#Stimulant Misuse

[boredandmedicated]

Blaming the DEA for the adderall shortage does nothing

I am in my 20s and have been diagnosed with ADHD since 2008. Taken stimulants since 2008 with brief periods of trying nonstimulant medication in hopes of not needing to take stimulants anymore. I’ve been on adderall since 2016 and never had an issue obtaining my prescription until the past few years. Now, I blamed the DEA at first. Couldnt fathom why they wouldnt just raise the fucking quotas. Surely it isnt a supply issue. But as time goes on I honestly understand why more and more. Not to say I agree with it or LIKE having the stress I get every month, nor am I saying the dea is blameless here- seriously, they certainly arent blameless, okay? Dont take this to mean that.

But in large part this is because of the original, extremely loose standards surrounding an adhd diagnosis in, say, 2000-2005. Kids could get a diagnosis and a prescription for doing shit that normal kids do. Not wanting to read a book. Wanting to play outside. Normal kid shit. There were a substantial-though perhaps not a majority- of parents who obtained a diagnosis for their children like so despite knowing that their child did not have it. There were multiple reasons for this, though from anecdotal accounts it seemed more common for kids aged 12-17; whereas parents with children under 12 years old seemed (again, anecdotal, not statistical) to be seeking that diagnosis as an easy answer.

Prescriptions were booming and the kids were predictably not getting better after being given adderall- in fact, many were WORSE, unable to sit still entirely, having been given an amphetamine that just boosted their energy and didnt help with focus at all.

Following the realization that this was because a lot of kids that were prescribed adderall and diagnosed with ADHD did not, in fact, actually have it, the measures for prescribing and diagnosing ADHD were significantly tightened up. One requirement I recall is that an in-person visit and evaluation was required before any diagnosis or prescription for adderall. This would continue until COVID, when they declared a state of emergency. This allowed people to bypass the usual requirements for obtaining adderall and an ADHD diagnosis- so, no in-person, lengthy evaluation and comprehensive exam with a questionnaire, puzzle-type things, and verbal questions with open ended answers.

At the same time, as COVID quarantine extended beyond the original short-term that people were expecting, people were realizing quarantine fucking sucked. It is hard for ANYONE to work at home as they normally would at the office. Flexibility is incredible at home, but people were going stir crazy. And many attributed that stir-craziness, either validly or less so, to undiagnosed ADHD. ADHD became “trendy”. Platforms like Done would advertise on tiktok and twitter with little videos about how easy they make getting a diagnosis, how quickly they can get you adderall, how its all online. How with quarantine in place, it can get you where you need to be, easily diagnosis within an hour, a prescription within the week.

As a result, as shown by this graph (somewhat), there was a significant jump in adderall prescriptions for young adults aged 22-44.

I dont know and cant say how many of these are attributed to misunderstanding normal human behavior with ADHD, as opposed to valid diagnoses. I can say this: Adderall is not a joke, and abuse of adderall, people seeking diagnoses because they just want the drug itself, thats not uncommon. Its not uncommon for any drug. The DEA will not risk another drug crisis after crack, and especially during the fentanyl crisis now- and not to mention, tranq on the rise.

For that reason, I think blaming the DEA is a fruitless endeavor. We should be focusing on things that we CAN do. One idea I’ve had is, maybe we could make nonstimulant medications the first line of treatment. Wellbutrin, for instance. Nonstimulant medications tend to work much better prior to having any stimulant medication treatment for ADHD anyways. And bringing back the in person evaluations and lengthier diagnostics. I really do understand the classism arguments made about that requirement. But I think its honestly necessary. It is much harder to “fake” or “exaggerate” ADHD symptoms during an hours long in person evaluation, than it is to do so on an unmonitored, five question quiz and a 20 minute zoom call.

Taking adderall without needing it is not only selfish, but also, harmful to others AND yourself. Heart issues, anxiety, lack of appetite, and the “focus” doesnt work the way it does in people with ADHD if you take it without needing it. Not to mention, longterm stimulant use in someone without ADHD, when that person stops taking it, withdrawal symptoms from it can look remarkably similar to actual ADHD. Then we get stuck in this perpetual cycle. And frankly, Its not fun to wake up and see posts from people who made fun of me for my ADHD in elementary and middle school, suddenly glamorizing their own sudden onset ADHD and posturing as though theyve had it all along. Especially when I know theyre the ones contributing to the stigma that not just me, but many people face today when trying to simply… get the medication we need to do work at an even remotely functional level. And even more so when I know that shit is why doctors are hesitant to even recognize an adhd diagnosis as valid anymore. They see any adult with adderall now as the epitomal pill pusher, pill seeker, addict that just got a fun little upper to stay up and be energetic.

So yeah. Dont just blame the DEA. It is people too. Its people you know, sometimes even your friends.

And, you can acknowledge the bad ones without dragging the people with valid prescriptions and true intentions through the mud. So if this post doesnt apply to you, i promise im not talking about you.

[ectologia]

♱ ˖ ࣪࿐ 𝒯𝐻𝐼𝒩𝒦𝐼𝒩𝒢 𝒜𝐵𝒪𝒰𝒯 . . .

𝒸𝑜𝓃𝓉𝑒𝓃𝓉 ؛ asphyxiation ﾉ breeding ﾉ doggy style ﾉ riding ﾉ full nelson ﾉ dick piercings ﾉ profanity

𝓉𝒽𝒾𝓃𝓀𝒾𝓃𝑔 𝒶𝒷𝑜𝓊𝓉 . . .

Dabi’s favourite positions.

He enjoys a classic doggy. He loves how his scolding hot hands, ribbed and marred from years of misuse, mould into the pudgy flesh cushioning your hips and tummy. Squeezing the life out of you with clawed crooked fingers stabbing into your stomach while he stuffs his lengthy shaft all the way up to the stiff peak of your cervix, kissing the tiny opening with the dangerously armed tip of his pierced cock, threatening to splurge the entrance of your womb with wet, sticky seed. It makes him feel like a dog, a ferocious hound, a wild beast. Surviving to live and living to survive. Rutting with warm pants and throaty howls, grunting into the soft hairs that line your nape as he hunches over the extension of your spine, anticipating the moment he finally gets to fill your bitch pussy up with his puppies.

On the other hand, he’s also an avid enjoyer of having you hump him. He’ll pick you up by your shoulders, interlocking each of his lithe fingers around your limbs as he poises you atop his painfully erect dick, sitting your ass down on his hips as they bump up into your soft squishy bits, commanding you to ride him like his own little cowgirl. You complain that you’re tired after the first minute or so, it’s a constant but he just doesn’t seem to care. He’ll swat the meat of your plump butt with a flick of his wrist, telling you to “giddyup” and ride him properly, hissing through grit teeth to “bounce up and down on his fat-ass horse cock.” With splayed palms, his hands rest limply at your haunches, stroking the prickled fuzz of hair growing along your calves and below your thighs as you claw and clutch at the layer of fat chubbing his otherwise lean abs, nails scrunching and sprouting along the fleshy ripples every time he bucks up into you with a sly grin. Sneering at your startled yelps and pitiful whimpers.

But what really gets Dabi going, what really tickles his fancy. Is when you let him fold you like a deck chair. His drug of choice would have to be a nice, stuffy full nelson. One where you let him crumple you up like a tin can in his fist, one where he has your legs sticking out every which way, twitching and shivering and shuddering like a spider beneath his boot. He thinks you look so sweet like that, when he has your arms smushed between your tits, and your thighs locked on his elbows, no where to run and definitely no where to hide. He’ll do you in front of the mirror, all so he can see that cute violet hue overcome your features whence he’s blocked your air ways for a second or five too many. Biceps shaking, evidence of his lassitude after purposely trying to choke you out with his manhood fucked half-way inside that puffy little cunny he loves to hurt so much. He’ll chew his lip as you gasp and splutter, barely attempting to stifle the ashen chuckle that threatens to erupt as flecks of spittle fly onto his hairy thighs. Cooing at you, he’ll rub lines into your buzzing clit, nuzzling and huffing into your ear while he taps and faps away at the hard lovebud, refusing to move when you panic, flailing and screeching as the stimulation becomes too overbearing. Only then will he relent, recollecting your flapping arms and legs to spear you from the bottom, lowering you up and down his smouldering hot length, spiked with hooks and other metal weaponry a-geared to tear your delicate pussy open from the inside out.

[satoruhour]

need reader to have a confession with priest!geto about how they feel guilty for touching themselves late alone at night and priest!geto helps them by just fucking their brains out as a “penance” for their sins.

yes, i’m okay in the head btw! (lie)

AU REVOIR, O HEAVEN !

wc: 12.2k

warnings: DARK CONTENT, SLOW BUILDUP, CORRUPTION, priest!geto, fem!reader, age gap (reader is in early 20s, geto in late 20s), long descriptive fic that goes in depth of christian lore, lots and lots of christian references / metaphors / analogies, comparison to Satan’s banishment and fall from heaven, religious themes used in inappropriate ways, questions of religion and life, multiple scenes of f! and m! masturbation, fingering, clit stimulation, virginity loss, both f! and m! receiving oral, cumshot, praise, degradation, spitting, sex in a religious place, p -> v sex, unprotected sex, creampie / breeding kink, multiple rounds, n*sfw under the cut

for a small town like yours, it was a no-brainer that everyone knew everyone; and everyone’s drama as well. from the baker’s daughter being a whore to the mayor of the town being sacked for purposes that have since been twisted by word of mouth. that was another thing: word got around fast, and it was particularly suffocating in a conservative town such as yours. people were not outright about the obvious choices they favoured, but there was the older generation who were not shy to turn down progressive ideas.

because of that, the previous priest was kicked out because of the misuse of funds from mass collection and offertory. it was one thing to see a bunch of notes missing from the sack and the money counter but it was another thing to see that money going into funding a new strip club that was opening in the next town over.

it was simply unheard of, and the parishioners basically gave him a free ride to that very strip club by excommunicating him from his own church. it was unbecoming of a priest, especially in such a small congregation that everyone made sure the new priest to transfer here was a God-honouring one.

you hope he was. you’ve always felt the obligated need to serve your god and your parents. always the good girl, following the Ten Commandments, saving yourself for marriage. it was the natural order of a christian, and you could only hope that you’d get even a fraction of the eternal life they preach about in mass. but lately you’ve been having some . . thoughts, and you pray that this new priest could help you immensely, even if you had to do a hundred Hail Mary’s at the pews.

it was peculiar, the first time it occurred to you. the area where your body separates into two and forms two legs — the centre of it all, the middle where Eve had it covered in statues and paintings with a leaf, the middle where you had only learned of it in anatomical drawings. you knew what the vagina, cervix and the ovaries were, but seeing the convergence of pink and maroon between your legs confused you, even scared you.

and the next was when you’d had a guy come up to you whilst doing up your university application, saying something along the lines of how cute you were, would you like to grab a drink some time? and you were left dumbfounded and unable to answer. you let your eyes travel over his features, of the exposed arms of his button up shirt and the thickness of his forearms, you let your eyes skim over his plump thighs before you’re asked “are you okay?”

“n . . no sorry, i already have a boyfriend.” you lie through your teeth and all the guy does is sigh before walking away — but now you’re left with a bigger problem . . why was the thing between your legs throbbing? you swear you can feel your panties getting wet as well, but you aren’t quite sure why.

that night you’re lying in bed with a lewd website shining right in your face, as you’ve laid here for about two hours already, going through in your head whether you really wanted to do this. your hands had been clean, untainted from the moment you were born, but you imagine going to university and knowing not a thing about sex and that makes your whole body burn in embarrassment.

you chicken out and fall asleep.

“honey! come down here, i want you to meet someone.” your mother calls out to you, running about like she usually does. she’s always overworking — caring for the newborn, cooking the meals, cleaning the place. why don’t you ask dad to help sometimes? / nonsense! he works so hard and deserves a break! i don’t mind. / but he just lazes around at home after work . .

you’re pleasantly surprised to find a long-haired man at your front door, clad in a thick and loose turtleneck sweater with a gentle smile on his face. that uncomfortable feeling returns to your core and you land a hand to your stomach to calm the churning that’s happening.

“hello, and you are?”

you’d never think you would see one of God’s angels on earth in actual flesh in front of you. you’re convinced God is looking over you and you think you might see heaven when that silky voice repeats himself again.

“hi, kind miss, are you alright?”

“h . . huh? oh! yeah, uhm— who are you?”

your mother smacks you on your shoulder and sidles up to your side, holding onto your arm a little tightly that it hurts just a bit.

“don’t be rude!” she whisper-shouts to you, “this is geto suguru, and—”

“and i’m the new priest for the church.”

that catches you off-guard. he’s the new priest that was just transferred over? he looks anything but a holy man of God, what with his long hair and gauges in his ears; if you didn’t know any better you would think he was the one paying for the strip club instead. he seems to read your mind.

“i know i look . . a bit of a delinquent, miss, but i promise you the word of God is what i strictly live by. i honour and praise him with all that i can.”

“ah, i’m sorry if you thought i thought that way, father.” you mumble, giving him an awkward smile that he misses because he’s too busy focusing on the way you say father. you’re prepared to close the door on him already; the pulsing sensation between your legs isn’t fading and your whole body feels like it burns in hell. you rub your thighs together for some sort of relief, nothing.

“that’s usually the response i get, so i thought i would preface it first.” a little laugh leaves geto’s lips and if it wasn’t for you holding on for dear life on the door, you definitely would’ve buckled under your knees. “no hard feelings.”

“he’s a charmer, ain’t he?” there’s another sheepish laugh from the pastor at that. “told me he’s been going around giving cakes to all the people as a way to thank them for letting him take over the church.” your heart melts at that — he looked so hot and had a heart of gold, too?

“what cake did you get us, father?” you blurt out and you have no time to take it back, but the preacher doesn’t seem to mind. you also don’t seem to mind that barrier of authority that was established ever since he‘s introduced himself as the new priest of the church. it felt . . friendlier, less intimidating than the previous. it was probably mostly due to him not wearing his cassock or collar, though.

“chocolate.” that one word possibly ignited every nerve in you. the smooth lilt in his voice paired with the slight smirk. it was detrimental. you were going to hell, you were condemned to eternal damnation.

“how’d you know i liked chocolate?”

he shrugs, “lucky guess.” wrong.

he had come around the day before already, but you were too distracted with work and pressured with a deadline that music drained out everything else — one look at your side profile and the hard-working first year university student was all it took for geto to return again today with another cake of your liking. oh! you’re such a sweet one for asking what flavour we like; frankly, my dear boy, my husband and i don’t really eat cake but her . . loves it for some reason. i wonder where she gets the sweet tooth from, honestly.

geto could only thank his saviour that your mother had promised not to tell you he already came around yesterday. and it looks like she didn’t.

“i should get going, miss . .”

“(y/n).”

geto simply nods his head, resisting the urge to call your name pretty and only manages a decent call to your mother. “mrs (l/n), i’m heading off, thank you for having me. (y/n).”

you return his smile, hesitantly, inching the door close with immense difficulty — you wanted to see him walk away with that imposing height of his, of the proper gait he carried himself with and the politeness in which he greets people of the town.

that night you locked yourself in your room, muttering out some dumb excuse of having to study for a test when in reality you were more interested in the feeling between your legs. it both excited and scared you when you first find a comfortable position on your bed, stalling for a good half ’n hour before the clinking cutlery of dinner happening downstairs had brought you to your senses. there were countless articles open in your safari tab, none of which helped your growing dilemma — a tear in the Red Sea between the sin of pleasure and the liberation of acting on it. you felt like Moses, treading in the centre, on the fence.

one last text made you yelp out loud.

[8:03 pm, read]: R u coming down 4 dinner?

it was your mother, as if she knew what was happening behind doors.

[8:03 pm, delivered]: nope, sorry mummy. need to study for this test, its important !

[8:05 pm, read]: Alright, alright. I left out a serving of what we cooked tonite. Heat up if u need to with the microwave O.K.? Don’t sleep so late!

you simply favourited her message, losing all motivation from before; until your mind crosses over dinner and goes straight to that chocolate cake, and then to the person who had brought it.

