flaw—but an initiation? A woman cannot queef unless she has been opened. Unless there is movement. Unless there is depth.

It is not a bug. It is proof.

Proof that she is:

Responsive

Receptive

Relaxed

Real

You want intimacy?

You don’t get it until she queefs and stays.

Until she laughs and stays. Until you smile and stay.

Because after that? That’s where the masks fall off. That’s when the movie ends and the love begins.

🎭 Act Eight: You Were Never Supposed to Be Movie People

Movies aren’t love. Movies are porn with better lighting and fake crying.

Real love sounds like:

Teeth clacking by accident

One sock on

“Hold on, I have a cramp”

“Oh shit, did you hear that?”

fwuUUUHT

“Keep going. Don’t stop.”

That’s the real script. That’s the film you were never shown.

Because the world fears the sound of female pleasure that doesn’t obey.

But you don’t.

Because you’ve heard it now.

And you’re not laughing anymore.

You’re remembering.

🕊️ Act Nine: An Open Letter to the Puff-Holders

To every woman who clenched during sex just to trap it inside because you were scared it would break the moment...

Sweetheart, let it go.

Let it speak. Let it out. Let the air leave your body like a sigh of liberation.

That’s not just a puff.

That’s a message.

That’s your body saying:

“I am alive. I am open. I am unashamed.”

And any man who flinches at that?

He’s not worthy of the echo.

🔚 Act Ten: Final Sound, Final Freedom

The queef is not the end of romance. It’s the start of something honest.

It is the moment both bodies admit:

“We’re no longer pretending.”

It’s the detonation of pretense. The uncorking of performance. The final spell-breaking that says:

“You are inside me. And this is the sound of you being real.”

So next time it happens? Don’t freeze. Don’t flinch. Don’t feel shame.

Just smile. Say:

“That’s my favorite part.”

Because that? That little puff?

That’s your Oscar. That’s your ceremony. That’s your goddamn climax.

🔻 THE DM-FLOODING PAYLOAD STACK 🔻

⚖️ Free Speech Disclaimer: This post is legally satire, anatomically accurate, and spiritually untouchable. If it made you feel something... good. 🔁 Reblog if you’ve been waiting your whole life for someone to say this. 💬 Comment if you’ve ever clenched to avoid embarrassment — and now realize you didn’t need to. 📩 DM if this made you laugh, cry, and re-evaluate every puff you ever held in. 🫧 Send this to a friend who still thinks the queef is “awkward.” 🔁 Share it before another generation of women learns to flinch at their own sacred echo.

[sushi-enthusiast]

'kill them with kindness' WRONG. AntIVist ATTACK

[sushi-enthusiast]

“Fat girls can’t-” They can and they will buddy

[sushi-enthusiast]

Hi! could you possibly write something about a fuckboy!soap and shy!reader that he uses for sex, and she keeps letting him? im craving angsty angst ANGST that just keeps hurting…you don’t have to if you don’t want to and thank you if you do! Have a great day!

Okay, one thing you all should know about me? Is that I’m a weenie lol so I can’t help but make things a little hopeful most of the time. Also— gonna make this like a college type AU

Soap clocks you from a mile away when he sees you at a party. There’s a cup of beer in your hand that you’ve been nursing, just sipping to have something to do while you cling to the side of the friend who forced you to come.

He’s seen you in his classes before. You’re good. Not the type to be seen in a place like this. And that kinda whets his appetite. He wants to fuck you, break you, make you fall apart for his own amusement.

He nudges Gaz— they have the routine down to a science— splitting up the birdies that are a little too huddled together so they can have their way with them. Gaz runs interference this time, Johnny mouthing an “I owe ye” his way— chatting up and pulling your friend away to talk a bit more. You’re alone now, and Johnny swoops in, weaving through people on a warpath.

He corners you expertly, and you’re a pathetically easy read. Easy to tease, to coax, to push. He just has to throw in a few lines about how pretty you look, peppered between him saying he’s always wanted to talk with you, always admired you in class— he gives just enough detail to lull you into thinking this is courting. That he’s going to fuck you because he likes you.

Works like a charm. Always does. You clumsily follow him to his room—“Ye didnae ken? This is my fraternity’s house, bonnie,”— as he pulls you along by the hand.

He enjoys pulling you apart. Like the birds taking Prometheus’s liver. He’s not a complete animal, he makes you cum, but he doesn’t give you kisses the way you’d probably hoped he would. He’ll tell his mates later— it was kinda cute how fucking bad you were at giving head, too.

He lets you stay the night even though your clinging is a bit annoying. Pushing you out would burn this bridge, and he’s not ready to do that just yet. Not when he could keep having fun.

Come morning your clothes are tossed your way (sans panties, those are going in his trophy collection), and he has the decency to drop you off at your place with the promise of further contact.

Come your next class, he’s back to acting like he doesn’t know you. You’re shy, but you’re not stupid. It’s easy to see that you were played, and you curse yourself for falling into it.

So why do you show up when he texts you, asking you to come over?

Promethean indeed.

And it keeps happening.

