#it's just early and i think i want to actually use my blogs...like blogs

[lazylogic]

Pride 2024

Drew this just barely in time for pride month but forgot to post it anywhere. It's goofy but so am I. (´▽｀*) I would love to ramble about my ~queer journey~ but I think I'll save that for an actual blog post, whether it's on Tumblr or DreamWidth or my website.

Posted using PostyBirb

[sweetvalentinescandy]

grrriaanwwnananannn i tried to make a cool effect but its not really that cool

sorry fo the casual negativity but im going through the craziest art crisis ever and like im completely overhauling as much as i can from my old art style so all i have rn are doodles ahhhh its so frustrating but i feel like i should post somethin anyway just to make me feel better

[gemharvest]

I miss having a Karl Icon. I'm actually super happy with the current one so it's unlikely I'll change it, but fuuuuuuuuckkkk man I miss the brief period of time between fixations where I was using Karl icons. I miss this art specifically

(art by carmy on TH)

[jimingyue]

Cat Tumblr Dashboard Simulator

🖋️ meowful-musings Follow

🕊️ birdwatching Follow

what's wrong with dry food??? my humans feed me it all the time and i think it's fine

💀 elusivehider-deactivated948204

op wheres the natural feeding option

🌲 outdoorsy Follow

you guys are getting fed?

#im a barn cat so maybe im missing something here #meowtthew don't look

7,192 notes

☀️ pawsitive-affurmations Follow

ITS OKAY TO BE A MOGGIE

ITS OKAY TO BE A MOGGIE

YOU ARE NOT LESS VALID IF YOU ARE NOT A SPECIFIC PEDIGREE!!!!!

☀️ pawsitive-affurmations Follow

extra special shout out to cats who have "common" coat colors. grey tabbies and black cats i am rubbing against your head affectionately <3

🪤 m0usetrap01 Follow

as a grey tabby i really needed to hear this :"3

#i feel like i never see positivity posts for moggies even tho we're the most common type of cat....

154,688 notes

🎵 rage-against-the-meowchine Follow

i cant believe there are cats ACTUALLY advocating for kittens to be separated from their mothers before 12 weeks??? kittens still need to learn how to interact with other cats before being placed into their furever home omg you guys know you're advocating for undersocialized and aggressive cats right

❤️ loving-paws284 Follow

um op some of us??? matured early??????? i was separated from my mother at 7 weeks and i turned out fine... interesting how you assume that kittens being separated from their mothers at a younger age will lead to the degeneracy of the next generation...hmm i wonder where i've heard that before...

🐈 fluffy-the-cat Follow

OP got bit too hard during a play-fight as a kitten and it shows XD

🐟 tunafeesh Follow

also op have you ever considered that just because somecat is kind of scared and unable to deal with strange cats or humans, it doesn't mean they don't deserve to be adopted?? you sound like a vet psyop honestly

🎵 rage-against-the-meowchine Follow

oh meow god saying that kittens should be fully weaned before leaving their mother is NOT veterinarian rhetoric and i never said that they deserve to be euthanized!!! my mother literally died when i was 3 weeks old and it seriously messed up my development so stop putting words in my mouth, thanks

anyway friendly reminder that underweaned kittens are prone to illness and often struggle with basic cat behaviors like litterbox usage, and in some nyavinces it's even considered kitten abuse

#discourse #cant believe "kitten abuse is bad" is controversial now

32,456 notes

🍃 naturalliving Follow

BORN TO DIE

WORLD IS A FUCK

猫神 Kill Em All 1989

I am trash cat

410,757,864,530 DEAD BIRDS

#outdoorliving #outdoorcats please interact #outdoorcat friendly

48,971 notes

🎣 salmonpurina Follow

can't believe cats are uncritically reblogging that born to die world is a fuck post. i know it's funny but op is literally an outdoor cat truther

#like cmon now you just have to go to their blog #lulu speaks

34 notes

💀 tabbystripes-deactivated098712

gentle reminder that pushing cups off the table is not cute and can cause a lot of distress in your human!!!! gentle reminder that our teeth and claws can easily hurt them more than they can hurt us!!!!

🐰 evil-tabbystripes Follow

evil reminder that the cup should always be pushed off the table. evil reminder that you should always bite and claw at your human no matter what. you can do whatever you want forever

💀 tabbystripes-deactivated098712

make your own pawst

💀 laser-point-deactivated8574721

umm i know a tomcat who did that and his human ended up putting him down so...

👬🏻 nyasunaruenjoyer Follow

Nyaverage shelter cat behavior

#not nyaruto #re-nyab #pickles shut up

545,460 notes

🌈 nyaoi-warrior Follow

saw two male cats sleeping together on the porch today. homeow behavior imo

💡 discourse-meows Follow

hey um what the fuck??? it's really not okay of you to go assuming other cat's sexualities, especially cats you don't even know???? as a queer cat i'm VERYY uncomfortable. real-ass cats didn't consent to your nyaoi fetish, thanks

🌈 nyaoi-warrior Follow

1. i was making. a joak

2. i'm literally gay???