“Farewell happy fields / Where joy forever dwells: Hail, horrors, hail.”

“geto . . geto suguru.” the name feels foreign. it does sound like a countryside name but it felt like he had come from the city instead. “geto . .” you sigh, letting your hands tremble and move along your body. they brush over your chest, over your nipples and you recoil a little from the strange feeling. they harden under your touch as you continue to repeat his name.

each murmur of his name is a step farther from God, dipping your toes into the waters of hell as your fingers travel lower, lower, lower. you press a finger against your clit unknowingly, and you let out a loud moan; you immediately slap a hand over your mouth.

but the pleasure’s too much, and so you try again. one hand goes back to your nipples, squeezing your tits and playing with them while your fingers rub pathetic circles along your core.

“su . .” you gulp. “geto—”

you pant softly to yourself as you continue to rub your clit, messy, inexperienced circles in whatever shape or form. as long as it felt good to you, you were doing it. you made sure to keep your moans in as your hips bucked into your hands, back arching off the bed in needy movements. your hands were getting tired, clutching at the bedsheets.

long hair, built physique, crucifix on his neck. funny, you never noticed that before, but now you imagine it clearly, dangling over your face. you’re imagining geto fucking you, thrusting his cock into you as he groans out your name.

you’re at the end of your tether, feeling the deep plunge of your body in Satan’s lair the same time you cum for the first time in your life and your body shakes so violently. you flail around on your bed, bite into your shirt, anything to keep you quiet from the immense orgasm you had just felt. your pussy clenches around nothing and your hand aches so much it might fall off, but it just feel so damn good that you only have a minute’s rest before you’re rubbing at your clit again.

scooping up a little of your cum, you marvel at the clear liquid, sucking on your finger to try the thing that’s always drenched your panties. and soon you’re conjuring the image of the long-haired priest yet again, never really studying for that test you made up or even eating dinner — all you do is rest and come again, each time more wrecked than the last time.

you dreaded going to church the next morning.

it had slipped your mind that service was to continue once geto has gotten settled down in the rectory, a small outhouse at the back of the church that had been revamped. you’re not sure on how father geto was able to get it done up so fast but, you’re not one to question.

with the short walk to church, you regret not eating the night before, groaning softly at the discomfort of your growling stomach. what you were more worried of though, was what would happen to you once you stepped foot in the church. was your body going to go up in flames? were you going to get ridiculed by the townspeople? were you going to get called out by father geto in front of everyone?

“what’s gotten you so worked up?” your father was walking behind and smoking, as always, not giving a shit about your mother and the newborn.

“nothing . . just, wondering if i got everything in my head for my test.” your mother coos, and your baby brother in the carrier thinks it’s because of him. he babbles into your mom’s shirt, giggling.

“you’ll do fine, honey,” the reassurance worried you only more. you were lying outright — you had no test, you weren’t even studying, you were busy—!

“i raised a smart girl, didn’t i?” you can only manage a smile, reaching the church within minutes. taking the chance to mutter a short prayer and a plea, you take a deep breath and that light from above Lucifer’s kingdom seem to call out to you again.

stepping into the simple but cozy church, you dip your hands in holy water. Father, Son, Holy Spirit along your forehead, chest and shoulders before you trail behind your mother, suggesting places for you to sit at the back. she only waved your hand away, pointing towards the front. we always sit at the front! why the sudden change? / nothing . . maybe thought we could switch it up a little.

the mass starts after a few minutes of waiting, and you have the luxury of wallowing in your self-pity and guilt for those few minutes, trying to get the very filthy imagery of father geto above you, father geto between your legs, father geto himself out of your head. you fail, it’s only amplified when the bell rings and the congregation stands up.

everyone waits in anticipation for the new priest in this small town, hoping he won’t disappoint them like the last one. but they already seem to be in good spirits as he makes the entrance down the very short church. two altar boys follow behind him in the procession, accompanied by an organist and a duo of choir singers, straining to have their voice heard over the loud instrument. he’s already made some friends, nodding to the excited kid who whispers and the shy girl who waves her hands at him. but while everyone feels anticipation in hopes of a good sermon, dread is only making your legs feel like lead, you feel lightheaded, dizzy even.

because whatever you had imagined last night was him in his sweater get-up, and it just now sinks in what a disgusting thing you were doing as you watch the rich purple of his chasuble sway alongside his stole — the very image of him in his priest robes (in Lent season too, not to mention) — meant to deter you from more thoughts, only fed your desires.

geto suguru made being a pastor look so natural, and attractive, that it was almost criminal.

“good morning, brothers and sisters, how are we all doing this morning?” there’s a few murmurs around, but geto doesn’t falter, instead pressing on with his very convincing, beautiful speech; as does he with the rest of the mass. he conducts himself with as much professionalism as he can, handling the Eucharist with proper hands, giving a sermon whilst giving you too many eyes, distributing Holy Communion with a gentle, accepting smile; your skin burnt when he handed you the body of Christ, a soft inaudible “amen” hanging off your lips.

father geto was all the talk after, some hanging around to catch a minute of geto’s time if they could and you were no different, purposely looping your arm through your mother’s and slowly down your pace.

“goin’ out for a smoke.” your father gruffly tells the three of you, two of which understands better. your newborn simply cuddles deeper into your mother’s breast, humming softly into the nap.

“’kay.” it was opportunistic, now, as your eyes flit around the place to find geto talking to two older ladies. he’s politely bent down to reach their heights better, chasuble now removed and simply in his alb, one patting his shoulder and the other giggling. you think you imagine it but his eyes dart over to you for a moment and then off to the other parishioners.

“how are you two lovely ladies doing?” you hear him before you see him and the voice startles you a little, jumping back from brushing your baby brother’s almost non-existent hair.

“fine.” it comes out kurt and abrupt and you burn when your mother nudges you like yesterday.

“think what she means is that we’re perfectly fine. how was your first mass?”

father geto looks around the church, recalls the altar boys, ingrains each church-goer into his head, “i hope the congregation likes me.”

“oh, nonsense! i’m sure they do,” your mother reassures. she was always good like that, putting others before her and making sure they see the best in themselves, “that was a very riveting sermon you delivered.”

“yeah—! yeah, i . . really enjoyed it, father geto.”

a small smile tugs at the corners of his mouth, “did you now?”

you nod, and he continues, “you enjoyed me telling you that sin was revolting?”

when he phrases it like that . . you swallow, “isn’t that what God’s whole schtick is?”

and that makes father geto laugh, because for such an innocent flower like you, you make it sound like you were forced to go to church and made to learn the basis of why God exists and now you just don’t know what to do with it. it’s common for people at their university age where they’re exposed to more views and mindsets, to question the religion you were born in and think about what it meant to be tied to a god you didn’t even really know existed, and when that happens, Christianity turns stagnant and boring.

“yes, pretty much, miss (y/n), but His schtick also involves forgiving anyone who has sinned against Him. after all, that’s what He died on the cross for.”

“y . . yeah, i know, father geto.”

you only realise now his purple chasuble matches his eyes, eyes that swirl with the colours of amethyst. they’re much brighter in the parish lighting, and they hold your stare much longer than yesterday. there’s the tugging feeling at your stomach again that goes right down to your centre and it throbs; your eyes flutter and blink to get you out of your head.

“good that you know . . of course, it’s not an invitation to sin. self-restraint and chastity still exists,” you hate how he puts an emphasis on the latter word, because he could be referring to anything, “but we need not be worried for our lives. we only need to pray and repent in prayer, and God will have mercy on us.”

but well, if God didn’t want you to sin, how then can he explain creating such an attractive person? if God valued his followers’ self control, why did he have to plant such lewd, inappropriate thoughts of his preacher in your head?

father geto could probably see your dilemma with how hard he was staring at you, and he only makes it worse by putting his larger hand on your left shoulder. it descends deeper to your upper arm and the skin there ignites—

“i hope you liked the chocolate cake.”

you manage a small smile, “haven’t had the chance to try it, sorry, father.”

“don’t apologise.” you forget your mother and baby brother is even beside you with how he talks to you. you’d love to be on his chest, hearing the deep rumbling of his voice or even have his hands be somewhere else but your arm. you don’t know how simply talking to you has got him doing everything in his power to restrain himself; not even a prayer from God could help.

“The mind is its own place, and in it self / Can make a Heav'n of Hell, a Hell of Heav'n.”

what you don’t know, either, that the hand on your shoulder was between his legs just last afternoon, trying so hard not to sneak under his cassock. he could barely keep his moans in, palming his bulge from above his robes at the mere thought of you. no touching means less sin, right? he comes to that pathetic conclusion easily, so all he does is bury himself in the outhouse after distributing his cakes, hips positioned over his pillow and he grinds.

the feeling for father geto was so archaic, been so long since he’s given up his life to God right after graduating university. all the carefree times that he’s experienced — drinking in dorms, going to parties, getting some nice quick fucks in between exams — were going to stop for good. but that doesn’t mean he stopped lusting.

lust. one of the seven deadly sins, a weak point for father geto’s journey as a pastor. it’s obvious now too that he hasn’t really left his older ways, bucking his hips into the fabric of his pillow. he thinks of you, your sweet little eyes and your cute outfit at home, he thinks of your face twisted into pleasure as he’s positioned between your legs.

father geto twitches, friction against the underside of his cock feeling so good after years and years of holding back — with a pretty face to think of, too. his hips ruts in short thrusts, desperate for that high and he chokes on a moan imagining your sweet voice begging to cum. and so does he, shooting such a large, hot load into his underwear that even his cassock is stained with his cum. but unlike you, he’s already thinking of his next round — if he’s doomed to die by lust, then might as well go all the way.

father geto spares a glance towards the door just to be safe before flipping over on his back, and pulls his robes above his lower half. the sight is dirty, underwear painted a darker colour and cum sticking to every part of the fabric. once he wraps a hand around his cock, geto is gone, pumping it so fast he might have gotten a burn along his length but it’s all rewarded by the second quick orgasm he reaches — spurting ribbons of cum all over his holy garments.

it’s why he didn’t have time to write a proper sermon for the morning mass. he was up all night, stroking himself — just, from the thought of you.

it was father geto’s turn to have uneven breaths as you asked if he was okay, hand on your shoulder shaking. but the visions of last night is overtaken quickly by his need to impress the other parishioners, and so he gives you a tense smile.

“enjoy the cake.” it sounded like an innuendo if you’ve ever heard one, but you mutter a soft thank you, before heading off back home with your family. that contact with your shoulder is all you can think of, giddy at the warmth of his hand and eyes.

“baby, could you open the door for me?” your mother calls out to you, hastily wiping her hands on her apron and abandoning the kitchen to tend to your crying baby brother.

“ok, mummy!” the doorbell’s been rung twice now, jogging a little to the door to prevent the person from waiting. you didn’t think to look through the peephole, a tight-knit (conservative) community made you trust anyone, opening the door to find father geto standing in front of you.

“o-oh. hi, father . .?”

he was dressed in his roman collar, a black shirt with a white strip around the neck and some black jeans. it wasn’t as casual as the first day, and it still held an ode to God even on a weekday.

“hi, (y/n).”

“ohhh! it’s father geto, come, come!” your mother bellows throughout the house, baby brother on her hip as she bounces him to get him to stop wailing. “are you hungry already?”

geto displays a meek smile, “a little, mrs (l/n), since you mentioned how big of a feast you were cooking.”

your mouth drops in recognition; was that why she was so preoccupied for the whole day? doing the maximum in the kitchen not just because it was for your father’s recent promotion at his job, but also for dinner with father geto.

“you’re having . . dinner with us.” it’s more of a statement to yourself than a question to the priest, but he still catches on and assists you by closing the door himself, and taking off his shoes. already, he looks part of the family, looking like a hard-working husband coming back from his job to you. instead, he’s answered the vocation of priesthood, and not matrimony.

“it looks like i am.” it’s such a sly comment, like he already knew the effect he had on everyone. this sucking up was just to get every church-goer to like him more, and it’s working.

geto is charming at the dinner table as he is at the parish, cracking jokes that make both your parents and you laugh, talking about his university life and telling a myriad of stories that he’s gone through.

“what did you major in in university, father?” it felt such a weird question, especially with an honorific attached to something that you were doing at the moment — it felt out of place that someone so close to your age was already pursuing a lifetime commitment of serving God.

“my studies focused mostly on philosophy and theology. i minored in linguistics.” there’s a chorus of ooh’s that echo throughout the table, cleaning up the last bit of food on his plate before he continued. “i’m currently going more in depth for latin, which is a stunning language, beyond those who say it’s dead and should stay dead.”

that only makes him hotter, and you cross your legs beside him, looking at him from the corner of your eye at you play with the last meatball on your plate. the sauce leaves a trail of red from the tomato, somehow mirroring the murder of your old self — or what you thought it was. it was more of a knife wound, a cowardly stab in the arm.

that dinner with father geto only deepened your sense of guilt.

it was the way the priest was quick to stand just as your mother does, offering to help with cleaning up the dinner table. even when she brushes him off, he insisted, answering for her when he only silently takes the plates to the back. all your mom does is shake her head with a smile, letting you help as well. your father just watches curiously, entertaining the baby with his canned alcohol.

“i’m embarrassed i can’t fight back against you well enough to stop ya from cleaning up at my own house,” your mother confesses, already having used her last breath to tell him to not help with the dishes as well. you scrub at a stain on geto’s plate over and over, a stubborn one at that until you finally are able to get it out. it still leaves a faint red glow, though.

“it’s nothing, really, mrs (l/n), i’m happy to help whenever.” father geto’s eyes rake over your figure as you clean alongside your mother, heel bouncing up and down; to non-existent music or in impatience he wasn’t sure.

she just takes the soapy plate from your hands with a laugh, “c’mon, it’s okay, my dear. go entertain father geto.”

it was the way his courtesy shined through when he doesn’t enter your room until he has gotten verbal confirmation from you, guiding him in with a uneasy hand as he looked around your quaint little space. it was filled with photos, some plants, tons of research papers and a messy table to match, but all he did was reassure you. you take note of his flowing hair and the laid back hairstyle he liked to don when it wasn’t for mass.

“how is university treating you?” you’re stuck on being completely honest and lying with every answer, but father geto has a face that makes it difficult to lie to.

“it’s . . alright, i guess,” you settle on your bed, crossing your legs and hoping he wouldn’t pick up any of your essays. thinking is manifesting, though, and his hands naturally go for the paper with the many red markings on the front page.

“Paradise Lost? by Milton?” ah. that paper. you shoot up from the sheets before he can read it, because frankly your thesis in that paper was weak and wasn’t well supported, but you still believed it deeply. you were just having a little bit of trouble straying from your reverence for God. you only manage to clutch the top of your paper, but geto is adamant on reading it, piqued by genuine curiosity.

“the retelling of Milton’s Paradise Lost humanises the experience of Satan’s (or Lucifer’s) fall from glory . .” he trails off, reading over your evidences and analysis. you feel like you’re being read like an open book, laid out bare for vultures to pick at and for God to enumerate your sins until you felt no shame.

with his head still tilted down, father geto has to look up through his lashes and bangs, seemingly making you cower more and more in your spot as the unsolicited advice for your essay dies down on his tongue. the size of his hands has you hypnotised, and he decides it’s against his own values to give feedback about a text he so childishly brushed off when he was in university, even if he had to read it to complete four years in the seminary. geto places a hand upon yours and the heat is dizzying; you can’t help but think if he was just normal person, instead, holding your hand like this.

it was the way he let you explain yourself a little better through your own words. it was a premature essay, anyway, made to test out your close reading and citation skills. but he found your interpretation of Milton’s poem to be much more insightful than he expected it to be — you think maybe, your understanding of the text grows the more you learn about your body, how you like to be pleasured; you feel like Lucifer.

“i . . don’t necessarily think you are born into evil. it’s multi-faceted and loaded, this question. God our Father would do anything but create evil willingly, it’s just unfortunate that the people that bring up their offspring contribute to the shaping of their identity and outcome.”