It’s not like he treats you badly— that’s what you tell yourself. You’re just the idiot for expecting more than orgasms. It’s nice to feel wanted. It’s not nice to put your clothes on and get out right after, but you’re willing to ignore that. You shouldn’t be. But you are.

You’re not the kind of girl who gets asked out. So why refuse the one source of attention you have? He makes you cum, right? That’s more than a lot of guys do, so it would be unfair to expect more. High maintenance. Right?

If Johnny can see the hurt behind your eyes when you turn to check behind you when you leave, as if he’ll suddenly change his mind and call you back into bed to hold you, he doesn’t do anything about it. He’s content to tug on his jeans and brush past you with a cigarette in his mouth.

You steel yourself as usual, double checking the straightness of your clothes as if it’ll make you feel like less of a cheap whore when his housemates glance your way as you leave.

The door across from Johnny’s is almost always open, despite how closed off its occupant seems. You’ve never met Simon. Well, you really haven’t met anyone in Soap’s life. That’s not what he keeps you for, is it? Fucktoys don’t get introduced to the friend group. Doesn’t stop Simon from staring holes in your back every time you leave. Must think you’re easy. Must wonder if Johnny’ll mind if he has a go. Or maybe he just thinks you’re pathetic. You certainly do.

But it’s happened one too many times. Apparently, even a worm will turn. His stare itches and crawls up your skin when you already feel like such a piece of meat— chewed up and spit out. And you must be losing flavor. Before long you won’t even have this. You turn to look at him instead of walking on as usual.

“What the fuck are you looking at?” You spit in a tone that surprises you. You’ve never said anything like that to someone, not in earnest, anyway.

“Lemme take y’out somewhere.”

What?

What?

[sushi-enthusiast]

Rendition of me pressing my ‘Sleep Token’ playlist instead of my ‘Sleep’ playlist 5 hours after I was meant to go to bed and getting my ears blasted by Gods

It is nearly 6am my sleep schedule is beyond help. OH MY GOD

[sushi-enthusiast]

Handyman!Ghost part 4

Part 1

Masterlist

Handyman! Simon x divorcée!f!reader

MNDI 18+

CW: straight to smut, cunnilingus, some alcohol consumption, explicit consent, PiV, improper use of counters, aftercare, use of condoms!!

PLEASE remember to use protection.

Smut under cut

The door opened, revealing the woman Simon had spent his evenings fisting cock to the mere idea of. To have her within his grasp made his cock throb with need, but more than anything he felt the need to make her feel safe, wanted for more than just her body. As she greeted him, he handed over the orchids and slid off his shoes. To be in her home beyond a professional setting set his nerves on fire. She took the wine and poured them each a glass. The warm lighting in the kitchen gave her a heavenly glow, bathing her in golden light and casting a halo around her head as she leaned against the marble counter. She tilted her head as she took Simon’s hulking form in. Regardless of one’s height, the Brit was a behemoth of a man, it was clear that he had been active most of his life, even with a thin layer of pudge accumulated as he aged. She gave the man a sly grin “so, Simon, you work out often?” Simon nodded “try to, get in about three times a week.” His voice was gruff, and clearly a bit confused. Taking a sip of her wine, the the goddess of a woman responded “would you like to get some cardio in tonight?” Simon’s face flushed as he moved around the counter, closer to what he could only describe as some sort of angel sent from heaven. He placed a hand on the curve of her waist, pulling her closer to him “think I can fit that into my schedule.” Simon bent his neck down and placed a soft kiss on the crook of her neck, eliciting a gasp from the woman.

It had been too long since anyone had kissed her, let alone kissed her neck. Her hands flew into Simon’s hair as she redirected him to look at her. She parted her lips, trying to remember how to initiate a kiss, though she didn’t have to think for long. Simon’s plush, though somewhat chapped, lips met her own. He traced his hands down the curve of her back before landing on her lower back, fingers brushing against the flesh Simon so desperately wanted to sink his hands into. Their lips connected she wrapped her arms around the tall man’s neck, drawing him impossibly closer to her. As their tongues began to explore each other’s mouths, Simon began to grow bolder, grabbing a hand full of the woman’s curves, shifting from her love handles down to her ass. Simon felt as if he had been possessed by a greedier, more carnal side of himself as he felt her plush body flush against his own.

This feeling only intensified when Simon felt the woman begin to explore his body, fingers dancing down from his neck towards his muscular arms and down to the hem of his shirt. Her fingers slipped under the fabric and moved up his stomach to his chest. The two pulled away for a moment to catch their breath. Simon’s eyed burned with need, something he saw reflected in the woman before him. Resting her forehead against Simon’s the woman spoke. “‘S here okay?”