#literally what's your pawblem

7 notes

🎩 amazingcatshow12 Follow

reblog if you've ever caught the laser pointer

🎩 amazingcatshow12 Follow

i know you fuckers are lying

🍭 gaykittens Follow

this tom hasn't caught the laser pointer

🎩 amazingcatshow12 Follow

shut the heull up

988,653 notes

🐾 b-e-a-n-t-o-e-s Follow

grey toebeans >>>>>>>>> pink toebeans and don't let the haters make you believe otherwise

🐁 ladymouser Follow

op shut the fuck up ALL toebeans are beautiful!!! just bc you're miserable and insecure doesn't mean you can bring others down based on things they can't control

🐾 b-e-a-n-t-o-e-s Follow

oh so the cat-human separationist wants to preach to us

[prokopetz]

I apologise if you've already answered this, but I tried searching your blog and I'm unsure if you haven't or if it's another example of Tumblr's amazing search system.

I was talking with a friend recently about how much of a culture clash the Monk Class is compared to the rest of Dungeons & Dragons and was wondering if there is a coherent reason for their original inclusion. I'm aware that they're largely influenced by Shaolin monks as depicted in Hong Kong cinema in the 70's/80's as compared to the Sword and Sorcery stuff most of the rest of D&D takes influence from.

Basically, my question ultimately boils down to, "Is the Monk Class there purely because of an original player wanting to rule of cool their way into playing something wildly out of genre, or is there a stronger link between Sword and Sorcery and Hong Kong cinema that could have organically resulted in the Monk Class joining the rest of the classes?"

A lot of the link between the two was simply a matter of time and place. The kung fu craze hit North America at just about exactly the same time as the sword and sorcery revival that gave us films like Clash of the Titans and Beastmaster and The Sword and the Sorcerer and Dragonslayer and Krull – not to mention the Arnold Schwarzenegger Conan adaptation, which revived popular interest in first-wave sword and sorcery literature – so there was a lot of it going around. Analysis of early Dungeons & Dragons as a product of its media influences often overlooks that it was largely drawing on what was trendy in American popular media in the 1960s, 1970s and 1980s. Even the tonally incongruous Lord of the Rings references weren't a deep cut; while the books were originally published in the 1950s, they'd experienced a strong resurgence in the 1970s, putting them firmly in the popular consciousness at the time that D&D was being developed. All this being the case, it's not surprising that early D&D was also substantially influenced by Hong Kong action cinema.

That said, the reason the monk character class in particular (i.e., as opposed to kung fu media influences more generally) is there is allegedly because one specific guy in one of the game's early playtest groups really, really wanted to play as Remo Williams from Warren Murphy and Richard Sapir's The Destroyer; several of the class's signature abilities are direct references to powers Williams exhibits in the course of the novels. Remarks from folks who worked at TSR at the time have pointed the finger at Brian Blume as the Remo Williams fan in question, though accounts are conflicted whether Blume was actually an uncredited contributor to Dave Arneson's Blackmoor (1975), in which the class makes its first proper appearance, or whether Blume's interest merely prompted its inclusion.

This is the case for the character archetypes in a lot tabletop RPGs of that era; instead of trying to work out what classes "ought" be be present, authors would simply start with the types of characters their playtesters actually wanted to play, often based on specific popular media characters, then work backwards to derive an IC rationale for why those were the setting's standard adventuring professions. Other examples from D&D in particular most obviously include the Ranger (based on Tolkien's Aragon, naturally), but also the Paladin (principally inspired by Holger Carlsen from Poul Anderson's 1961 isekai novel Three Hearts and Three Lions, also the source of D&D's goofy regenerating trolls), the Assassin, back when it was still a separate character class (probably mainly based on the Assassin Caste from John Norman's Gor), and even the Wizard to a large extent (less Gandalf than you'd think: a large portion of D&D's iconic wizard spell list is lifted directly from the 1963 Vincent Price film The Raven).

(I often think that modern indie RPGs could benefit from reviving this approach. Like, fuck textual consistency – just pick half a dozen of your favourite popular media characters without regard for the compatibility of the source material and work backwards to explain why these six random assholes are your game's playable archetypes!)

[whatifitis]

♡ how do you want me? - OP 81 ♡

Summary: A wet dream has you grasping for something to feel (or someone). Will your needs be fulfilled?

Author's Note: This is a rework of one of my old fics. It was originally posted to my Spencer Reid blog but now it's been made for Oscar

WC: 639

CW: a bit of fingering, bit of smut, Oscar is dominant if you squint your eyes and don't blink, fluff i think?, we also (lovingly) call Oscar a bitch at some point :P, use of the word brat for a milisecond

It had been a long day. Oscar had left early in the morning, not without lightly kissing your neck and wrapping his hand around your waist. His warm breath caressing your neck, his hand roaming your body, slowly making its way lower and lower, down your front. He lightly swept his finger against your clothed clit, making you whine and squirm. You moved your hips forward, silently begging Oscar for more. He took the hint and slipped his hand under the front of your panties, inching his way towards where you needed him most. You were practically soaking, your thighs sticky with your slick. Oscar softly and slowly rubbed your clit with one finger, slightly teasing you. 

“Please Oscar, more. I need more.” you whined, attempting to somewhat grind against his hand. 

Who was he to deny his favorite girl? He then moved his hand further down, inserting a finger into your cunt, slowly pumping in and out. it felt good but you needed more, you needed to feel him. Oscar then inserted another finger and started pumping his fingers a bit faster. You could feel yourself hurtling towards your orgasm. Just a bit more and you were going to be there. You could feel your stomach turning and tightening at once. The string in your stomach was about to snap, you were so close you could taste it. The only sounds to be heard were your moans and the sound of his fingers pumping in and out of you. 