“then, how . .” your lips twist as you think of a way to word the question, “how would that justify evil existing? wouldn’t the fact that evil is developed somehow meant that God created evil in some shape or form, in the first place?”

father geto rushes to answer but—

“why did he have to create the serpent that tempted Eve in the first place? couldn’t he have just left them alone in Eden?”

“...there to dwell / In adamantine chains and penal fire / Who durst defy th' Omnipotent to arms.”

you frown, not expecting the other to answer but instead just wallowing in your thoughts. you never thought the talk with father geto would turn into some philosophy lesson, but the more you chatted with him on the bed, the more the conversation seemed to steer that way.

your own faith wavers in the night, a quietness settling over the two of you like a cloak of stars. the mass of each star weighs heavily with your questions up in the air until you faintly hear his answer.

“i don’t . . know, miss (y/n).”

“ah! no no— sorry to dump everything on you, father geto,” you scratch the back of your head, “it was just passing thoughts. i’ve never thought to think of this before.”

it was morbid, it was macabre. it was like looking over and seeing a skeleton in your place instead of flesh and skin and yet each question after question ignites something in him that no one has excited before. he can already feel lust influencing the other six, pumping through his veins at a life void of God, void of religion, a free place to think of the omnipotence of a higher being that no one was sure really existed.

“it’s okay . . it’s natural to ask. it’s natural to inquire. God,” he nods like he was in a trance; the word feels weird on his tongue, “God would want this.”

that night you did anything but sin, clutching the essay between your hands and digging your knees into the floor with elbows on your bed until they ached and you prayed. you wished blessings on your family, you wished blessings on the parishioners, you wished blessings on father geto and you wished eternal damnation on yourself.

there’s a heavy pull on your heart when you go to sleep a few minutes after and the dream you have of your body turning to soot and burning with each feet into flames makes you crave salvation all the more — like all a bad dream, it will be fine as long as you pray, and pray, and pray.

but the flesh desires what the heart denies: the more you ‘hang’ with father geto (by God, he was perfectly okay with that word when you let it slip to your mother. he merely throws up a peace sign in a ‘cool’ way and then immediately cringes, but it makes you laugh), the more you find yourself attracted to his morals, to his ideals, to the natural way in which he exists. he could speak for hours on end, voice sounding like birdsong and a chilling breeze all at the same time.

his voice did wonders in your head, as well, coaxing you into betraying your own code; and you betray it easily. that phantasmic voice leaving you to remove your top and pinching your nipples as soft little moans leave your mouth. the imaginary sway of his crucifix above your face while you harshly abuse your clit and dip a finger into you for the first time. the feeling is so foreign and weird that you shamelessly think of the slight lilt of his voice helping you: “it’ll feel better soon, (y/n). c’mon, finger your pussy for father geto.”

father geto had a natural talent for talking and preaching. that downturn of tone like hitting a dead-end when he holds a point above your head (“but”) and then resolves it into perfect cadence like chords ending a phrase when he proposes a solution (“God will take care of everything”). he does it so much you think he’s rather convincing himself more than he’s convincing you, though.

“perhaps this parable that Jesus uses tells us rather to look within ourselves, to look within the vineyard that is us. the owner have done everything: kept the roots tied so it would not be trampled, making sure they get all the sunlight and water it needs, yet . .” he pauses a little, looking at the almost full parish now that he’s won over the hearts of your town. his eyes flit down to you at the second pew, shooting you a quick smile.

“and yet he yields sour grapes. we pray, we act civil and diplomatic, we are giving, but are you truly doing it for the glory of God? is that maybe why we only get the sour grapes — not satisfied with the ‘thank you’ after doing a favour or silence from God after praying daily?”

geto looks over the last bits of the scribbled sermon, a little more coherent than last week, but still done with thoughts of you. there’s multiple smudges of his words that he has to squint and stutter a bit, caused by the frantic cleaning of his cum upon the paper.

“we all . . naturally expect things back, but to be Christian, to be a follower of Christ, we would have to abandon all thoughts of that.” father geto’s mind wanders to last night as his eyes look for you again. “we would need to be generous, to be kind without needing anything in return.”

father geto integrates into the church easily, shown in how his sermons capture the hearts of many. albeit, they never really take in the true meanings of the preachings he gives, but it’s enough for geto if they nod and mutter amen like fools in mass; whatever they do out of it is out of his hands.

but along the many preachings he does, there is one subject he fears approaching: lust, the one thing that threatens the downfall of his vocation and yet he cannot get enough of it. each walk and meeting with you only heightens his desire, makes his cock throb beneath his robes. each sunday he wishes he could split his soul in half — one as the confessor and one as the confessing — and repent in the confessional box.

“today’s gospel from Mark, chapter 6 talks about lust, briefly.” there’s a shake in his voice, eyes now scrambling over the congregation to find you in a much more revealing top contrasting with the out-of-place cardigan you have on. he’s sure it was mrs (l/n) that had made you put that on before you left the house; the house where he’s memorised the placement of your shoe rack and how your door creaks when it’s opened too quickly. geto is so fucked.

geto clears his throat before continuing, seeing you adjust your body for a moment, “King Herod is tempted by his flesh when he sees one of Herodias’ daughters dancing, so much so that she tempts him to commit murder. a clear beheading, just from giving into her body, and when she asks of him, he delivers like a dog. this calls us to truly think of the desires that we possess. they need not be sexual,” soft whispers emerge, a taboo subject, “they can also be related to money, to power.”

“lust for more things turns into greed when we act on that initial lust,” geto is sweating by now. he pulls lightly on his collar when you press your arms together in retaliation and he has to look away from the way your tits perk up so perfectly.

you had to know what you were doing, surely. partially — you were feeling cold, but you stifle a smile when you realise how geto’s eyes linger a little longer on you, or rather your chest, before he coughs and continues,

“when we are driven so terribly by the feeling that we abandon all morals just to please this person, thing on earth is when we tread into dangerous territory. no earthly possession must make you feel this way,”

the irony settles in his bones after he says it and his dick twitches at the thought of having you under the podium right now, sticking his fat cock down your throat while you struggle to keep the gagging noises to a minimum.

“no matter . .” a gulp, “how rewarding the aftermath must be.”

father geto knows you both are braving the edge of God’s merry kingdom. it is just a matter of who falls first.

“your place is in the kingdom of God, meant to fulfil eternal life with Jesus and the Lord which is what we all should be keeping in mind and working towards, ignoring all the distractions that will soon fade and die off.”

geto coughs again in the mic and breaths shakily, finally tearing his eyes away from you before he concludes the sermon and eases into the Offertory and Eucharist. he buries himself so deep in the procession in order to get you out of his mind, and it’s shown in the haste in which he carries the mass. it feels like he rushes so much that even the day outside follows too, because evening seems to arrive earlier than usual.

the sun sets outside, illuminating the altar. it taunts you like reminding you of the beauty of your faith; it deepens the need developing in your core.

“body of Christ.” you can faintly hear it being repeated over and over at the front, just a few steps away from your turn and you wish you weren’t standing behind your dad’s hulking figure so you could actually prepare yourself for father geto. you’re greeted with his cascading hair tied up into a bun and the cup containing Jesus’ body, gold and shining. you see your stretched reflection before your eyes snap back to the pastor in front and you will your hands not to hail routine.

instead, you stick out your tongue for the father to put the communion on and you take in the little panic of his hands and the choked sentence of body of Christ. his eyes drift down to your pink tongue, to the small twitch it does when he places the host on it and he cannot wait for you to get out of his sight, lest he be overtaken by the sin he particularly preached about just minutes ago.

“any test to study for tonight, darling?” your mother asks after dinner, meaning to ask after seeing you be so fidgety like you needed to be somewhere.

“uh . . no, not exactly, but i do have something i need to do.”

“oh! what is it, sweetie?” she doesn’t read your expressions, you mannerisms, so you were safe from that, but you willed your voice to not break. your body is on fire, you needed to quell your needs, now.

“just— i promised father geto i would meet him later for a confession, since he’s so busy, he could only propose a late timing,” no, you didn’t. either way, you give a reason, explain yourself before she can speculate, works every time.

“oh, okay . .” she trails off, seemingly unaffected, “just don’t get home too late, alright, darling?”

you nod even though she’s too focused on the dishes, pressing a hand to her back in thanks and she carries on, carefree, while you sprint to your room. lock the door, get your phone out.

“ . . ings turns into greed when we act on that initial lust . .” the words recorded just hours ago leave the phone speakers on a low volume, already lighting a flame in your pussy when your hand brushes over the microphone and he stops at the same time, “when we are terribly dri . .”

you sigh loudly when your hand starts to make its way down to your centre, rubbing slightly to the sound of his voice. your clit is just begging to be touched, begging for your inexperienced hands flicking your nub in every which way. impatient, your hands dip into your cunt and your jaw drops open at the intrusion of your fingers, just as your eyes widen and your imagination has never worked as well as it does now.

you can see geto’s amethyst eyes boring into yours, you can see his hips fucking into yours and yet it doesn’t give you the same kick as you think it would — you’re fucking yourself with your fingers even faster, circles on your clit increasing in speed and messiness and you smear your juices all around.

“father— father geto—” it was pathetic, the way you moaned for a man of God, but the feeling of your cunt clenching around what you wished was his dick was too good, the coil in your stomach still feeling rather uncomfortable but welcoming and you’re unravelling with a silent scream soon, back arching off the sheets.

“s . . suguru, f-fuck,” the swear word feels weird on your lips, as with his first name, but the trembling of your virgin body is so delicious that you just keep rubbing and rubbing, taking so long to come down from your high as your pants get heavier and heavier. and then his face starts to fade off, eyes turning into lilac air and you’re glancing towards the crumpled essay on your bed with guilt festering in your chest.

“ . . mptations of the flesh are childish, are temporary. they lead you to do foolish things that have no place in the kingdom of God. we may repent and put it past us but the memories that our tainted bodies possess, they remember the sinful things that you did.” the recording of father geto dies out as with his powerful conclusion, speaking so loudly into the mic that it screeches with feedback, you remember. you don’t even know where the guilt builds up from, in your torso and your heart, despite questioning the faith you were in for all your life.

if God did not want us to sin, why did he create temptations and ask us to pray for forgiveness?

you roll over and remove your fingers with a small whine, taking up your phone and opening up the contact with father geto hesitantly. it was meant to be a strictly professional exchange like the conversations he’d had with many other parishioners: updates on the church, changes in mass timings, but your chat was filled with questions from you and answers from him. you didn’t dare ask him anything out of the faith.

[9:37 pm, delivered]: uhm. father geto? are you there?

oh god, it’s you. the you who on the second walk around the town exchanged numbers with him because he found your thoughts so intriguing.

[9:39 pm, read]: Yes, Miss (Y/N). What is it?

you take a deep breath. better to ask for that confession, you couldn’t risk your mother asking about it tomorrow.

[9:40 pm, delivered]: is it alright to have

[9:41 pm, delivered]: can i come over to the church, for a bit

father geto straights up in the rectory, getting closer to the socket where his phone was charging and hovers over the screen. his hands are clammy when typing a response and he manages it in about three minutes.

[9:44 pm, read]: Of course, my dear. The doors of the church are open for the congregation at any time.

bidding goodbye to your mother, you stay on the lit path to the church and you’re bathing in anticipation, too excited to see father geto that you bump into a dark shadow. almost resembling a hard wall, hands emerge from its sides to clutch at your biceps.

“miss (y/n), what is it? what has gotten you up so late at night?” if he was still in university, he would’ve laughed at how he asked that question. hundreds of texts of u up? that mimic the nature of the question right now. 

“i was hoping . .” you ignore the tingly feeling of the way in which his hands leave goosebumps along your biceps and then to your forearms. finally, they clutch your hands between his, meant to be like a warm hug but instead is like fire, licking at your fingers and wrist like you’re at the stake. “i was hoping that i could, request you for a confession?”

the priest across you swallows with a nod, swiftly putting a hand across your back to lead you to the booth. you both could’ve done it perfectly fine in the pews, sitting across each other. “the confessional is where we will feel the strongest compulsion of Christ. come,” he answers your question before you can ask it, “take your place on the kneeler behind the curtains.”

father geto showers in the same sea of anticipation when he makes sure you’re okay before heading over to his side of the confessional. he’s imagined this scene over and over — you on the pew kneeler, breath warming the velvet curtains — he cannot help the bulge that forms.

the first words he speak behind the curtain shock you, voice sounding so close yet so muffled and distant.

“come, now, (y/n), make the Sign of the Cross with me.”

Father, Son and Holy Spirit

upon your head, chest and shoulders you do it, taking a deep breath before you start. “bless me, father, for i have sinned. it has been . . about five years since my last confession.”

geto nods, the soft carry of your voice in the late night having an effect on the priest. the hold he has on the crucifix of the rosary is so tight it makes an indent on his skin, the only thing on mortal flesh to keep him from falling.

“What though the field be lost? All is not lost; the unconquerable will, And study of revenge, immortal hate, And courage never to submit or yield.”

your thighs rub together, hot breath sending chills down your clutched hands and down your arm as you ponder over the things you’ve done — “i’ve . . lied to my mother at times, to my friends when they ask me where i’m from. i have stolen money for my own needs, n-not— that high of an amount but um . . still a fair amount.”

“what did you need to buy, sweetheart?”

the name surprises you, but you simply ignore it. “i wanted new clothes — was all the rave at uni when the girls wore miniskirts and little tops. unfortunately it didn’t suit me.”

geto swears under his breath when the image of you in such skimpy clothing infiltrate his thoughts. his curiosity overtakes him; overwhelmed with emotion, he never had the chance to see what you were wearing before he pulls back the curtains and hopes your eyes are closed and they are: pulled tight with quivering eyebrows. there, like a sinning Christian is you in a thin camisole, cleavage showing beneath your arms. he peers lower, gasps softly to himself when you’re wearing a skirt.

“father? father, what’s wrong?” you think you hear the swift swoosh and the rings of the miniature curtain clatter.

“n—nothing is wrong, miss (y/n). are there any other sins you want to confess?”

you swallow, “i . . i’ve wished misfortune on my father.”

not the sin he was hoping for but he wasn’t surprised; his head moves in understanding. he had seen your father — merely a ghost in the house and hardly contributing to fostering the family. it goes against what Mary and Joseph stands for as the Holy Family, but father geto has seen a lot of absent fathers and incompetency to truly be taken aback anymore.

“i’ve also . . i’m not sure whether to tell you this, father geto.”

your breaths were all you could hear in the silence of the church, an eerie quietness settling as if the critters and animals of the earth strived to listen to your ultimate sin, too. Beelzebub, Asmodeus, possibly even Lucifer himself clawed themselves up from hell to eavesdrop.

“of course you can, my dear.” the wind through the wooden confessional box sounds like the hisses of the three demons, like they have had holy water sprayed on them from the mere sounding of his voice; but they look hopefully for a server of Christ to fall exactly like they did.

“it’s, related to my body, father. i,” gulping, you continue with a prompt from the other, “i’ve had this growing need, like, one has when they’re hungry. they have the need to fill their stomachs. or— or a sudden pain you have to massage yourself through, like a cramp in the arm of sorts.”

“well . . is it your torso or your arm?”

“it’s . .” you spare a glance towards your centre under your very, very short skirt, the familiar pulsing of your clit turning more and more prominent. “it’s related to my pussy, father.”

you hear a choke from the other side, and then you realise your choice of words.

“ah— m-my bad! i meant my . . vagina, father geto.”

“no— no u-uhm, the previous term was fine. could you describe what you did? how far did you go so i c-can . . give you the appropriate penance?”

behind the curtains, geto have already started palming his bulge, massaging the ache in his length that still continues to grow and harden. the way you describe is so terribly innocent and unknowing, a deepening urge to corrupt you running through his veins.

“i played with um— my breasts, first. i pulled up my top and felt around my nipples, but i got impatient and . .” geto hangs on to every word of yours, shifting to get his robes out of the way. it was just like the first night: his underwear stained with so much pre-cum it’s probably changed the colour of the garment. he peels it away and the lack of restraint leaves him sighing softly while you ramble on—

“i tried playing with that . . thing between my legs.” you recall the quick google search from that first night, “i played with my clit, father.”

geto stifles a groan into his hand just as he starts to stroke himself softly. “y . . yeah, and?”