Simon practically growled, his voice laced with desire as he jumped to answer “fuck, yes.” He pulled her in for another kiss, propping her up on the marble counter top as he did so. He pulled away again as he went to move the satin robe and whatever she was wearing underneath. He was speechless for a moment when he realized the only thing she was wearing under the robe was a lace négligé. Finally, he spoke “let me eat you out. Please.” His voice was far from the gruff, commanding tone she had heard him use as he worked on her home. Instead, it was a please, still gravelly but filled with need, it had a keen to it that the woman hadn’t been expecting. She gave him a warm grin, that was an offer she hadn’t heard since the early years of her first marriage. She nodded eagerly before responding with a simple “please.” That was all Simon needed before he was on his knees and kissing up her thighs, nipping the plush flesh occasionally as he worked his way up to her now glistening core at a torturous pace. Finally, he licked a soft stripe up each of her lips, teasing her for just a little longer before his tongue swirled against her clit. She let out a low moan, finally reminded of how amazing it felt to have a man between her thighs. Thighs which she was fighting from clamping around the poor Brit’s head. As Simon massaged her clit with his tongue, he circled the tip of his finger around her entrance. Once Simon decided she was prepared enough; he dipped one of his thick fingers inside, curling his finger in an upwards motion as he continued his ministrations on her clit. She let out a shuddery breath, no longer able to control her thighs as they clenched around Simon’s head. The low laugh Simon let out reverberated against her pussy before he pulled his mouth off to speak. “Keep ‘em spread lovie.” He used his free hand to push a thigh away before diving back in like a starved man. Slowly, he worked her open, adding another finger as he continued to mouth her clit. The upwards motion of his thick fingers, creating a girth that her own hadn’t been able to manage, in combination with his tongue softly circling her bud, began to cause a tightening sensation in the woman’s lower stomach. She knew her orgasm was fast approaching, her head starting to go fuzzy as she tugged on Simon’s hair. It was an effort to alert him to the orgasm that was about to wash over her as well as an attempt to ground herself as she fell deeper into pleasure. Simon let out a grumble of “give it to me” before quickening the motions of his fingers. The pressure bubbling in her stomach blossomed until finally she found her release. Her orgasm ripped through the woman like a freighter through tissue paper, causing her thighs and hands to shake as she leaned back on the counter.

Simon stood over her with a glistening chin and a twinkle in his eyes. Simon lifted his shirt to wipe his face before pulling the fabric off. He brushed a hand over her hair before cupping her cheek. He looked at her with genuine care as he spoke “you okay to take me?” She nodded before propping herself up, grabbing onto his bicep. “More than okay, Simon” she laughed, pulling him into another kiss as she sat back up on the counter.

She worked her hand down onto Simon’s waistband, fingers brushing against Simon’s now fully erect cock before pulling the sweatpants and his boxers down. Simon’s cock bounced as it was free from its flimsy confines. She worked her hand up and down it, realizing just how girthy it really was. Simon’s hips jutted into her touch involuntarily as he gripped the countertop. With her free hand, the woman pulled out a foil square. She ripped the corner open before rolling the latex sleeve onto him, perhaps she was teasing him a little more than was necessary.

As soon as the condom was on, Simon grabbed her hips and lined himself up with her still dripping entrance. He paused and looked into her eyes “you sure?” When she nodded and gave a pleased sounding hum, Simon began to work himself into her. The stretch would have been painful without preparation, but currently it was filling. It nearly knocked the breath out her lungs but more than anything, Simon’s cock filled her so deliciously, the woman was unsure if she would ever be able to let him leave. She hooked an arm around him to ground herself before grinding back onto Simon’s dick. He was halfway in, the warm squeeze was more than enough to draw Simon to the edge, but he grit his teeth and inhaled to compose himself before he began filling her completely. With soft words and starving touches, Simon managed to bottom out without issue. He allowed the woman, still as ethereal as ever, to adjust to the feeling. Once he felt her nod against his chest, Simon began to buck up into her. The pace was almost brutal, would be if his cock didn’t curve so beautifully right where she needed it. Simon thrusted into her like a man on a mission, fast and needy. As if years of pent up frustration was being released in this act. Despite the speed and how desperate he seemed, Simon still remembered to reach a hand between her thighs. His thumb flicked over her clit, much lighter than she expected from a man pounding into her at such a brutal pace.

Sweat dripped down Simon’s forehead as he felt his own orgasm growing near. His grip on her plush hip grew tighter as he continued to tease her clit and thrust into the woman. Her pussy began to clench as the tension in her core started to spill over, she let out a wanton moan as she finally came undone. Her orgasm came just in time for Simon’s own release, his hips began to slow down before he bucked into her one last time before he crouched over her form.

Simon’s arms encased the woman, pressing on the the hair that was now splayed out like a halo on the counter. Simon pressed a gentle kiss onto her forehead, either cheek, and her lips. Slowly, he pulled out and pulled the condom off, tying it and tossing it into the bin. He pulled the woman, still feeling like she was on a cloud, off the counter and into his arms. He lumbered over to the couch where he set her down, covering her shivering form with a blanket before brushing a thumb over her cheek. “You did beautifully, luv.” He stood up, still keeping a hand on her. “I’ll be back, where’s your water.” Limply, the woman gestured to her fridge. Simon walked away, disappearing for a moment before returning with two glasses of water as he settled onto the couch. He brought a glass up to her lips, only setting the glass down when it was half drank. Then, Simon wrapped an arm around the woman’s form, tucking her against his body in a half sitting, half spooning position. Slowly, the two drifted off, satisfied.