But you woke up, it was a fucking dream. Oscar had actually left early in the morning for work, but only having left you with a kiss on your head as you were fast asleep. 

You were now feeling all types of discomfort, and your panties were soaked through due to your dream. You knew if you tried to relieve yourself, it wouldn’t feel half as good as when Oscar does it, so you got up and spent the day waiting for him to come home. You spent most of the day absolutely feral due to your lack of an orgasmic high that you’ve been craving. Not only that but you were dead tired. And you were too horny and frustrated to take a nap to pass the time. Your eyes were itching for sleep, you could barely function. 

Oscar got home quite late. You were on the sofa, mindlessly watching a film when you heard his keys rustle in the doorway. You listened as he dropped his bag onto the ground, kicking his shoes off and taking his coat off before joining you on the sofa. With a huff, Oscar plopped onto the sofa. 

“Hi darling, how was your day?” you ask as you run your fingers through his unruly hair, making him let out a groan that makes the heat between your legs grow. 

“It was alright, Lando was Lando, and the social media team had us working overtime. I'm glad to finally be home though. I missed you.” he said, giving you a quick peck on the lips. (not the lips you wanted though 😗)

“I'm sorry darling, is there anything I can do to make you feel better?” you asked, itching to please him whilst pleasing yourself. 

“No, just be with me please.”

“How do you want me?” you asked seductively, moving to straddle him before he pushed your leg back.

“In bed. Asleep. Get your dark circles out of my face.”

“Bitch. I’m fucking horny.” 

“Okay? The bags under your eyes are so bad. You look like a raccoon, love.”

“Fuck me then i’ll sleep.”

Oscar moves too fast for your brain to register. One minute you’re sitting beside him on the sofa, the next you’re being pinned down by Oscar with your back on the floor.

“Alright then. Have it your way, brat.”

[am-i-the-asshole-official]

I am not the asshole, and I think this whole thing is stupid, but I was promised that if I sent my side of things to this blog I could pick the hotel for our honeymoon, and I am marrying a man who once tried to take me BACKPACKING of all things, so this ask has become a necessity. In light of that:

AITA (I'm NOT) for planning the seating for our wedding in a logical way?

I got engaged in June, apparently in part because of my partner writing in to this blog (I don't know how to find or link to his posts, but I'm the man who got the cat to bite him, if that rings any bells?). At any rate, for the past ten weeks, I've been in the beginning stages of planning our wedding with my fiance, whom I have been secretly attempting to remove from the planning process as much as possible. I have ALREADY been given a list of his must-haves, and I AM incorporating as many of them as our budget allows. This has NOTHING to do with the emotional side of the event, and EVERYTHING to do with the fact that this is an idiot with no real planning experience or taste who thinks he knows more than me.

For the most part, this has worked very well. I'm the one who's been collating all the contact information for things, so I just replaced all the emails for the tacky companies with false addresses, responded to his inquiries as the companies to say the date was already booked or the price was outside our budget, and let him filter his way to the ones I DO like on his own. I also made a fuss about being "willing to compromise" on the few things he's picked I'm completely fine with in the hopes I can use it to make him compromise later, and have been humming portions of the songs I want on the playlist in the hopes he'll think he came up with the idea to include them himself.

None of this is the real problem. The PROBLEM is that he is deliberately ruining my seating chart, by moving our horrible friend's seat when I'm not looking.

The man in question dated both of us at one point in our VERY early 20s (both ended BADLY), is generally the messiest person we know, and will almost certainly get sloppy drunk and try to make a speech IF he does make an appearance. I'm banking on the fact that he won't, because he's also ridiculously wealthy, and will almost certainly send us some very lavish gift in lieu of coming.

He is SUPPOSED to be sitting beside my fiances aunt, at the same table as his grandmother, his work friend, and her girlfriend, because all four of these women are stone cold terrors who I believe are more than capable of keeping him in line on the slim chance he does come. My fiance INSISTS they won't be able to have any fun if they're running interference all night, and keeps moving him to sit at the head table instead. You know, where WE are. I finally caught him switching the label magnets on my planning board last night, and confronted him.

I tried leveraging how much I've been compromising already, that he's almost certainly going to RSVP no, and that I shouldn't have to deal with him on our big night. My fiance said he knew about all the fake emailing and such, and told me, and I QUOTE: "Look, the mind game shit was hot when it was just about the colour scheme or whatever, but I actually care about this. So you can suffer with everybody else, or you can do the normal thing and not invite a guy you hate to our wedding, you weirdo."

I said that if I did that, it would take out half his groomsmen, he called me an asshole and said I should go explain this to "literally any rational adult" so they could tell me I was in the wrong, and now here we are.

Would you recommend calling my fiance's bluff, since he doesn't want the man sitting near us either? Or should I focus on ensuring he'll turn down the invitation no matter what, so the matter of where he WON'T be sitting can be a moot point?

What are these acronyms?

Original post

The update

[hungharrington]

Your last blurb has me thinking of Steve and soft early relationship smut where it’s still fairly new and exciting and he’s just so sweet and wants to be close to you 💔💔

this is basically the premise of a little less conversation BUT it’s also such a good prompt anyways that i wanna write something goofy n domestic hehe <3 u put heartbreak emojis but i’m making this goopy sry! and actually it’s not even soft god i’m sorry MDNI this entire blog is 18+

Steve sinks into you in one slow thrust and makes a noise like he’s been stabbed, his forehead to your collarbone.