“i tried to um . . fit my finger in. it was uncomfortable, at first,” you cannot ignore the pull of your core; your hand shimmies past the clasped hands and down to your skirt. you have no panties to swipe to the side: you came here without any. your finger rubs gently at the throbbing bundle of nerves, a soft whine leaving your lips before you remember you’re in the midst of a confession.

“but i . . i got it into my pussy soon enough. and then i put in another finger.” there was a more audible grunt from the other side, the confessional weirdly heating up immensely as you follow your confession: two fingers easily glide in from just how wet you were.

“when?” there’s a strain in father geto’s voice when he asks it, maybe because he was trying so hard to keep quiet. his jaw is locked as he pumps his cock slowly because his tip is leaking so much that even a simple movement would give him away.

“w-wha—?”

“w-when did you first start . . touching your pussy, (y/n)?” hearing a priest say such a lewd word makes you clench around your fingers.

“after you came to deliver t-that chocolate cake . . father geto.”

“f-fuck—” geto squeezes his eyes shut and it’s like he’s a university student again losing his virginity for the first time by the hands of some random chick pumping him. the implied confession has him stroking faster; it was after that trip he made to your house, it was after seeing you stand at the door like a good little girl, it was because of him, right? right?

you snap back the curtains and your mouth waters at the scene: father geto hunching over the little window that separates the two of you and his head hung low; his cassock gathers around his hips and his cock— good Lord, his cock was so big, clutched tightly between his left hand. his tip was weeping, an angry red as it continued to push out globs of pre.

“f-father!” geto doesn’t seem to care, giving you a drunk and nonchalant glance as he continues to stroke his shaft. he knows it’s wrong, doing this in the house of the Lord but it feels so fucking good. “y-you—”

you’re at a loss for words, pointing to his exposed bottom, but even though you’re speaking out against him, you can’t help but follow his hand as it moves up and down like a spell. his eyes are simply pleading, hips bucking up and you would think he was a parishioner instead. shaking in the presence of God, in the presence of you—

you stick your hand past the squeezy window, drawing his interest and before you know it you’re blindly bumping into his erection. there, he silently grabs your hand, guiding it to his shaft. he uncomfortably leans down to look at your face, eyebrows still furrowed but your tongue stuck out and his dick twitches in your hand.

“s-shit, baby . .” geto swears under his breath, and again when you pull on his dick to the window. uncomfortably his body lightly slams against the partition, a soft thud coming from the booth as his head collides with the wood, “(y/n) . .”

he can’t see you, but he can hear you. “may i, father geto?”

you don’t wait for his answer, gauging mainly from the heavy breaths coming from above you. they really do need to change the confessional, too, because you can clearly hear every word he mumbles out from the holes in the partition.

“shiiit—” when you kitten lick his tip, collection the pre-cum that continues to leave his tip, and it feels better than his Rite of Ordination and when he finally got to host his first mass. it’s better than that prophetic dream he has of God calling him to serve Him and the churches in the city with church-goers of boring faces and predictable stories.

here was a rural place, a place where he never expected such a pretty girl to practice the Christian faith, only to falter in the presence of a pastor. he’s gotten such a cute little slut to corrupt. you start to bob your head slowly, unsure of what to do apart from putting his cock on your mouth. your teeth grazes his skin a little and he hisses.

“no teeth. suck in your cheeks,” he cannot see you but he wishes he can, and he knows you listen to his advice when he feels only the smooth glide of your mouth and he wishes it was your pussy that you fingered.

“going deeper, darling,” geto grunts when he pushes his cock past your mouth and into your throat, the sweet gag you do making him dig his forehead deeper into the uneven wooden partition. he can hear your struggling sounds, the muffled moans with his cock down your cavern. but he cannot go any longer without seeing you and reluctantly he pushes you off, still holding your hand and you seem to catch his drift soon enough.

you’re as eager as him, bouncing off the kneeler and leaving your side of the booth, and you’re opening the door to his. the reality of the situation fully sinks in, geto standing there with his cock dripping with your saliva and your camisole pulled down under your tits.

“oh . . baby,” geto coaxes you into him, under a little spell of his when you trail in a light as a feather. you don’t resist his hands pushing you down to your knees, and just like earlier, you’re sticking your tongue out and the priest looks at you from under hooded lids.

“did you touch yourself to me, little girl?” it comes out stronger than intended but you seem to like it, even when your answers are cut off by him slapping his tip on your tongue. it’s so heavy, his cock, and thick too that you can help but suckle on it when you get the opportunity.

“ever since that day, father geto.” you look drunk, swirling your tongue around the tip and continuing to talk, “i . . i imagine you above me and sometimes i dangle my crucifix thinkin’ it’s yours.”

a small laugh escapes the priest. “did you now?” it’s reminiscent of the time where you praise his sermon. his laugh is cut off as you continue to suck him off, hands still confused. he helps you by bringing your hands to the places you can’t reach and you follow like second nature. “dirty fucking slut, aren’t you?”

“i promise i didn’t know anything before this . . father.” you look up at him through your lashes, big doe eyes proving every last bit of your innocence. aht, partially. you did watch a video of this chick blowing her boyfriend, cumming with your own fingers in your throat, wishing it was geto’s cock in your mouth instead.

but having a real cock in your mouth? it was divine, better than the body of Christ in melting on your tongue. your ministrations speed up, the obscene noises of you gurgling reverberating in the wooden box late at night. it would be even worse at the altar where it would echo everywhere.

“y—yeah, baby, that’s it, that’s it . .” his eyes are shut tight, intoxicated on the way your warm mouth feels. you whine into his shaft, tears forming at the corners of your eyes from how deep he was in you.

“mmf— mmph!” your moans sends vibrations up his body, interrupted when geto thrusts his hips into your mouth suddenly and your nose meets with his pubes, eyes rolling back from the muskiness of his body. it smells like incense and sweat, filling your senses as he keeps you right up to his hilt.

“ohh . . fuckfuck fuucck—!” the father pulls you off to let you breathe, pleasantly surprised when you start pumping him violently, tongue stuck out again. there’s a hint of light from the outside that highlights the pinkness of your tongue and he’s never wanted to cum this badly before.

“i’m cumming— baby, baby, i’m g’nna c-cum—” there’s a long, drawn out whine from father geto upon feeling the warmth of your hands stroking his cock so obediently, resting his tip on your tongue where you’d willingly drink his cum like wine. geto shoots his load into your mouth and is the loudest he’s ever been; he doesn’t care who hears him, he doesn’t care if he gets transferred out tomorrow, all he wants to think about is you on your knees and your nipples hardened from confessing to him. he’d like to bet that your pussy was drooling too, hips bucking into the soft skin of your hands.

some of his cum gets onto your face and on your lips, and geto almost cums again when you use his tip to smear his seed around your face, sucking lightly on his tip.

“dirty girl . .” he pulls on your biceps to bring you up, and your lips meet instantaneously like you were meant to be separated for eternity, doomed only to meet for one day a year. it’s messy and sloppy, drool drips from your sides of your mouths as your lips merge together.

“was that your first kiss, baby?” father geto can tell by how you don‘t know how to follow his lead, teeth clashing and breathing uneven.

“am i that obvious?” you frown, feeling self-conscious, but geto is quick to reassure you.

“father geto’s going to teach you everything you need to know, alright?” he brings you in with a finger to your chin, hovers over your lips like a tease.

he teaches you everything you want to know and more, like how the front of the church looks like and how cold the marble of the altar feels against your back as he eats you out and the sensations are all too much for you. he teaches you that using God’s name in vain is alright when it comes to moaning out how good he makes you feel and how your penance is whatever he makes it out to be he teaches you how you can take not one, not two, but three fingers up your pussy.

they’re so much thicker than your own, one hand pushing on your shaking thighs to keep them open while his three fingers move in and out of you. you’re leaking so much, your virgin cunt dripping like holy water down the white marble and onto the matching marble floor.

he teaches you his first name and he makes sure you say it.

“su—suguru . . god, r-right there—” he latches his mouth onto your clit, suckling and flicking his tongue impatiently because he just wants to see you cum. your legs stretch out to knock over a candelabra and the clatter of the metal against the ground is enough to wake up a whole village but you. don’t. care.

your hips grind onto his tongue, feeling the borderline painful stretch of his thick fingers in you but they reach all the right spots that you can’t find it in you to care.

“you taste so good—” geto spits onto your cunt and goes back to sucking on your clit, “pussy’s so fuckin’ sweet, holy fuck.” your noises come out of you non-stop as you bury your hands in his hair, finally knowing what you sound like in an unrestrictive space under the apse.

father geto teaches you how to take a cock up your cute, tight pussy, not bothering for a condom when basically all of your clothes have been discarded throughout the night. it’s almost midnight and your mother have fallen asleep on the couch, unaware her sweet, sweet daughter is losing her virginity in the place she was baptised, where she got her first communion.

the first push into your drenched cunt is painful, mushroom tip stretching you out slightly as you clutch tightly onto his forearm, brows knitted together at the girth of his cock.

“been wanting . . to fuck this pussy so bad, baby,” geto grunts it out, obsessed with how his length slowly disappears into you. he can feel each ridge of your gummy walls, hugging him so snugly that there’s several moans that leave his lips, “have you been— thinking ’bout this as much as i h-have?”

your jaw stretches beyond your limit when he eases himself inch by inch into you, thanking the hells below that your vision was finally coming true. above you there’s that same crucifix, sterling silver with amethyst stones embedded into the design, you remember, catching the light of the lone spotlight above the both of you. there’s a similar glint in father geto’s purple eyes.

“all the time, father—” you moan out, pulling him by his necklace to your lips that are more experienced now, each minute that passes is one more atom of your body turning black from the fire that licks at you from below the altar. you kiss the lips of your parish priest, whimpering slightly when his hips buck and you feel the stretch more clearly now.

“is this what Isaac felt when Abraham tried to bind him for a sacrifice on Moriah? helpless, confused, betrayed?”

geto lets out a hum, sucking hickeys into your neck and you think it’s a million times better than questioning a God that never showed himself, who never really had the intentions of the people in mind, who created sin to watch the downfall of men while he enjoys his time in his kingdom.

if this was what was meant by losing yourself to your devils, you would gladly shake hands with Lucifer and hope the warmth of the fire in hell would be a hug warmer than any hug you’ve received by people of the Christian faith.

“well, baby, do you feel helpless?” thrust “confused,” thrust “and betrayed?” thrust

he punctures each word with a snap of his hips and the pain gives way to pleasure and soon he’s already lost in the comfort of your pussy, hips starting a pace easily that emphasises just how wet you are. the echoes of your weeping cunt and the lewd slapping of his balls into your ass is like the bell ringing during mass, loud, resonating, it shakes your whole body.

“mmfuck . . helpless, m-maybe,” you whine out, legs wrapping around his back, “confused, n-not— suguruuu, yesyesyes!”

you try again, “n-not really. betrayed . .”

you feel like a sacrifice, but it was willing, of a confession that has led to this lewd showing of just how much the temptations of the flesh were insanely undeniable. there’s a murmur of i don’t think i can last much longer into your ear, cock driving into your tight pussy so harshly you’re hoping the small altar doesn’t move.

“b-betrayed, i think—” you squeal when father geto angles his hips up and it kisses your cervix just nicely, sending multiple chills down your body. your moans penetrate the holy air, hair splayed out like a painting and geto knows this is better than any Eucharist he’s ever tasted.

you clench around his fat cock, and he twitches, switching to short, pathetic thrusts into your pussy and he cries out your name as he cums deep in you, giving you all of his seed deep in your womb. your breath catches in your throat at the feeling of your first load, the warmth already hooking you in and you pull so hard on his hair he has no choice but to follow your hand.

you let him handle you deep into the night, taking you off the altar and pushing you up against it, entering you again and you brace yourself against the marble.

“s-sorry, sweetheart, you were saying?” he also wants to apologise that he hadn’t made you cum just yet, but your pussy’s so fucking heavenly he just has to be in you again.

“i-i feel a little betrayed,“ you sag over the altar, back arching into his hold. father geto is fixated on the movement of your ass fucking back onto him, “that a priest would break his m-marriage to God for me.”

“i thought they were supposed to be men of God,” you barely manage to form sentences. geto’s laugh at that startles you, as with the hand grabbing a fistful of your hair and pulling. payback. you love it, however, a sweet Christian girl turned into a slut, and the last bits of the thread unravels when father geto reaches around to rub your clit.

“’m gonna— cum, suguru—” you whine out, body turning to mush with how hard he rams into your pussy. by now there’s a ring of white around the base of his cock, your juices slowly starting to coat it, too and Lucifer succeeds at sin yet again.

you cannot blame Eve when the serpent is as beautiful and cunning as geto suguru, nor can you blame her when his thick cock just reaches so deep into you, tip kissing your sweet spots and his hand impatiently drawing messy circles on your bundle of nerves.

“that just makes it the best though, right?” geto breathlessly says, “a holy man fucking a virgin raw in a holy place where prayers are said.” your legs are spreading further and further, his sweaty body engulfs yours, you’re dizzy, “you’re too tempting, sweet girl. tempting enough for me to want to abandon priesthood just so i can be buried in this pussy for fucking eternity.”

and you cum, head and heart going a hundred miles per hour as your body trembles in his hold. “there we go, little slut, thereee we go . .” you can feel the chill of the sterling silver into your back and his smile before he orgasms a second time into your waiting pussy, a second, heavy load let go into your pussy. it’s so warm and filling, and you already want more, more, more.

lust for more things turns into greed when we act on that initial lust.

“aw,” father geto coos at your fucked out face, flipping you around to give you a sloppy kiss and forcing himself to his knees just to watch his cum drip out of you, “does she want more?”

“always, father.” you answer with a drunken smile, putting a leg on his shoulder. again, your finger hooks around his crucifix, and you drag the priest down deeper into hell, somewhere father geto would‘ve always ended up.

somewhere where he would renounce his priesthood and worship something, and someone: you.

“Better to reign in Hell, then serve in Heav'n.”

a/n: LOOOONG MAN WHAT THE FUCK IS THIS. also i put the author’s note at the bottom this time bc i wanted to format of the fic to look the best without my goofy words ruining it! hope you guys liked it :) / tagging @crysugu @omgeto @kazushawty @suguruplsr @hydrovillette @slttygeto @hyomagiri @jabamin

part two ✶

[copperbadge]

I'm researching second-line medications for ADHD, because the Adderall works well for the executive function but non-pharmaceutical solutions are simply not effective for the emotional dysregulation, which I think the Adderall might be making worse, apparently that can happen.

But what's wild to me is that it seems as though the most effective treatments for ADHD, first or second line, almost all come in one of two flavors:

-- High potential for addiction

-- Used outside of ADHD as a treatment for addiction

There are definitely some treatments that fall somewhere in the middle, but it's hilarious how often my notes read stuff like "Second-line treatment for ADHD, can be used with stimulants, also used for smoking cessation/substance use disorder/individuals with history of alcohol misuse". It's almost like addiction frequently has biological causes related to emotional regulation and impulsivity and can be treated medically. Fancy that.

I've also found fascinating anecdotes by people with ADHD who prior to their diagnosis were struggling with addiction to opiates and were able to stop when they got on stimulant medication -- which "shouldn't be a thing" because opiates are depressants, not stimulants, and shouldn't impact ADHD. I've seen the theory floated that it's not stimulant/depressant that matters so much as impact on dopamine production and reception, but who the hell knows honestly.

It is interesting to me, though, because despite the jokes I've made in the past I've always watched myself very closely when it comes to opiates. I became well aware fairly early on that "oh, this is the drug that I could get in trouble over", but part of that was always that if I took a Vicodin, I would actually go do stuff like the dishes or the laundry or my essays for grad school, and that felt really good.

Anyway, I don't think it's often discussed that medication which increases your ability to do stuff can also overblow your ability to feel stuff, and also medication for emotional regulation may also boost you onto the wagon. So there you have it.

[choslut]

WE’RE SO BACK. a blog reopening event by @choslut.

hi loves! so if you didn’t know, i went on a little (long) hiatus and now, a year later, i’m making my official return as @choslut !! i’ve missed tumblr and i can’t wait to get writing again :)

to celebrate my return, i'll be posting a series of 12 short fics over the course of 24 days. it'll work a little like kinktober, with each character i decide to write for having a main theme being followed throught the fic. i'm doing this in the hopes that i can make this blog a little more active again and regain some of my lost followers !! most/all works will be nsfw, so, as stated in my rules, minors do not interact with this event.

this event will be starting on 1st sept and all fics will be posted under the tag " ❲ luna’s return ❳ ", so make sure to follow it if you want to see what i post over the course of the event !! keep reading to see this event's masterlist, and i hope you enjoy !! <33

˖ ࣪ ، ◞ せ ⌇ MASTERLIST : 11/12

works containing dark/heavy content will have topics highlighted in bold.

DAY 1 : DRESS UP DOLL ft. satoru gojo — wc. 0.8k

tags // lingerie, daddy kink, light praise, creampie, possessive behaviour, spanking, light choking, hickeys, overstimulation (if you squint)

DAY 2 : SHARING IS CARING ft. toji fushiguro + shiu kong — wc. 0.7k

tags // voyeurism, phone sex, male masturbation, dirty talk, cowgirl, mentions of threesomes, slut shaming

DAY 3 : FWB ft. aki hayakawa — wc. 0.9k

tags // friends with benefits, semi-hatefucking, dirty talk, banter, heavy petting, angst, drug misuse (weed)

DAY 4 : THE COLOUR RED ft. yae miko — wc. 0.8k

tags // shibari, implied dom/sub dynamics, overstimulation, voice kink, slight hand kink

DAY 5 : BABY MOMMA ft. kento nanami — wc. 0.9k

tags // breeding kink, creampie, mommy kink (if you squint), messy sex, pet names, feral nanami, marathon sex, lactation + pregnancy (fantasized), ovulation cycle

DAY 6 : BLACKOUT ft. childe — wc. 1k

tags // asphyxiation, choking, dry humping, sparring kink, hate sex, light dirty talk, semi-public sex, light spanking, clit slapping, squirting, creampie, loss of consciousness

DAY 7 : SAY 'AAH' ft. wriothesley — wc. 0.7k

tags // orgasm delay/denial, public sex, cockwarming, dirty talk, edging, slight exhibitionism, possessive behaviour, public groping, slight praise kink

DAY 8 : BITE ME ft. miguel o’hara — wc. 0.8k

tags // biting, size kink, fingering, squirting, begging, overstimulation, multiple orgasms, teasing, paralysis, venom usage, mentions of blood/blood licking, dirty talk

DAY 9 : LUCKY GIRL ft. daichi sawamura — wc. 0.9k

tags // panty kink, bimbo!reader, locker room, panty fucking, slight dubcon, overstimulation, squirting, clit stimulation, light dirty talk

DAY 10 : SURVIVAL ft. sniper mask — wc. 0.9k

tags // outdoor sex, misogyny, manipulation, creampie, spanking, fucking to survive (not really but he says it is), wall sex, orgasm delay, slight mask kink, god complex!sniper mask, implied dubcon

DAY 11 : SWEET TALK ft. choso — wc. 0.7k

tags // cunniligus, dirty talk, body worship, male masturbation, overstimulation, squirting, fingering, mentions of face sitting, feral choso

DAY 12 : INKED ft. suguru geto — wc. 1.1k

tags // tattoos, slight masochism, dirty thoughts, suggestive actions, possessive behaviour, tattoo artist x florist trope, voice kink, dirty talk, praise kink, latex kink (if you squint), implied fingering, marking (literally and figuratively), implied virgin!reader, slight dubcon

see my main blog masterlist here !!

© choslut — do not copy, repost or translate my works without permission.

[thesassypadawan]

All Summer Long (Padawan Anakin x FemPadawanReader)

Summary: It’s an usually warm evening in the temple. And instead of dying from the heat in your quarters…you and your fellow padawan decide to take a ‘refreshing’ dip in the lake level.

Warnings: 18+ (minors dni), because of all the lovely smut. Skinny dipping, some misuse of the force, …and Ani’s big dick. Padawan Reader and Anakin are of age.

Notes: Happy First Day of Summer ☀️

“Angel… We’re going to get caught… You need to keep it down…”

You stifled a moan as your fellow padawan bucked wildly up into you. “N-not helping, Ani…”

It had been an unusually warm evening in the temple. Instead of dying from the heat in your respective quarters, the two of you made the bold decision of sneaking out. Escaping to the lake level for a ‘refreshing’ swim…with nothing under your cloaks and a bottle of spirits in tow.

“Sorry,” he chuckled. Flashing you a cocky smile, his strong hands firmly gripped your waist. Bouncing you on his length, thighs slapping off his. Small waves softly lapping in your two’s wake. “Couldn’t help myself. You just look so kriffing good. Skin glistening, moonlight shining on your hair.”

“Moonlight, really?” You teased; lips brushing across his, tasting the bitter sweetness of alcohol. “How much have you had to drink?”

“Only a quarter…or so…” Leaning forward, Anakin captured yours in a searing kiss. Tongue plunging into your mouth, tangling and wrestling. Hand sliding down your back, cupping your ass…guiding, helping you pick up the pace.

Breaking apart, he nipped at your neck. A thrill running through you as he trailed along your collarbone, to your chest. Capturing your nipple, sucking gently…harshly. “Or so? Mmmh, guess I-I got some catching up t-to do.”

“Think you can keep up with me?” He scoffed, blowing his hot breath on your moistened nub. Biting and teasing at it with his teeth when it pebbled.

“C-can you?” Fingers wrapped around his braid, tugging. Pushing his face into your other breast, demanding the same attention.

Ever the little brat, he clamped down hard onto the sensitive bud. All the while tightening his hold around, hauling you back onto the shore. Where he pressed you against the sand and threw your legs over his shoulders.

Looming above you, Ani wore a smug look on his handsome face. Grasping your hips, he pulled you towards him. “One way to find out.” Before snapping forward, burying his fat cock to the hilt.

Immediately, he started thrusting into your wet heat erratically. Pounding you so deliciously that your body jiggled each time he bottomed out. Invisible fingers circling, toying with your clit…tugging, rolling your nipples.

Your hand flew to your mouth, trying to muffle all your boisterous cries. The extra stimulation and build up had your walls already clenching. Fluttering around him, orgasm threatening to overtake you entirely. ‘I’m… I’m…’

“Uh-uh, not through the bond,” he growled. Breaths coming out in short pants, hitting that sweet spot of yours over and over. “I want to hear that pretty voice when you cum for me.”

‘B-but you s-said…’

“Forget what I said…let it out…” Anakin turned his head, sinking his teeth into your calf. Nearly breaking the skin, sending sparks of white-hot pleasure down your spine.

Head tipped back and your hand slipped. A mix of a moan and a scream escaped you, ringing throughout the level. As it became all too wonderfully much, as you unraveled completely. Gushing, squeezing his cock so…

“That’s it…kriff…” His hips started to stutter; his rhythm faltered. “Going to…”

But right when he was about to finish, a familiar voice came yelling from the not so far off distance. “Anakin? Anakin! Where are you?!”

“Stang…Stang! Are you kidding me?!” Pulling out, he quickly scrambled for your cloaks. Tossing you yours, while fumbling to get his own on…cursing his master out in, what you suppose was, huttese the whole time.

“Calm down,” you giggled. Covering yourself up as well, tucking the bottle into your sleeve. Pressing a chaste kiss to his jaw…to his still painfully stiff dick. “We got all summer long to have fun.”

Tag List: @espinathena-17, @myheartwillgoon2022, @cacti5539, @wifeofasith, @princessswifie, @kenobiskywalker16, @loverforoldermen

[bluegiragi]

We know that blood is essentially a dengerously radical steroid for hybrids with the term “blood drunk” being used to refer to it. Is it possible for the effects of the blood to wear off or is there a cure being developed in case it’s misused?

If this is a spoiler, all good.

Blood itself isn't a steroid, but it's an extremely effective method for monsters to 'juice' themselves, for lack of a better term. After all, if it was, i think there'd be the wrongful association that vampires are all high out of their minds (which isn't the case, their bodies are just engineered to process vast quantities of blood better).

The vial of blood that Roba ingested prior to fighting Price was doctored by his 'vampire friend' who'd been experimenting with ways to unlock the dormant abilities of hybrids' full-blooded ancestors, so for him it made him more chupacabra than a man and unlocked previously sealed-off abilities (more strength, longer + sharper teeth, etc). The effects after the first dose are not symptoms of blood drunken-ness.

When Gaz says he thinks the cockatrice hybrid he, Soap and Ghost fought was blood drunk, it was mainly due to it's animalistic behaviour. It didn't speak, just screeched, and seemed feral and uncommunicative, essentially lashing out. Monsters can get this way by gorging, essentially consuming blood and only blood in excess. Doing this stimulates their baser animal instincts which results in a sort of simmering adrenaline-infused haze that also grants a temporary boost to a monster's abilities.

The reason why Roba behaved similar to this after Ghost accidentally dosed him a second time is because his system was overloaded. So, different path but similar destination.

So to compare:

Gorging (e.g cockatrice hybrid): consuming large amounts of blood and ONLY blood for some time.

results in -> blood drunk: feral, uncommunicative, enhanced abilities (temporary) but mostly unchanged

Drugged (e.g Roba): consuming one (1) vial of blood from mysterious vampire friend

results in -> ???: enhanced abilities (permanent), still retains normal brain function (after the intended dose), unlocks transformation

[anemptypuddingcup]

Back in one piece.

NO PUN INTENDED, I DIDN’T REALIZE THIS UNTIL I STARTED EDITING-

a smut short w Law

Contains: Heavy misuse of devil fruit. A mean little prank from Law. Teasing. Slight degradation? Slight voyeurism?? Soft sex (somewhat). A few cervix kisses. Apology & aftercare from Law.

A heavy yawn leaves your lips as you sit up from your shared bed, your hands rubbing the grogginess from your eyes before you sigh sleepily. Looking over, you see that Law isn’t in bed with you and you whimper as you yearned for his affection. Apparently your loneliness was short lived as you felt Law’s large hand squeeze and grope on your ass.

You blink blankly before looking around. Law was nowhere in the room…so how could you feel his large yet rough hand against your skin? You then felt your legs bent up against the couch- but how?

You were in your bedroom resting in your bed. So how could your legs be…

You quickly pull your blankets back and your eyes widens as you see your legs nowhere to be found in the bed. You scream loudly out of shock and realize that it was obviously Law’s doing. Sighing and crawling out of bed, you drag yourself along the carpet floors as you crawl out of your shared bedroom and into the living room.

“LAWWWWW-“ You yell out to him push the door open, your eyes glaring up and meeting with his. He sat there like a king on his throne as he held your legs on his lap, his hand caressing your ass like it was his prized treasure which it was. He chuckles as he watched you crawl and and flop against the carpet, your arms already seemingly tired from pulling your body around.

“Good morning pretty.” He says nonchalantly, a little chuckle leaving his lip as he watched you pant.

Your upper body lies there helplessly and whine out as you sit up on your elbows, glaring at Law before sighing out heavily from exhaustion.

“YOU GODDAMN IDIOT- GIMME BACK MY LOWER HALF! I CAN’T WALK LIKE THIS YOU ASSHOLE!”

A slap to your ass causes you to mewl out as you watched the fat of your ass jiggle against his lap. He then softly kneads the doughy flesh in his hand and gives you a mischievous smirk.

“Filthy words. Don’t feel bad, I just want to borrow your lower half for a little while~” He says to you.

“Can’t you just borrow me instead of cuttin’ me in half!?” You asked, giving him an irritated look the more he toyed with your ass. “Mmh…Nah.” He sighed out.

Your upper body lies there on the living room floor as you watched Laws slowly grind your hips against his briefs, rubbing your cunt up against his erection. A heavy exhale leaves you and you bit your lower lip from the sudden pleasure. You grew noisy as he rutted up into your clothed slit, a heavy sigh leaving his lips as precum began to soak a spot in his briefs

“I’m stimulating your slutty pussy aren’t I? Your thighs are trembling against mine~” Law snickers to you teasing you while you lie there against the floor, watching him handle the lower half of your body. You grit your teeth and whine out as you struggled to sit up and he giggles at your struggle. “So cute when you wriggle for me like that, like a little worm.” He sighs, gripping the fat of your thigh.

“P-Please Law! S-Stop teasing me and put me back together!~” You whined, begging for him to piece your body back together. Law begins sliding your panties off your hips, a sticky string of slick still connected to the fabric of your panties. He pulls his briefs down slightly, pulling his hard cock out and rubbing it against your sticky slit. A gasp leaves your lips and your brows furrowed from the pleasure.

“F-Fuck~ L-Law please!~” You gasp out to him, watching him from the floor as he lifted your hips up from his lap and against his cock

“Shh Shh~ Just lay there like my good little girl and take my dick in your cute an’ tight pussy~” He says to you, looking down at you with his golden eyes.

You pout to him but he doesn’t give any pity.

“Watch how I fuck your pussy, at least you’re getting a good view down there on the carpet.” He tells you, sliding his tip along your sticky slit. Your legs trembled against his hips while you hissed out, shuddering as you were ready for him to fuck you.

Law slowly inserts his cock into your sticky cunt, stretching you open while a moan spills from your lips. His tip kissed your cervix lovingly. “Mmh~” You whined as you watched him fuck into your pussy, sitting there in front of you and rubbing it in your face while his tongue trails across his lips.

“Such a pretty face you’re making. I love it when you look so needy and desperate. You really need your body back together that badly?” Law asks you, sighing heavily as he felt you tighten around his length.

“Mmgh!~ M-Mmh!~” It grew quite hard for you to speak while you watched him fuck your pussy. It was just something about the about watching him fuck you at that angle, lying there helpless and unable to hold on to him for comfort and pleasure while he fucked you.

“P-Please!~ W-Want it back t-together!~” You moan out, whining as you bit your lip harder from the pleasure, your face scrunching up as he hit deeper. “Hush hush~ I’ll put it back together soon.” He whispers out before flipping your hips around, a gasp leaving you as you felt him shove his cock deeper into your sweet cunt. His cock kisses your g-spot and you whimper out before tightening around his length.

Law bites his lip before groaning out heavily, enjoying the feeling of your walls wrapped tight around his cock. “So tight~ Your pussy feels so good baby girl~” He groans, sitting up a bit from the couch and pulling your hips back farther against his. “L-Law~ P-Please~” You whine out, once again begging him to put you back together. He sighs before chuckling and turns your hips back around on his cock.

He holds his right hand out while his left hand continues to bounce your ass on his cock.

“Room.” He yells out, a thin film spreading throughout the living room while he continues to thrust up into you. “S-Shambles!~” He gasps out to you. He throws your panties up above your lower half and teleports your upper half, connecting your body back together. You grasp his shoulders tightly and mewl out as he fucks up into your cunt, his hands spreading you open a bit more and shoving his length up deeper into you.

I honestly don’t remember if he needed room for shambles or not.

You gasp out lovingly, your eyes looking deep into Law’s golden ones as he pleases you. “Y-You asshole~ M-Mmh~” You moan out, laying your head up against his shoulder. “If you don’t want me to do it again, keep moaning for me.” He whispers into your ear, a little chuckle along after. You huff heavily and mewl out for him as you felt his tatted hands grip your hips tighter, his breathing growing heavier as he moves your hips a bit faster.

“Mmh~ Fuck your pussy is sucking me in baby~ You’re close to squirting aren’t you?” He continues whispering into your ear. You tremble against him and nod, arching your back from his touch. “M-Mhm!~ Y-Yes I am T-Traffy~” You whine out, closing your eyes as you felt him kiss your cervix once again.

He lifts his legs up onto the couch before lying down onto the soft couch cushions below, his hips still thrusting up into you while he lies there. You moan out and lay down against his body, your breasts pressing up on his chest while he moves your hips along his length. He watches your face twist and contort from the pleasure while you whimper out against his skin.