For one very long moment, he doesn’t move.

“You… you okay?” You ask, all breathy yourself. Your cunt pulses wildly, eager for him to start moving, for some friction— but you’re worried he’s maybe hurt himself somehow. “Steve?”

“I’m good,” He hisses, voice all tight like he is very much not at all good. It blends away as a husky tone threads through his voice. “God, sorry, you just feel—“

He gives a little rock of his hips, pulling out an inch and thrusting back in and a beautiful moan pulls from his lips. He does it again, pulling out a little further and pushing himself back in to your wet, inviting cunt.

He groans again, “Oh my god, I like you so much.”

You startle a laugh, your arms around his neck sliding down so you can pull his head up a bit. Steve’s flushed and looking sheepish by the time you get him face to face. His hips haven’t stopped moving, still small, perfect thrusts in and out, driving you mad.

“Sorry,” He says again, half panting. “Not the best thing to say the first time we fuck but,” He huffs, a throaty moan slipping out in the middle of the sentence. “It’s true.”

You’re beginning to pant too, all your inhales sounding gaspy and high. Your thighs spread more instinctively, pulling them further back to your chest, letting him get in deeper.

“N-No, it’s good,” You say, smiling a bit as he focuses on your face, his lips parted and pupils blown wide. “I really like you too.”

Your words inspire another moan, particularly loud, and his hips rut into you with more fervor, a soft lewd squelching noise beginning to fill the bedroom. Steve moans shakily, peppering sloppy kisses up the side of your neck.

One hand shifts on your hip, sliding up to press your leg further out and unexpectedly, and there’s an audible pop of a joint cracking. Steve stills instantly, still inside you, as he stares down at your hip.

“Oh my god—”

“No, no, it’s fine!” You hastily interrupt, knowing what he’s thinking. You tug his gaze over to you and away from your leg, seeing the smidge of panic in his eyes. “It just cracks sometimes, you couldn’t know that, it’s fine, it didn’t hurt.”

Steve deflates rapidly, giving a relieved chuckle against your chest where he buries his face. When he speaks, his words are all muffled, “I thought I broke your hip.”

You can’t help it, you laugh a bit at that— imagining his panic at the thought. For the third time, you urge his face up and out of hiding, leaning up to nuzzle against his face.

“Quickest way to end a relationship ever,” He jokes, but you can hear the genuine worry beneath his humour.

“No, no, I’m sorry I should’ve told you,” You murmur tenderly, dropping little kisses along his cheeks and nose. His face blazes hot beneath your ardent affection. “But hey, we’re figuring it out, aren’t we? That’s part of the fun, yeah?”

You use your ankles, crossed over his tailbone, to press him into you and Steve gets the message quickly, starting up his gentle thrusts again with a grunt. The soft noises of sex resume, mixed with your combined low moans. The rhythm from before is easy to slip back into. Your cunt throbs hotly, pleasure starting to drool through your stomach.

“Yeah,” Steve breathes heavily, watching your face closely. “Part of the fun. Fuck, you’re so pretty.”

He says it so sincerely that it makes you gasp, clenching around him and eyes screwing closed for a moment. A low whine crawls out your throat.

“God, fuck you for saying that,” You say, with no heat at all. You can’t open your eyes just yet, you’ll combust if you see how handsome he looks right now.

“Yeah?” Steve huffs, sounding a little smug. Your cunt gushes at the sound of his voice. “Oh, you’re right. Figuring this stuff out is the fun part.”

You whine as he fucks in a little harder, the angle just right to have your gut twisting up in pleasure. Your breath is ragged and you finally open your eyes again, swallowing back another sound at the sight of Steve. Messy haired, pink cheeks, reddened lips. He looks hotter than you’ve ever seen him.

“Shut up and hold my hand,” You say— because two can play that game. It works a charm. You can feel the stutter in his hips, see the ripple on his face, hear the whimper in his throat.

Steve keens, tucking his face down into your neck again. His hand searches the sheets til it finds yours, fingers intertwining before he presses your linked hands into the mattress and ruts into your snug cunt harder and faster, deeper.

“F-Fuck,” He stammers, a moan lilting the word. “I like you so much.”

You can’t even laugh this time round because your mind is starting to melt a little at the edges— but it makes the pleasure all that much better, knowing he means it.

[for-a-longlongtime]

You Can't Chase Away The Queers & Gays & They's

aka: have your little delulu fantasies but don't you dare be a homophobic/queerphobic cunt about it.

I'm so fucking serious right now.

A certain amount of people are being absolutely psychotically ridiculous right now over that Pedro poem published in the project by Mustafa (the poem isn't new, he had this on his blog in the early 2010s, btw). Within hours, people are yelling in public comments tHiS pROveS hE iS iNTo pUsSY + hEArTbRoKEn ovEr a wOmAN, PLUS sending anons to me and other queers saying 'this poem proves he's not gay!', 'stop writing f***** shit about him now!', further speculating, wanting receipts whether he ever talked about specific genders, etc.

You're losing the plot. STOP IT.