“Mmgh~ O-Oh goddd~ L-Law~” You gasp out, your hands holding on to him tightly as you felt your orgasm growing closer. Law smirks before pressing a smooch to your lips, your mewls making him grow a bit more feral as he began to thrust up into you a bit harder. “Admit it, you liked it when you were watching me fuck you~” He says, one of his hands trailing up and along your back. You shivered as you felt his hand slide along your soft skin and you breathe out shakily.

“Mmgh~ H-Hah~ I-I did~ I-I really d-diddd~” You admit, your mind growing cloudy as Law’s thrusting began melting your mind. He feels your pussy cling tightly to his cock, a groan leaving him as you sucked him in wonderfully. Your pussy kept him in and your warm walls only made the pleasure of him fucking into you even more better. Law’s face begins to scrunch up as he felt himself growing close as well, his gasps growing a bit louder as he pulled your body so close to his.

He embraced you as an apology and he offered his caring affecting in return along with his thick length sinking in and out of your soaking cunt. “Mmgh~ T-Traffy!~ I-I’m so close!~” You moan out loudly, burying your face into his shoulder. Law throws his head back against the cushions, his cock beginning to twitch within your walls as he felt himself ready to cum. “F-Fuck~ Cum on my dick baby~“ He mewls out, feeling you beginning to move your hips on your own.

He cups your face before pulling your lips into his, giving you a sloppy kiss while his tongue did all of the work. Your eyes grew half lidded and you wrapped your arms around him, mewling into the kiss. Pulling back you whine out as you begin to move your hips a little faster on his cock.

You slowly sit up and bounce yourself on his cock, holding your breasts as you felt yourself ready to burst. You gasp out heavily as your eyes began to flutter, his cock continuously slamming against your cervix and making you whine out. “Ah! Ah! T-Traffyy!~” You mewl out his name as you were right on the edge, your orgasm nearly reaching its peak while you stared down at him. Law grips your thighs and pulls you down on his length a bit more, making you gasp out heavily before you place your hands against his wrists.

“Come on baby, come on and cum~” He demanded, enjoying the view of you bouncing on his cock. Your toes begin to curl and your cunt tightens more around his length, you gasped out as you were finally ready to cum. “Mmgh! Ah! I-I’m cumming!~ L-Law I-I’m cumming!~” You let out a lengthy gasp and your grip on his wrists tightens as you finally cum on his cock, squirting and making a sticky mess out onto his lower abdomen.

Law shivered as he watched you cum onto him, the warmth of your essence against his tanned skin making him shudder with delight while he was also at his peak. “F-Fuck~ C-Cumming- Oh fuck m’cumming!“ He pulls you close against his body and holds on to you tightly, grunting as he felt himself spurting his cum deep inside of you. He coats your walls in his thick and sticky seed while he shudders against you, sighing out heavily as his nails scratched along the soft skin of your back.

You whimper out softly as his warmth filled you up, some of it almost spilling out of you and onto his thighs. “Mmh…T-Traffy…” You say softly, laying against his body and breathing heavily as you slowly recovered from your orgasm. Law gives you a loving kiss, his slightly-chapped lips pressed against your softer ones with delight. “Ahh~ S-So good…” He whispers followed by a deep inhale.

You pout to him and give him a soft smack on the face. “You meanie, I didn’t like you teasin’ me like that…” You say, huffing heavily before turning your head away. He chuckles. “Why not? I honestly think you looked cute split in half like that. I thought you would’ve liked the prank.” He sighs, laying his head against his hand. You frown at his words and lay your head up against his chest.

He looks down at you and blinks slowly, giving you his signature snarky smirk.

“Hold me…” You whisper to him softly. He obeys, holding your soft and pretty body in his arms. “I’m sorry. I’ll definitely do it again but I’m sorry sweetie.” He says in a snarky tone to you. You sighed and shrugged it off, it couldn’t be helped with your idiot little surgeon.

[matcha-dango]

Tools of Pleasure

Diluc x F!Reader ; Childe x F!Reader ; Scaramouche x F!Reader [NSFW]

CW : smut / BDSM / sextoys and intimate products / sexual misuse of non sexual devices / sadistic and/or dominant character x submissive reader

Word Count : 826

Diluc

Our Mondstadt hero, although a quiet man, can be sweet and loving one night but rough and unforgiving the next evening. His preferred toys would reflect that duality, which heavily depends on his mood.  

Kissable Massage Oil : When Diluc wants to convey his love in a gentle and tender manner, he would give you a massage with soft and delicate touches, which would then lead to slow-paced yet passionate lovemaking. He would still remain gentle and very sweet until you’re both satisfied.

Silky restraints : If Diluc is in a more primal mood, he’ll use restraints to keep you under control. But he doesn’t want to hurt you, so he’ll make sure it’s still comfortable for you. Thus, using soft and silky fabrics is the best option here.

Candles : Some days are good days and some days are bad days. And on a bad day, Diluc will get much rougher than usual. He’ll straight up use his own necktie to tightly bind your wrists above your head to the bedframe. Once he’s sure you won’t be able to move, he’ll get the special, longer than average candles he has in store just for those kinds of moments. He only needs his own vision to control the heat and intensity, so wax play with Diluc will be entirely different from anything you could ever experience with anyone else.  

Childe

Local Snezhnayan boy is usually a huge tease and he loves battles. Nothing will be different in bed, except that his focus will be on you and you only. No way to escape his ministrations.

Metallic Cuffs : Childe likes some struggle and fighting back, because at the end of the day he's confident he can make you hold still. But if he wants to go down on you, he doesn’t want you to wriggle around too much, so he will restrain you with something that won’t make squirming around easy for you. However, if you do try to struggle regardless, he’ll love the marks that will appear the next day on your skin around your wrists. He knows how you got those and you do too : another source of teasing during the day – which may or may not lead into more fucking.

Dog Collar : He would totally make you wear a collar in bed AND outside if you didn’t behave properly. Childe would buy a dog collar especially because you knowing that it's for dogs will get him more embarrassment and humiliation from you when you’ll wear it. He could ask for your favourite colour at least, but he won’t and will pick a blue one, to match his own eyes and Hydro vision. If you behaved really badly, he will take out the leash and make you walk on all fours, around the property. On normal days though, he’s such a show-off that he’ll demand you to wear it so others could see how pretty it looks on you – some people may even notice the cute nametag attacked to it, with your name engraved on the front side and “Tartaglia’s” on the backside.

Spreader Bar : If not a teasing devil, Childe is nothing. He’ll take huge pleasure in spreading and restraining your legs in the morning before going to work, not without having you stuffed with vibrating dildos. So, once he comes back in the evening, you’ve reached an almost pitiful stage, with how much you’ve been overstimulated, for hours and hours. If he’s feeling merciful, he’ll detach you and take you into a warm bath. But if not, he’ll simply make a good use of your more than prepared holes. After all, you’ve been waiting for him like the good girl you are.

Scaramouche

Scaramouche is a big sadist, that’s no news. He would definitely use toys and accessories to inflict pain on his darling, in a way or another.

Lube : It’s a lube which enables electric conduct, meaning that any use of his Electro powers on the lubricated areas will bring an enhanced electrification. He will use it on his own member, so he could stimulate you from your deepest places. Needless to say, there simply won’t be a single fucking session without the use of this lube.

Electric wand : A wand on its own is already fun enough for impact play, but what if it was also electric ? Well, it’s a great match for the previously mentioned lube. Scaramouche can also increase the intensity with his own powers. He doesn't need any control device ; he is the one in control.

Collar set : Speaking of control, he does love it. Inflicting pain too. As well as humiliating. And this ensemble made of a collar, mouth gag and nipple clamps is a perfect all in one. He wouldn’t use it as much as the previous two items, but if he had a not so good day at work, you’re sure to be fucked in this attire. After all, fucking you is a great stress relief for Scaramouche.

[writers-potion]

i was wondering if you could give some points and tips on writing about a character who is suffering from DRUG ABUSE

Writing A Drug Addict Character

Know Your Drugs

Was the drug invented? A scene using insulin set in 1820 is problematic since this treatment wasn’t discovered until the 1900s. Fentanyl shouldn’t be used in a 1930s scene since it wasn’t available for use until the 1960s—opium or morphine would be more accurate choices.

Was the method invented? Since insulin must be given as a shot, that scene is even less authentic as the hypodermic needle wasn’t invented until the mid-1800s. Older historical fiction could involve the use of poultices and mustard packs, while skin drug patches (transdermal patches) are only appropriate in more modern scenes.

The most common drugs abused by gangs are: Marijuana, Methamphetamine, Heroin, Cocaine

Or, it can be prescription drugs

Although many medications can be abused, the following three classes are most commonly abused:

Opioids—usually prescribed to treat pain;

Central nervous system (CNS) depressants—used to treat anxiety and sleep disorders; and

Stimulants—most often prescribed to treat attention deficit hyperactivity disorder (ADHD). (common example? caffeine)

Write In Stages

Stage 1: First Use

Some people use a substance for the first time out of curiosity, while others use substances due to peer pressure. People may also be prescribed medication, such as opioids, by their doctor. Individuals may view their first use as a one-time occurrence, but this opens the door for future use. Some people try a substance one time and never use it again. 

You character will feel:

Angry and/or desperate

Miserable

Lonely

Trying to run away from a certain problem

Persuaded into doing drug

Guilty

Stage 2: Regular Use

If a person uses a substance and enjoys how it makes them feel or believes it will improve their life, they may start to use the substance regularly. They may use drugs or drink alcohol on the weekends while at parties or hanging out with friends. Occasional use may become a regular occurrence. It might become a part of a person’s routine.

Your character:

Will start getting in careless activities while doing drugs

Will probably be violent

Won’t think he has any issue whatsoever and shrug it off

Start associating themselves with harder drug users

Have a false sense of security that they’re able to quit whenever they want.

Stage 3: Risky Use

The next stage after regular use is risky use. A person will continue to use a substance despite the physical, mental, legal or social consequences. Their use likely started as a way to escape or have fun with peers but has now taken priority over other aspects of their life.

Your Character will feel:

uncomfortable around family members/friends who start to notice

Exhibit more reckless behavior

Driving under influence, stealing money to finance substance use, etc.

Underperforming at work or school

Experience tension in personal relationships

Stage 4: Dependence

The next stage is a physical, mental and emotional reliance on the substance. The individual is no longer using the substance for medical or recreational purposes. When a person doesn’t use the substance, their body will exhibit withdrawal symptoms, such as tremors, headaches, nausea, anxiety and muscle cramps.

Your Chracter Will:

Develop a sort of rountine/typical place where they abuse

Believe that the substance is essential for survival

Use substance even when it's unnecessary

Stage 5: Substance Use Disorder

While some people use dependency and substance use disorder interchangeably, they’re very different. Once a person develops a substance use disorder, substance misuse becomes a compulsion rather than a conscious choice. They’ll also experience severe physical and mental side effects, depending on the substance they’re using.

Your Character:

Has noe developed a chronic disease with the risk of relapse

Is now incapable of quitting on their own

Feel like life is impossible to deal with without the substance.

Lose their job, fail out of school, become isolated from friends and family or give up their passions or hobbies.

Research the Trends

Medical knowledge changes over time and with it the drugs prescribed. This then impacts the type of prescription drugs available on the streets.

late 1800s: chloral hydrate used for anxiety and insomnia > bromides > 1920s: barbiturates, barbital > benzodiazepines ("benzos") > early 2000s: opiod drugs > opiod drug bans led to growth of black markets: ilicit fentanyl > and so on...

Different countries/locations will have varying trends of drug abuse (depending on laws, availability, costs, etc.)

Research the Slag

look for "[drug name] trip report" on YouTube, etc. to get first-hand accounts of how drug addicts behave.

The main focus should always be to use the words your characters would use in ways that suit the world you have created.

The slang for certain drugs is a difficult vocabulary to maintain as it is ever-changing and varies based on country, region, town, even by streets. Some writers use what they know or have heard locally, others invent their own.

Resources

FDA (Food and Drug Administration) and DEA online databases and drug resources

Social networking groups focusing on related specialty writing topics, such as trauma or emergency medicine

Newspaper articles and medical journals are great places to find real cases.

The US national poison center 

Helpful Vocab:

Addled - sense of confusion + complete lack of mental awareness

Crazed - emotional anguish experienced by the addict

Desperate

Despondent

Erratic

Fidgety

Hopeless

Impressionable

Struggling

[hey-august]

May Event - Winner (NSFW | Buggy X Marine!GN!Reader)

Y'all, I know this is so so late. We're more than halfway through July, but hopefully the wait is worth it.

Finally! This story concludes the May event! 💦

(In case you missed it, throughout May I posted polls for various masturbation scenarios. Each one got a short story and the final winner - oral - got a longer fic. And here we are!)

Thanks to everyone who voted, commented, reblogged, liked, and read! Sorry that this story took so long, but I hope you enjoyed the event overall!

Word count: 2.3k

Warnings: NSFW, mdni, Buggy x GN!reader, marine!reader, established situationship / relationship, autofellatio - buggy, misuse of devil fruit powers of course, manual stimulation - gn!reader.

The first two knocks went unheard and unanswered. So did the following set of knocks. The sharp flurry that barraged the wooden door next had tossed aside politeness for annoyance that couldn’t go unnoticed. Inside the room, Buggy winced and choked out a rushed response.

“One sec…gimme one s-” His strangled reply was cut short by a muffled thud and expletives that skittered across the floor.

A moment later, the hotel room door was unlocked and pulled open for you. A lone hand waggled it’s fingers energetically and reached out, palm upwards. You accepted the gesture and placed your hand on his. The floating appendage guided you into a rented room that matched the dreamy opulence of moonlit conversations and alcohol-laden promises.

The pirate himself was in the middle of the room, standing on a plush ornate carpet and performatively dusting himself off with one hand and a stumped forearm. This was not standard habitat for dust bunnies or roaches. The room was nearly spotless, aside from a fold in the rug where he had tripped, the few pieces of costume and clothes that had already been shed, and wrinkles on the duvet cover.

Buggy tugged at his clothes and raked back his loose hair, before recalling his hand and spreading his arms wide.

“Right on time for the show,” he said with a grin far more vibrant than the painted smile smudged across his face.

Usually you arrived at the chosen location before Buggy, so it was uncommon for him to be the one welcoming you. It was rare. Actually, this was the first time. Years and years of Marine training built you into the punctual, prim-and-proper opposite that the lollygagging, law-breaking pirate adored.

When you first met, a few drinks, some sly comments, and his head between your legs was enough for you to find a loophole that you two could fuck and flirt within. You explained the legal grey areas and outlined an agreement to follow, but Buggy couldn’t follow a single word. He could only follow the movements of your hips as you rolled and grinded you both to climax.

Thankfully, the agreement was simple enough to be left in a message and read in the late morning with a skull-breaking hangover. Wait until he received another note - you’ll find a neutral location, somewhere safe for rules and broken protocols, and let the pirate know when to show up.

Buggy had lost count of how many notes he had received (nine - and he had them all shoved in a desk drawer). Still, every time he saw you, it felt like stepping into the afternoon sun. Warm, soothing, and wonderfully blinding.

You hardly had time to compliment Buggy’s unexpected timeliness without his lips pressed against yours. “I like this kind of welcome, Captain,” you slipped between kisses.

Fuck, that sounded so nice coming from your mouth. It tasted sweet, like honey. Buggy worked quickly to peel off your uniform. His movements were erratic, focused more on getting backstage access than lifting the entire curtain. Your half un-done top was pulled off your shoulder, exposing your neck and part of your chest for Buggy’s hungry attention.

“Thanks babe, n-no stains on the uniform,” you sighed while running fingers through his hair.

Yes, yes - he remembered this time and Buggy absolutely deserved your appreciation and praise. He wanted more. He loved listening to you talk.

Buggy felt you shift under him, giving assistance and picking up the fragments of his explosive desire. You unfastened the rest of your uniform, freeing yourself from all of the stark white clothing that constrained your body and kept you two apart. Buggy groaned against your skin. Soft and hot, perfect for those little bites that made you squeak and dig your fingers into any part of him that was in reach. He stiffened - twice - when your hands drifted lower, looking for more buttons, zippers, and buckles to fiddle with. The list of clothing barriers running through Buggy’s mind stopped abruptly when you paused after unbuttoning his pants.

Shit. He forgot something.

You reached into his pants, slipping below his underwear. Maybe you didn’t notice. As you wrapped a hand around his throbbing erection, Buggy melted against you. Resting his head on your shoulder, he huffed with each stroke and pressed pretty kisses against your skin.

“Tell me, Captain… What do you do when we’re not together?” Your composed voice flipped his stomach. It brought a calmness that managed created more chaos in his frenzied body. How did your voice always make him hornier than ever?

“I m-make do…”

“How?”

“The usual ways,” Buggy mumbled against your neck. He wouldn’t say it now, but that was a dumb fucking question.

You dragged a finger along his leaking tip, coaxing out precum and a full-body shudder from the pirate, before pulling your touch away and breaking out of his loose embrace.

“And what are ‘the usual ways’ for a Chop-Chop Man?” You broke into a teasing lilt. “I want to know what you were doing before I arrived.”

Oh fuck. You noticed.

You held up a hand, the afternoon sun catching on the collected drops. You knew.

“N-nothing! I was just waiting f-” Buggy’s indignant stammer was cut short by your finger pressed against his lips, forcing him to taste the familiar salty flavor.

You took your mostly cleaned finger and wiped the edge of his painted mouth.

“Don’t lie to me, you’re better than that. You’re normally not this…disheveled.”

Buggy frowned, ready to disagree, but your hand on his chin stopped the words.

“I like it, I just want to know what you were doing. I want you to show me.”

You were using that voice again. So fucking alluring and intoxicating, words that drift in one ear and out the other, saying things that Buggy would agree to without another thought. So he nodded, your hand following his bobbing head. The smile you gave was the perfect reward for his agreement.

When you let go of his chin, Buggy felt his confidence also depart. The horny feeling bubbling inside gave way to nerves that the pirate tried to push down. He glanced at you, half-hoping that he imagined the entire conversation and you were waiting to fuck not for him to…

The hunger in your eyes was beautifully intimidating. It was dangerous. Your expression shifted, your smile pulled tighter with expectation. Buggy’s eyes darted away to look at the bed before meeting your gaze and darting away again. A moment later, he gulped, nodded to himself, and tilted his head towards the bed.

“Take a seat in the spectator’s stand. VIP, the best seat…” Buggy chittered to distract himself while his hand detached and guided you to the plush bed.

You made yourself comfortable and leaned back against the wall of pillows. Decorative embroidered bolsters, tasseled throws, and plush down supported your nude frame. Buggy stood at the foot of the bed and shuffled his feet.

“Wow, this is a wonderful view.”

Poison. Your words were poison that quickly coursed through his body and Buggy was addicted. Aqua eyes locked with yours for a moment, and then the show started.

Buggy pulled his pants and underwear down, letting them catch on his thighs. His heavy cock bounced in the air, the tip red and slick. The slight curve upwards kept it from pointing directly at you. A wonderful view, indeed.

Rather than touching himself in one of the usual ways that might have been expected, Buggy reached up and placed his hands on either side of his head and removed it. Detached from himself, Buggy finally turned away from you. Getting his head into place was a practiced move. He knew exactly how to hold himself so that he could hear clearly. Where to level himself so precum smeared on his lips whenever his erection bobbed with anticipation. He also angled his body so you could see better.

With the feel of a kiss from his dick, Buggy paused. Is this what you expected? Is it what you wanted? He was full of desperate hope. Every beat in his chest echoed in one head and throbbed in the other.

“Keep going… You’re doing so well.”

His fingers twitched. Fuck, that’s what he needed. Opening his mouth, Buggy pulled his head down his hardness. His mouth was full and his mind was absolutely empty. Thinking was beyond impossible when his body had to process these feelings. There were so many. Too many.

The sensation of wet heat enveloping him. Warm breaths that tickled. A throat constricting around his cock. His balls pressing against a chin. A nose digging into his pelvis. His nose.

There was more. His mouth stretched wide open, aching with every pulse. The teasing taste of precum. Drool escaping. Tears pricking his eyes. Hands that grabbed, squeezed, and pet. The filthy sounds of grunts and groans, gagging and choking, obscene and wet noises.

The feeling of using and being used like this was indescribable.

“Fuck…”

The breathy word danced through his empty head like a butterfly.

“You take such good care of yourself.”

Buggy’s eyes rolled back and he sputtered on his cock, struggling to moan when there was no room in his mouth. He pulled his head back and took a moment to refill his lungs with fresh air.

“You like sucking yourself off, Captain? Looks like you’re really good at it,” you asked in a voice dripping with desire and moving in time with the hand between your own legs.

Buggy licked his lips and nodded against his hands.

“No, let me hear you say it.”

A sharp inhale preceded the next word. “Yeah, it’s real good. Tastes good. F-feels fucking amazing.”

“Of course it does, you know yourself so well. Can you show me what else makes you feel good?” you cooed, wanting as much as he’d give you.

Adjusting the hold on his head to one hand cradling the back, Buggy sucked and kissed his balls. His wet cock found a spot to rest on his face, next to his red nose. A freed hand joined the fun and wrapped itself around his erection. Buggy’s eyes fluttered. There was something about stroking his cock overhead while his mouth, chin, and balls were coated in spit that really got to him.

“Babe, look at you. You’re amazing, you know that?”

The endearment nearly tipped Buggy over the edge. The need in his body was too much and overflowing with the tears in his eyes. His stomach was clenched so tight, trying to hold back the orgasm that he wanted just as badly as he wanted this moment to last forever.

With shaking hands and weak knees, Buggy closed the gap between himself and the bed and placed his head right-side up on the edge of the mattress. He swiped a thumb across his lips, his mind split between the feeling of his soft swollen flesh and the firm touch from his calloused hand.

“You’re gonna explode, huh? Go ahead, honey, you deserve it.”

The eagerness in your voice was undeniable. Any restraint or composure was gone, there were no hints of your strict Marine background left clinging to your words. You were just as captivated by the degenerate pirate as he was with you.

“Fuck, I love it when you talk like that,” Buggy admitted breathlessly.

“I’ll keep talking if you keep sucking. C’mon Captain, I know you can do it.”

“D-don’t stop-” Out-of-sync movements stopped the rest of Buggy’s words and thrust them back into his mouth.

One hand gripped the hair on the top of his head, while his other arm stretched out to keep his frame propped up. The sharp pull of his hair and pressure from being pushed into the mattress was the right amount of uncomfortable. Once steadied, Buggy’s hips thrust back and forth, filling his mouth and throat.

Meanwhile, your voice continued to drift through the room. A sweet balance to his own rough treatment. Soft pet names, delicious encouragement, praise of how well he used himself, compliments for being so good and for taking himself so deep.

Buggy’s whole body was shaking. His face was wet. His jaw ached. His fist ached from holding his hair. He was close and all it took was the right words in the right order.

“You look so pretty crying on your cock.”

Everything went white. A second stretched into eternity as the switch was flipped and Buggy lost control. Cum hit the back of his throat and was pushed further with each stuttering thrust. It never made sense, but the hot liquid seamlessly transitioned from dripping down his throat to down into his stomach. A burning in his chest grew, feeding on tension and exhaustion, begging for air.

Buggy cried out around himself, choking and coughing through the tears that blurred his vision. As though moving on it’s own, Buggy’s body pulled his head away, shoving it towards the middle of the bed, before collapsing. His knees sunk to the floor, cushioned by the rug. The blanket grew taut as his body slide backwards with the movement.

Gentle hands picked up the discarded head and wiped his eyes. A few bleary blinks cleared away the cloudiness so Buggy could see your flushed face. You held him with such tenderness, taking care even when you adjusted your hold, not wanting to jostle him after all that exertion. Your thumb carefully pushed up a drop of cream that escaped the corner of his mouth and a tongue darted out to savor the taste.

“Good job, Buggs,” you said gently, before pressing a kiss to his sweaty forehead. The feeling lingered, sticky and sweet. “You’re not full yet, are you? Do you want to have another treat?”

“Yes,” Buggy gasped.

His head twisted desperately in your hands, blue hair dancing with the movement. Despite a stomach full of cum, the pirate’s hunger was insatiable and he wanted to be full of you. Always you.

[y-rhywbeth2]

Hey kids, want to learn about drugs in Toril?

(OK, so some of them actually have medicinal properties, if your character happens to have medical knowledge in their background.)

Local laws usually have restrictions regarding drugs. As ever, Waterdeep sets the standards for trading cities that want to market themselves as tolerant: the production and selling of drugs outside of medicine is fully illegal in the city, though it's not a crime to be found personally taking drugs. It is not technically a crime to be found in possession of drugs, however that only really applies to nobles, wealthy merchants and others of similar rank. Lower ranks will be assumed to be carrying the drugs with intent to sell, and be arrested unless they can provide evidence of their employment by a Guild of Apothecaries & Physicians, clergy or similar legitimate medical employment.

Drugs that can have fatal side effects may be treated as poisons, which can get you arrested and charged with "murder with justification" if law enforcement and/or the courts do desire. (You don't have to have actually killed anyone, tried to, or shown any inclination whatsoever for this).

The illegal drug trade works a lot as it does in reality, although unlike in reality they also have magic so portals, illusions and other "cheats" are pretty common. The grunt work of trafficking and selling is done by the lower ranking, more disposable members. Often the "runners" who deliver the contraband to the client are young children.

In Baldur's Gate I'd assume most of the drug trade and production occurs in the Undercellar and the Outer City.

-

Many substances are magical in nature and their effects can be unusual. Some came with more information than others.

Tekkil Painkiller. Ingested. Typically used by people dealing with severe chronic pain, taken by chewing leaves that release a milky substance. As well as its analgesic properties, tekkil causes lethargy which can render imbibers insensate in an overdose. Some people use it to completely numb their senses and escape reality, and the drug is moderately addictive.

Alindluth Painkiller, ingested. "Deadens all pain and prevents shock and nausea for a few minutes. No known side effects [but may cause comas in higher doses]"

Haunspeir Stimulant. Paste. Sometimes dried into pill form. Carrying a low risk of addiction it's usually used by wizards, students and such looking for a study boost, though it does cause physical harm to the body while it's in the system and seems to thin the skin, causing more damage when something breaks through (try not to get a papercut).

Tansabra Anaesthetic. Intravenous. A form of venom that places mammalian bodies into magical stasis, keeping their body temperature, oxygen levels and so forth stable as the subject's metabolic processes literally stop: blood flow and breathing ceases. (The text does not tell me what provides the venom.)

Kammarth Beige powder or jelly. An addictive and potent magical stimulant combining Underdark fungi and a rare forest root. Users start bouncing off the walls with endless energy and gain a boost to their speed and reaction times. Overdose will overload the nervous system and cause paralysis and physical damage.

Sezarad Root Ingestion. Chewing the root boosts health, healing and vitality, though it also causes minor confusion as a side effect. It carries a low risk of addiction.

"Battlewine" Or Rhul. A spicy red fluid with a bitter aftertaste. It's basically an anabolic steroid, misused it boosts muscle growth and physical performance but causes aggression. It's also addictive.

Vornduir Powder. Inhaled. Causes the user to feel warm and prevents them from registering cold. It prevents shivering and loss of mobility, however the drug does not actually raise body temperature and won't prevent hypothermia or frostbite. It also has a host of effects that occur totally randomly by individual. In some people it causes alertness and euphoria that lasts for days (during which they can't sleep). Some are totally unaffected, and some have allergic reactions. In some it causes the pain and pleasure response to temporarily switch (stabbing them with a knife would be ecstasy; a normally welcome caress is distressing). On some people it even acts as an antidote to some poisons.

Chaunsel Dermal absorption. Rubbing the drug into your skin causes it to become extremely sensitive to tactile stimuli. While I imagine it has some very predictable uses not mentioned in the text, in practical day-to-day adventuring thieves and other criminals apply it to their finger tips when working in darkness to heighten their awareness of what they're doing with their hands (if they don't have dark vision, anyway). Overdosing causes days of numbness.

"Thrallwine" Ingested. An herbal red wine, more fancifully known as Jhuild, often used by slavers: the imbiber becomes fearful and confused, and their thoughts are sluggish, making them easy to manipulate and control. It also has a steroidal effect, boosting physical strength for a time. It's not addictive.

Katakuda Brown paste. Dermal absorption. Imported from Kara-Tur (Kozakura, specifically, I think). It's traditionally used by a monastic order, and causes the skin to harden when applied, making it harder to damage and less sensitive to pain. If overused it will cause nerve damage, inflicting wracking pain and spasms.

"Dreammist" Inhaled. Properly called mordayn vapor, it's used by brewing a tea using ground leaves and inhaling the vapours. The drug is too potent to be ingested, and consuming the powder or drinking the tea will kill you. Induces visions of incredible beauty that enrapture the user and make reality unbearable in comparison. The drug is extremely addictive and slowly destroys both the mind and body (causing Wisdom and Constitution damage, respectively).

"Bloodfast" Tablet. Ingested A drug created by the drow - known as ziran, in dark elven - the drug causes confusion in mild doses and disassociation and out-of-body experiences in higher doses. It's extremely addictive.

[bwoahtastic]

Omg I need more of plugged up sub!max. I'm shyly asking Dan to try plugs for the first time, and after a lot of prep and reassurance, once the plug slides into max him just going completely boneless and begging Dan for them to do it more even if Dan is a little worried max is moving too fast for himself

Maybe Max is still not doing well heslth wise, and while Dan's gentle care helps him, Dan knows the sub needs to go into subspace and get stimulation to feel better. He is nervous about it when Max asks to try a plug. He isnt sure if Max really is ready or moving too fast but has to trust Max's judgement.

The prep is slow and long, Dan taking his time making sure Max is happy and relaxed by the time he pushes the little plug in him. Max drawing in a deep breath but then relaxing with a soft moan, clumsily grabbing at Dan to have him closer but being so giggly and cute!

Max pouts when Dan tells him he is gonna take the plug out after a while, makes Dan smile to see his sub all cute and a little bratty! There is so much potential in Max, he clearly would make an awesome sub and Dan can't believe people misused him!

[wanderinginksplot]

Sev + "I'm going to give you five seconds to take that back."

Sev x gn!reader (no use of 'y/n' and no pronouns). Flirty (ish).

Word Count: 2,400

Warnings: discussions of medical concerns, references to missions, stimulant misuse, grandstanding, ill-planned bets, semi-flirtatious wrestling.

---

It had all started when you tried to talk your most recent set of charges into being more healthy. 

Delta Squad had been a source of constant frustration for you since you were assigned to be their medic. Normally, commando squads weren’t overly concerned about having a medic on-board. However, Delta had a close call on a previous mission. One commando, Sev, had been in especially bad shape. 

Some time in a bacta tank had fixed the worst of their injuries, but there were certain limits they shouldn’t push if they wanted to avoid a repeat. Sev needed to be particularly careful, since he had suffered damage to his ribs and many of the organs within them - including his heart. 

Which was why you had been irretrievably furious when you found him downing a packet of stims. 

“Are you trying to die?” you had demanded. “Because I know you’re not stupid, and those are the only possible reasons you would be using stims with damage to your heart. What were you thinking?”

“I was thinking that I have a mission to complete and I don’t have eight hours to sleep before we get there.”

Honestly, you could have expected that kind of answer, but the nonchalant tone Sev had used was what pushed you over the edge. 

“And when they wear off? You know, since you took them three hours before we even break atmosphere?” You had shaken your head, clenching your jaw so tightly that the muscles ached. “If you had bothered to talk to me, I would have advised you to sleep for that time, then take half a stim pack when we arrive.”

“I don’t need some vorpan baar'ur telling me what to do,” he had spat. “As long as I can do my job, the GAR doesn’t worry about the little things. Including my health or my life.”

You didn’t understand the Mando’a, obviously, but that didn’t stop you from rolling your eyes at the drama of his caustic words. 

“Apparently, having someone tell you what to do is exactly what you needI” you had countered. “Do you know what kind of shape you’ll be in after another dose of stims? Even I would be able to beat you in a wrestling match! Some use you’ll be to your brothers then.”