I'm not even gonna go into how appalled Pedro would be to know there's literally a Straight Crusade group that has been scouting socials since forever just to post fake stories. No, my concern is about all the queers, gays, and they's (the LGBTQIAS2+ community) among us fans -- especially the young ones, who are seeing all that anti-queerness and homophobia happening. It's 2025 and in so many countries queer rights are under attack, queer youths are suicidal at much higher rates than straight kids, and it still happens every fucking day that queers coming out means they're losing family, friends, jobs, housing, custody of kids, etcetc.

Let me clarify: I don't give a shit about Pedro's sexuality or who he sleeps with/dates. I’m not the person you’re gonna want to ask about any of that. Do I as a queer feel (and a lot of others with me) like he's been doing plenty of queer signalling through the years? Yeah, but that doesn't mean it's gospel/fact, and I'm sure as hell not trying to prove it or convince other people.

What IS a fuckin' problem though is when people and blogs are whipping up other fans into a literal frenzy, making them think that they need to 'defend' P or prove he's not gay. Sure, disect the poem and whatever else, knock yourself out, but do not send other people - especially not queers - plain ass hate about it, just because you want to impose your POV on them. Because you are harming people by making them feel like it's not okay to be queer/gay, and you're using Pedro as a means to do so. That's fucked up.

I'm not here to police anyone, but I'm telling y'all to have some common sense if this is something that you have either inadvertently or deliberately been doing. This is exactly why there are so few gay and queer male fans active in this fandom, because they see how much negativity there is at and how obsessive the compulsory heterosexuality is in some corners of the fandom. This is exactly why queer and trans folks feel unsafe to reach out and get to know other fans. This is why a lot of writers (queer and straight) often feel reluctant to write mlm/gay fanfic (be it P Boy x male reader/male OC, or P Boy x P Boy, or P Boy x canon character). This is why new queer/gay fans feel hesitant to put out work with queer representation, because they're afraid of negative comments or anons. And that SUCKS, because they want to tell their stories as much as other writers do, but it's damn hard when you look at the queer/homophobia that has been on the rise in this fandom as well as in society.

Is your ability to like his work, to like him as an actor, or even just as a person who does a lot of good stuff for marginalized communities, actually DEPENDENT on his (perceived) sexual orientation? On who he sleeps with or dates/has dated? To the point that you feel like you need to 'defend' him or prove things to other people? Because, first of all, in case nobody told you and it didn't occur to ya: he's not gonna fuck YOU. Second of all: wow. Get it together.

Finally, I can't believe I need to make this point, but: just because you don't like queers, doesn't mean they're gonna go away. Why are you reading my blog or Erin's or anyone else's tumblr that's clearly about queer stuff (we actually do indicate that already in our bio/pinned posts, you know) if you don't like it? WHY are you reading gay fanfic (which is about Pedro characters, not even RPF/Real Person Fiction, and YES - that is a very big difference) if it makes you angry? Most of all, why do you feel like it's okay to act like a fuckin asshole?

Stop reading things you don't like. Block people you don't like. Dislike stuff all you want, but just don't be a homophobic piece of shit about it.

Also, go read Erin's post right here.

[howtofightwrite]

So. There is no safe place (in the body) to be shot. There are places that are slightly safer than others to be stabbed (i.e. being stabbed in the meat of your calf is less likely to be lethal than your torso). For the purposes of an arrow wound, which feels like a combination of shot+stab for a swords n sorcery world, is there a “less lethal” place to take an arrow? My character is traveling with companions and gets into a fun little goblin skirmish. I need her to catch an arrow somewhere that will be concerning, but not immediately fatal. Magic Bullshit™️ will keep the wound from healing properly for a few days, but I’ve accounted for field wound care (cleaning and bandaging and such) as she’s being taken on horseback to get proper treatment.

Not deeply.

So, the problem with all of these is tissue disruption. If the injury gets deep enough, the chances that it will hit something vital (especially on the torso) increase dramatically. So, getting stabbed and having the blade catch bone, instead of getting in deeper is “relatively” safe. Similarly, getting stabbed (or shot) in the hand or foot is unlikely to kill you (though, those injuries are likely to result in permanent damage impairing the use of injured appendage.)

Arrows are a little different, in a couple of ways. First, if you get shot, you do not want to pull that off (nor break it off and push it through.) That will increase the risk of bleeding out. Arrows make fairly large holes in people, but if the arrow sticks in the wound (which, it should) it will actually limit the amount of bleeding. Effectively the wound has a partial plug in it. Pulling out the arrow means that plug is no longer there, and they can happily bleed to death on the spot.

The second thing about arrows is that they actually pin muscle together. Think of it a bit like holding two pieces of meat together with a toothpick. If the toothpick isn't there, the pieces can slide across each other without issue, but that's not possible when there's a wooden shaft running through them. Your muscles are a complex web of meat, that slide over each other as you move. Pinning those together means that part of your body will actually lock up. For example, if you're shot in the shoulder, you won't be able to adjust the position of your arm. It's been toothpicked, and it's not going anywhere.

Arrowheads can get wedged in bone. If it's a broad head, or hunting tip, that will be obnoxious to get out.

At the risk of reading too much into your setting, goblins often means poisons, or other nastiness. Though, really, even just getting a tetanus infection (it used to be called “lock jaw”) from their blades is a pretty horrific potential fate. Even if the wounds themselves were relatively minor (cuts and scrapes, maybe a graze or two), a couple days might still result in some pretty horrific harm after the fact.

Also, remember, it's unlikely that bacteria will be understood by the medical science of your setting. So, first aid would still run a real risk of secondary infections.

Depending on their skill in first aid, anything outside of a severed artery or catastrophic organ damage should be (technically) survivable, though the wounds could easily result in permanent impairments, depending on exactly what was hit. A punctured lung might not kill her, but it could result in permanent respiratory issues, such as a cough, and chronic pain while breathing heavily from then on. It could also result in pneumonia and death, which is also, usually, pretty permanent.

Some of this depends more on where you want to land on a spectrum between dark fantasy and swords & sorcery. The genres are similar (and potentially overlapping), but can scatter out into dramatically different works. But, you do have some options on how you want to proceed.

-Starke

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[bleulikedaylight]

Ms. Delinquent, Natasha

pairing: delinquent basketball captain! natasha romanoff x student council president! reader

synopsis: Y/N L/N, perfect student council president, gets paired with the school’s worst nightmare—rebel basketball captain natasha romanoff—for a major project. she’s late, annoying, and impossible to work with. but one unexpected moment makes Y/N wonder… is there more to natasha than the chaos she brings?

warnings: mild cursing + tell me if i missed anything !! | wc: 3.8k | genre: wlw (as always <3), romance, fluff, high school au !! ;p

note: hii !! thank you so much for reading my work. just a quick heads-up—english isn’t my first language, so i’m really sorry in advance for any grammatical errors !! T^T

also, feel free to send messages, asks, requests, or literally whatever—i love hearing from people, and i swear i don’t bite (unless you want me to? jk, i'm so cringe 😔☝️)

anyway, i just noticed i accidentally made a second blog instead of a whole new account… so if you follow me and an account with the username @definitelynotbleu followed you—that's me. that’s my main blog, because apparently, tumblr said “you can’t follow people using your side blog.” like okay. thanks, i guess? ☹️💔💔

i’m lowkey considering just making a whole new account and moving all my fics there because this setup is slowly driving me insane. BUT I’M ALSO KINDA LAZY SO. WE’LL SEE. also i haven’t even made a masterlist yet. i’m cooked. actually beyond cooked. overcooked. burnt. ashes. 🥀🥀🥀

(ALSO I’M SO SORRY FOR VERY LONG AUTHOR NOTES I’M JUST A YAPPER OKAY T^T)

part one ♡‧₊˚ part two ‎♡‧₊˚

The next day, you show up to school with a venti coffee, three hours of sleep, and a list of tasks color-coded in pastel highlighters. You’re not thinking about her. You’re not. You have work to do. You have plans. You are a woman of discipline. You are the student council president.

And then she walks into the classroom like she didn’t just emotionally destabilize you twelve hours ago.

She’s in her varsity jacket, gym bag slung over one shoulder, earbuds in. One of them falls out as she moves, and you catch the faint sound of Arctic Monkeys. Of course she listens to Arctic Monkeys. You hate that it suits her.

She sees you. She nods. Calm. Collected. Like last night’s heart-attack-inducing flirtation didn’t happen.

You scowl.

She smirks.

Wanda leans over to whisper, “You’re glaring like she stole your planner.”

“She might as well have,” you mutter.

—

You meet after school again, this time in the student council office. She shows up ten minutes early and eats all the jelly beans in your organizer tray. You tell her off. She just shrugs and asks for more.

Somehow, it becomes a thing.

Every day for a week, Natasha Romanoff shows up. Sometimes with food. Sometimes with new bruises. Once, with a notebook full of genuinely helpful project notes, written in messy, slanted handwriting. She has surprisingly good insights, you have to admit.

But it’s not just the work. It’s the way she listens. The way she leans back in the chair, arms crossed, watching you with something between curiosity and amusement, like you’re a puzzle she’s enjoying solving.

It’s unsettling.

It’s distracting.

It’s maddening.

Especially when she starts casually touching you. Nothing scandalous—just light taps on the shoulder when you make a joke, her knee brushing yours under the table, taking the pen out of your hand when you’re overthinking the sentence structure.

"Relax, President. You’re not writing the Constitution."

You swat her hand. “I am setting a standard.”

She grins. “Yeah. A very adorable, very high-strung one.”

You want to scream.

And then—she starts drawing on your notes.

Like, full-on doodling hearts on the margins when you’re focused on your laptop.

“You’re vandalizing school property,” you say, eyeing the tiny cartoon of a girl with your hairstyle next to one with her haircut.

“Correction,” she replies without looking up. “I’m customizing history.”

You blink. “Is that supposed to be me?”

“Depends. Are you flattered?”

You throw a highlighter at her face. She catches it with one hand. You hate how cool that was.

—

It gets worse when she starts appearing outside of project hours. One morning, she joins you in line at the school caf. Orders black coffee and a muffin. Pays for your iced coffee without asking. When you try to protest, she tilts her head.

“What, you don’t like muffins?”

“That’s not the point.”

“What is the point, then?”

You don’t answer.

Next time you go to your locker, there’s a sticky note on the inside door.

You stare at it for an absurd amount of time.

Wanda finds you still holding it twenty minutes later.

—

And then there’s the basketball practice.

You don’t normally attend. But your vice president is managing the halftime event and drags you into helping.