It was a bit too far, and you felt bad as silence fell in the small ship. You had worked with enough troopers to know that they prided themselves on loyalty to their brothers above all else. In your defense, though, you recognized the signs of someone who wouldn’t be talked out of their nihilism. By meeting him head-on using the parameters of life as he saw it, you had hoped to shake him out of his stubbornness. 

It was only bad luck that it hadn’t worked. Sev’s expression had darkened and you prepared yourself for a threat or a cutting insult, but Scorch had laughed, breaking the tension.

“Sounds like a good, old-fashioned bet,” he had said, chuckling in a way that could only be described as ‘gleeful’. 

Sev had scoffed and walked away without another word, but your luck ran out.

Delta Squad had gotten a call from General Jusik, alerting them that the leader of the Separatist-controlled planet had opted for a peace talk. As a gesture of good faith, the GAR was withdrawing the commando squads who had been set to invade.

“We’ve been redirected,” Boss announced when Jusik disconnected the call. The sergeant stepped out of the small cockpit where he had been navigating with Fixer. “We’re to touch down on a Republic-friendly planet in the next system and settle in. We’ll be backup if things go south, so stay ready to go. Get some sleep if you can.”

“Those of us who didn’t already take a packet of stims,” you had muttered when Sev went back to cleaning his blaster instead of heading for the bunks. 

Unfortunately, your sarcasm would prove to be your undoing. Scorch perked up at your quiet admonishment, visibly brightening. “Hey, didn’t you say you could beat Sev in hand-to-hand when he’s using stims?”

“Yes,” you confirmed, holding eye contact with Scorch, but trying to watch Sev in your peripheral vision.

“I’m going to give you five seconds to take that back,” Sev growled. When you looked over, you saw that he very much was not focusing on his blaster anymore. 

“I don’t think I will.” The way you lifted your chin was nothing short of antagonistic, but you were angry. Clarity of thought while angry had never been your forte. Despite that, you clocked the gray undertones in Sev’s face and the way his fingers were trembling slightly. “In fact, I think I could beat you now, whether or not you take another dose.” 

“You’re on,” Sev told you, a challenge thick in his tone. 

“Wait-” How you hadn’t seen this coming, you weren’t sure, but your stomach was sinking. “I didn’t mean I actually want to wrestle you. I’m just telling you, as a medical professional, that-”

“Hey, you already said you would,” Scorch reminded you. “Too late to go back on it now.”

“Knock it off, Six-Two. It isn’t too late for anything,” Fixer told him, turning around in the cockpit to face you all. Before you could thank him, he continued as he eyed you directly. “It’s actually a choice: wrestle Oh-Seven or admit that stims aren’t that bad.”

“They are that bad, though,” you insisted. 

“If you’re going to wrestle on my ship, do it in the cargo bay,” Boss said over his shoulder. “I don’t want to explain broken equipment to the GAR.”

“This isn’t enough of a challenge to break anything,” Sev decreed. He watched you as he set aside his blaster and stood. “Cargo bay. Five minutes.”

It was overdramatic to specify a time and place on such a small ship, but it still made the pit of your stomach tighten. You took care to offer him an unimpressed face and a simple nod. 

"This is gonna be fun!" Scorch said excitedly. 

You strongly disagreed, but that wasn’t going to help. It was far too late for that. So you stifled your misgivings and made your way to the back of the ship. 

Sev had stripped off his armor by the time you got there. That hadn’t been a concern, but you wondered if it should have been. There was nothing at all you could do against plastoid armor. However, much as you loathed to admit it even to yourself… you were almost as disadvantaged anyway. The sight of Sev’s muscles swelling and bulging under the tightness of his body glove was enough to make the ship feel like it was lurching through the galaxy. 

You were wearing comfortable clothes, having refused to change into your lightly armored medic’s gear until you were closer to your eventual destination. You were comfortable and didn’t have to strip off any clothing, but that was almost a pity. It was starting to feel distinctly warm aboard the small ship…

“Ready?” Sev asked. 

You nodded, resigned to being decimated by the fully-trained commando. He didn’t attack immediately, choosing to watch you instead. You circled warily, already closer than you liked. The cargo bay of the ship was reasonably big and, as promised, you weren’t going to break anything. That should keep Boss happy, but there still wasn’t a vast amount of space. 

So you and Sev circled around, watching each other. You were focused on his chest: all of the hand-to-hand training the GAR had offered told you that motion was typically forecasted in the torso, so that was the best place to watch if you wanted to avoid being surprised. 

When you occasionally snuck a glance at Sev, he was watching your face rather than your torso. At first, you wondered if you should be doing the same with him, but then you started to feel flustered rather than wary at the weight of his eyes. 

That was when he pounced. 

You managed to avoid the first lunge, but you weren’t expecting him to recover his balance as quickly as he did. In half a moment, Sev was upright once more and diving at you. 

A strong arm hooked around your waist and you were falling, cushioned from the ground by Sev’s body, but the impact still knocked the air from your lungs. Sev flipped you over and you made your move, rolling quickly out from under him before he had time to close the distance between you. 

You got to your feet - or, you started to. Sev’s hand closed around your ankle and pulled. It wasn’t enough to put you back on the floor, but it was enough to bring you heavily to your hands and knees. Since you were already in the proper position, you kicked out with your foot and felt a surge of victory when your heel connected. 

And then you were horrified, turning around as you gave a loud gasp. “Sev! Are you okay? I’m so sorry-”

There was a small smudge of dirt on his forehead from your boot, but Sev’s grin flashed bright. “I’m fine. Keep going.”

And then he grabbed both of your ankles, pulling hard enough that your knees went out from under you and you landed on your stomach with a soft, “Oof!”

Sudden heat at your back warned that Sev was getting ready to pin you, so you rolled again. He seemed to expect the movement then, dropping onto you in mid-turn from your side to your back. 

With a sudden, surging need to keep your freedom, you pulled back a fist. Your goal was Sev’s recently injured ribs, but you came to your senses before the blow came too close to landing. You were a medic, and every bit of training you had received covered how to prevent injuries, not cause them. 

Sev didn’t know that, however, and he winced sharply. He curled into himself in an effort to protect his ribs - a motion that only put more pressure on them. The flash of pain across his face would have made you stop even if you hadn’t already decided to do so. 

“Are you-?”

Before you could ask if he was hurt, he had reached down, snagged your wrists, and pressed them against the cold metal of the floor. You were pinned. 

You were on your back with a commando pressing you into the floor, but you both… stopped. Your breathing was heavy and - with more than a little surprise - you noticed that Sev’s was, too. Of course, his ribs probably still hurt and you would have to check him for a boot-borne head injury, but you couldn’t help but wonder if he was feeling anything other than pain.

You definitely were. 

The chilly bite of the floor at your back faded into the distance as you and Sev studied each other from closer than you had ever been. Sev always looked vaguely angry, but you had wondered if that was his natural expression. That seemed to be true: if you didn’t know him as well as you did, you would have taken his expression to be one of irritation and disdain. But there was softness in it, too. That was what left you feeling like you couldn’t get a full breath. 

“Well, Sev, I’d say you won,” Boss remarked dryly. 

The comment pulled you back into the moment and you realized that Boss, Fixer, and Scorch were all observing the scene. It felt vaguely ridiculous then, wondering what it would be like to kiss the man who currently had you pinned to the dirty floor. But as Sev released his grip and stood, you missed the warmth of him like it was something tangible.

To your surprise, though, Sev held a hand out to you in a silent offer to help you stand. You took it and he lifted you easily. The silence was thick. 

You cleared your throat. “Well, I guess I was wrong. One stim pack isn’t enough for me to win a wrestling match. I still think-”

“Save it,” Sev ordered and you froze. No matter what you thought had changed between you, it wasn’t enough to save you from his sharp tongue. But when he spoke again, Sev’s voice was far more gentle. “It was closer than I thought it would be. Another few minutes and I would have probably lost. I’ll lay off the stims.”

“Aww, no rematch?” Scorch complained. 

Fixer made a sharply derisive noise and left for the cockpit. “I’ll pilot us to the staging planet.”

“All of you, get some rest,” Boss ordered before he left as well. 

Scorch lingered a moment, glancing between you and Sev. You were still standing close together, the tension palpable between you. Unlike most of your interactions, that tension was not actively hostile. 

You were torn between wanting Scorch to leave so you and Sev could talk about what had just happened, and wanting him to stay so you didn’t have to. Slowly, like he was watching something interesting unfold before his eyes, Scorch turned and retreated to his bunk. Since the bunks were in the section just ahead of the cargo bay, Scorch was still in hearing range, but a sense of privacy settled thickly around you and Sev. 

When you finally gathered the courage to look over, Sev was watching you. Neither of you spoke, and your mind raced in an effort to find the right words. 

Your lips parted, though you didn’t have the slightest idea what you planned on saying. Fortunately, Sev spoke before you could say some muddled assortment of words that might mean nothing… or too much. 

“We should sleep while we can,” he told you. After a moment, he added with a wry grin, “Some medic told me I need actual rest, not just stim packs.”

It was more familiar ground, and you relaxed enough to jibe, “What disappointing news.”

“Yeah,” Sev agreed. “But the delivery made it a little better.”

You could only shake your head as you followed him to the bunks.

---

Author's Note - I love Sev wayyyyy too much! I have written more fics for him than for any other member of Delta Squad. That being said, I'm going to focus on Scorch and Boss next since I haven't done much for them. If you have any great ideas for either one that you'd like to throw my way, feel free to comment, ask, or message!

Thanks for reading! You can find other works on my masterlist. As of a few days ago, I discontinued my taglist. You can find just fics on my side-blog, @wanderinginksplot-writes. (As soon as I work through my drafts on this blog, all fics will be posted there first and cross-posted here later.)

[eggtartz]

✧ 2nd October ✧

Dabi // Burned (f! civilian reader)

kinktober masterlist

warning : toxic sex, unconsenting marking, branding, squirting, sadistic dabi, misuse of quirks

fire was a fascinating thing. a fire quirk however isn't too fascinating, especially if the user is a villain. a cruel one at that. so what was the villain doing to this innocent civilian who's quirk is basically useless?

"s-stay back! I will call the police!" you clutched your phone as the villain with burn marks pinned you againts the wall "c'mon darling, we had a great time before why won't we do it again?" he taunted, a sadistic smile on his lips as you basically quivered. "it was one time!" you said, not realizing the consequences of your reckless one night stand with him.

"c'mon. just one more night and we'll be done through" he purred, extending out his burnt hand. "one more night, darling" he said again, voice full of temptation and desire. you cursed yourself for being this immoral, laying and having casual sex with a villain but alas you took his hand.

"one night. just one" he smirked.

~♪

"h-hah.. dabi" his name fell from your lips like a neverending sinful prayer as he basically and figuratively blew your back with intensity that made you dizzy "yeah, that's right" he grabbed a fistful of your hair so your body would meet his "say my name, sweetheart" he whispered against your ear, keeping his cock warmly in your aching pussy

"say the name the one who's fucking you right" his tone was sadistic, mean but you loved it so much. drool covered your body, sweat accumulating at your sore breasts, "dabi" you moaned feverishly as you looked back at him with lustful eyes.

something snapped in him.

something carnal, animalistic took over the villain's body as he thrusted harder at a painful pace that made you gripped the sheets for stability. "hah..I s-so rough!" you whined but your quivering pussy was soaking his cock so deliciously that dabi wanted stay inside forever. "fuck.. i don't think i can ever let you go, sweetcheeks" he gave a smug smile as your cockdrunk mind got mushy.

the heat inside the room was humid as dabi tried controlling his quirk but your pussy clenching on him made him lose his goddamn mind. his hand slithered to your waist as the other stimulated your clit, tapping it with his thumb making you writh "s-sensitive!" you yelped but he smirked, rubbing it harder "oooh, i felt that clench. you gonna cum?" he purred. you nodded frantically as he smeared saliva on his patched hands and rubbed your clit with the extra moist, that felt so good you squirted.

dabi smirked and mounted over you "so sexy... all mine" he moaned into your ear, his hands leaving hand prints on your hips. the sight was an incredible turn on for him that he can't help but increase the tempature with his quirk. his eyes went down your sweaty body to your little cute squeaks when he thrusted harder. "dabi.. mmhot..!" you managed to speak although feeling hazy "i know. stay still for me" he whispered, groaning when he sees your hips meeting his thrusts.

dabi couldn't take it anymore.

in an instance, blue fire emitted from his hand while holding your hips as you screamed, trying to get away "n-no! too hot!" you sniffled, pawing his hand away. he smiled "it'll be over, trust me" he gurnted, chasing an orgasm as his hands branded your hip with raw fire making you cry in both agony and pleasure. dabi smirked, a hand print of his appeared as he came inside you and his quirk was turned off. you slumped againts the bed and panted while dabi tapped his cock on your back, spraying the last drops of his cum on your back and specifically on your hips that he has 'marked' you.

pushing a strand of hair away from your ear, he whispered "good job, sweet thing. you're all ruined for everyone else now" his sadistic tone was the last thing you heard as you feel asleep.

[luffy-addict-author]

𝒟𝑒𝓂𝒶𝓃𝒹

Ft: Luffy- over stimulation- 18+NSFW (MINORS DON'T INTERACT)

His hands are on your shoulder, pushing you more against the headboard so he can easily hover over you more easily-all the while deepening his cock just inside your cunt-

It makes you scream again, though luffy only cuts your mouth with a messy kiss, moving your mouth with his as he wants, tensing the muscles to sure sore later on.

"Fuckfuck." You cry out, pulling him closer by his biceps to feel more of him. You moan out as his shaft jerks up inside of you, hitting you aimless. Tingles of sensations run down your back.

"W-wanna go deeper." Luffy pants, his tongue casually brushing over yours until it's just breaths coming out in a loud motion.

His hips forces itself on yours, pushing your  thighs apart each second to push himself closer to your cervix.

"Pleaseplease. I can't- you are-"His hand wrenches down, trailing along your breast resting on your lower stomach, just a little above your hips. "You feel that?" His finger applies pressure and for the first time, he doesn't go gentle, instead, feeling just the top outline of his cock from your outside. "Ah- I am so deep." He laughs, peering at your fucked out eyes.

And just to tease you, he rolls his hips the slightest, making you come in feel with the veins on his cock, dragging them just farther ahead.

You are whimpering under him, skin flushed with a layer of sheen sweat, chest rising and falling in a uneven rythem. Your thighs are struggling against his hold, not able to contain in the overstimulation though he keeps you in one place, essentially demanding you to take him whole to your limit.

"Fuck-" the word comes out, just as soon as his balls slap around your clit, mix of pleasurable sounds mixing with his.

"Shitshit. I am close-"

"Gonna cum again?" You manage out a nod. His hand reaches more lower, touhing your cunt and pressing his thumb hard on your sensitive parts. "Yeah?"

You wail out, clenching around him so tight that you hear him suck in a sharp trembling breath, moaning just by your ear. The knot in your gut pulls out, releasing your high right on him, covering the head of his cock with your cum.

He grunts at the feeling, pulling your breathless face to Moan in your mouth non stop, resulting your eyes to tear up, only ignoring them with a swift lick of his tongue. You clench around him for a long time, his mouth letting out a surprised half cry bordering on a scream.

A layer of sweat beads down his chest. "SHIT- y/n you are sucking me in whole- FUCK." He yells, groaning loudly at your hips grinding against his balls, increasing his sensitivity for his own high.

Your body is slumped, throat hurting and not able to let out much noises and his pace slows down, just for the moment that you think he is going to finally stop but instead, your eyes only come in vision with his grinning face, looming down to capture your lips to feel them.

It's only when your eyes close that you come in focus with something stretching you out from the inside, brows frowning, it took a moment to recall his ability, misusing it on you.

Tears force out. "No-"

His cock enlarges, his will making it longer and thicker to the point you are yelling out his name out loud, begging him for a release or a break.

Luffy only laughs. "come on now, You said you could take it."

all right reserved. do not repost or copy my work but relogging, comments or feedback is very much appreciated! Thank you.