So you’re there, clipboard in hand, head spinning with logistics—until the buzzer sounds and Natasha Romanoff is suddenly there, sweat-soaked, breathing hard, hair in a messy ponytail, grinning like she just won the world.

She finds you in the crowd. She winks.

You look away so fast you almost pull a muscle.

Wanda catches the whole thing. “Do not make me be the one to say it.”

“Say what?”

“You’re falling for her.”

“Absolutely not.”

“Absolutely yes.”

“I can’t stand her.”

“You stood outside for three hours watching her throw a ball into a net.”

“It was for the halftime event.”

“You made the flyer.”

You have no comeback.

—

Then comes Friday.

Project submission day.

You meet in the library to print the final version. Natasha shows up with two drinks—your usual order and something new for you to try. You hate how thoughtful it is.

“So, we’re done,” you say, double-checking the pages.

“We are.”

“No more late-night messages.”

“No more weekly meetings.”

“No more walks home.”

She says nothing.

You look up. Her face is unreadable.

“We’ll go back to being classmates,” you offer, almost as a question.

She nods slowly. “Right. Classmates.”

Why does that feel like a loss?

Before you can say anything else, someone calls her name.

A girl you vaguely recognize—varsity, volleyball, always surrounded by people. She walks over, all smiles and confidence, and hands Natasha a note.

“From me,” she says, touching her arm.

You freeze.

Natasha takes it, unreadable again. “Thanks.”

The girl walks away, not even sparing you a glance.

You stare at the paper. Then at her. You’re not sure what expression you’re making, but Natasha blinks.

“What?”

“Nothing,” you say, too fast.

“You look mad.”

“I’m not mad.”

“Jealous?”

“What?! No!”

She leans in, a flicker of amusement in her eyes. “Relax, president. It’s just a love letter. Happens all the time.”

You bite your tongue. You’re not jealous. You’re not.

But you go home annoyed.

And when she doesn’t text you that night, you keep checking your phone anyway.

—

—

The next week is chaos.

Event week. Schedules, permissions, venue requests. You bury yourself in work. You avoid the gym wing. You skip the caf. You go out of your way to not see her.

And somehow, that makes it worse.

Because Natasha doesn’t chase you. She doesn’t text. Doesn’t show up. Doesn’t ask what’s wrong.

You don’t want her to. Except you do.

You hate her.

Except you don’t.

And then it’s Thursday.

You’re reviewing final logistics with your committee when the door opens.

Natasha walks in.

Everyone freezes.

You blink. “Can I help you?”

She walks up and hands you a folded paper.

“Coach needed this signed.”

You take it. “Okay.”

She doesn’t leave.

You glance up. “Anything else?”

She shrugs. “Just wanted to see you.”

You almost drop the pen.

Wanda chokes on her drink.

Natasha leaves before you can reply.

—

Later, your phone buzzes.

You stare at the screen.

You don’t.

That night, you can’t sleep.

Because maybe you miss working with her too.

Maybe you were wrong about her. Maybe she’s not a complete walking red flag. Maybe she’s just... complicated. Rough around the edges. Mysterious in a way that makes you want to keep learning more.

Maybe you’re in trouble.

And maybe that’s not such a bad thing.

—

You tell yourself it’s not a big deal.

Just a message. Just a moment. Just Natasha being… Natasha.

And yet, three days later, you're still re-reading that "i miss working with you" text like it’s a published poem.

It’s embarrassing.

Wanda calls you out during lunch. “You’re staring at your phone like it owes you tuition money.”

“It’s none of your business,” you reply, stabbing your salad with unnecessary force.

Yelena snorts. “She still hasn’t asked you out, huh?”

“I am not waiting for her to ask me out.”

Kate raises an eyebrow. “Would you say yes?”

You don’t answer.

Because you don’t know.

Because maybe you would.

—

The rain starts mid-afternoon.

Hard. Fast. The kind that floods the quad and knocks down your color-coded event posters. Not metaphorical, poetic rain. Actual, annoying, soak-your-socks rain. You’re standing under the broken awning outside the school gym, binder clutched to your chest, watching your hard work dissolve into paper mush.

You’re in the school grounds, fuming, clipboard soaked, when she finds you.

“Event prep not going well?” she asks, casually offering her umbrella.

You don’t take it.

She holds it over both of you anyway.

“I worked so hard on those signs,” you mutter. “And now they’re dead. Murdered. By the sky.”

Natasha looks at the puddles like she can beat them up for you. “Wanna make new ones?”

You blink at her. “Why would you help me?”

She shrugs. “Because I like you.”

Your brain short-circuits.

“You what?”

“I like helping you,” she clarifies, emphasis deliberate. “You’re cute when you’re stressed.”

You sputter. She smirks.

“Also, I brought snacks,” she adds, pulling a plastic bag out of her varsity jacket. “Thought you might forget lunch again.”

You hate how well she knows you. You hate how that makes your heart do a thing.

“Thank you,” you mumble.

She hands you a rice ball. “So, what’s the plan, boss?”

You look up at her. Rain falling, your shoes soaked, everything a mess—and suddenly it doesn’t feel so bad.

“Plan is… save the event. Rewrite everything. Get glitter glue. Hope for divine intervention.”

Natasha grins. “Finally. A mission worthy of my talents.”

—

That night, you work together again. Just like before.

But it’s not just like before.

Now there’s this thing between you. A current, a tension, an almost.

She sits closer. Laughs more easily. Steals your pen, your snacks, your attention.

You tell her to focus.

She tells you to loosen up.

And at one point—when your hand accidentally brushes hers and you both freeze for half a second too long—you think: this might actually be something.

—

By Friday, everyone notices.

Wanda keeps sending you suspicious side-eyes. Yelena openly teases Natasha in front of you. Even the teachers are acting weird, like they’re expecting a plot twist.

You try to ignore it.

But it’s hard when Natasha keeps finding excuses to be near you.

“Forgot my book. Oh look, we have the same one.”

“Need help carrying that? You clearly skipped arm day.”

“You busy later? I found this new café. They have your favorite coffee.”

It’s maddening. It’s sweet. It’s maddeningly sweet.

You are losing your mind.

—

Then comes the night before the event.

You’re in the auditorium, double-checking lights and stage cues. Natasha shows up, of course. She’s holding a flashlight in her mouth and balancing a roll of tape on her head.

“You’re not on the logistics team,” you tell her.

She drops the tape. “Nope. Just here for moral support. And also to see your cute boss voice again.”

You try not to blush. Fail miserably.

“You’re annoying,” you say.

“I know.”

A pause.

“You’re… kind of important to me,” you say suddenly. Quiet. Unexpected even to yourself.

Natasha looks up. Serious now. “Yeah?”

You nod. “Just… thought you should know.”

She crosses the stage, stops in front of you, eyes soft in the dim lighting.

“You’re important to me too,” she says. “And not just for school projects.”

Your heart flips. Or malfunctions. Or possibly explodes.

She leans in. You panic.

You shove a clipboard between you. “I-I still have to check the mic system!”

Natasha blinks. Then laughs. “You’re lucky you’re cute, Pres."

—

Later that night:

—

And then, the day of the event arrives.

Everything runs perfectly.

The crowd cheers. The booths look amazing. Your team is killing it.

And in the middle of it all—between speeches, music, and chaos—you feel her watching you.

She’s not trying to hide it.

You glance at her.

She grins.

You grin back.

—

The event ends with a bang. A literal bang.

Someone in the STEM booth miscalculates the chemical reaction for their demo volcano. You hear the fizz, you smell the vinegar, and then—

Boom.

Foam everywhere. It explodes so violently it hits half the hallway. Your shoes are soaked. Your socks are crying. Your bangs are sticking to your forehead. And right next to you, Natasha Romanoff looks like she just walked out of a shampoo commercial—except her face is covered in pink foam, and she’s wheezing.

“You’re laughing?! This is your fault—”

“How is it my fault that the Science Club can’t count?!”

“You egged them on!”

“I told them to go big or go home!” she says, wiping foam from her jaw. “They just… went nuclear.”

You glare. She grins. And then she reaches out—

Flick.

Right on the center of your forehead.

“Relax, Miss President. You look like a very angry bubble tea.”

“I swear, Romanoff—”

She brushes foam from your nose. “Still the cutest bubble tea on campus, though.”

You stare at her.

You forget how to speak.

You nearly combust on the spot.

—

Later that night, the chaos finally dies down. You’re still buzzing from the noise, the laughter, the adrenaline of pulling off an entire school event without anyone setting the curtains on fire (the foam doesn't count, okay). You sneak off behind the gym—because it’s quiet there, and because you know she’ll follow.

She does.

Varsity jacket slung over her shoulder. Tired eyes. Twisted smirk. That lazy, confident swagger like she didn’t just help you keep the student body from collapsing into absolute anarchy.

“Hey,” she says softly.

You look up from your clipboard. “You survived the foam-pocalypse.”

“Barely.”

She walks over, sees you shiver, and wordlessly drops her jacket onto your shoulders.

You go still.

“…Thanks.”

“Don’t mention it.”

She leans against the wall beside you. You're seated on the bench, curled under her jacket like a burrito. She watches you. Quiet. Soft.

“You did good today, Pres.”

You glance at her. “I had help.”

She shrugs. “I just followed orders.”

You roll your eyes. “You literally yelled at a sophomore to stop lighting incense indoors.”

“He was summoning good vibes.”

“He was summoning a fire hazard.”

She laughs. You bite your lip to hide your smile.

“…Can I tell you something?” she asks, voice suddenly quieter.

You nod slowly.

She shifts. Leans down slightly, just enough that you can see the way her eyes flicker nervously before she brushes your hair behind your ear, fingertips grazing your cheek.

“I like you,” she says. “Not just for school. Not just for events. I like you, Y/N. Like, like-like you.”

Your heart stops. Your entire body goes still.

You stare.

Then—“Took you long enough.”

Natasha blinks. “Wait—what?”

You laugh—light and breathless. “You think I didn’t notice the forehead flicks? The snacks? The weirdly specific coffee orders? The way you walk me home and then pretend it’s not a big deal?”

Natasha looks faintly betrayed. “I was being subtle!”

“You’re literally six-foot-two and smirk at me like a YA love interest. Nothing about you is subtle.”

She gasps. “Are you comparing me to a Wattpad boy?”

“I shouldn’t, but yes.”

Natasha groans into her hands. “This is the worst confession ever—”

You reach up, grab her hands, and pull them down gently.

“I like you too, Delinquent.”

She goes silent.

Then she flicks your forehead again. “I knew it.”

“Ow?!”

“Deserved.”

You grab her collar before she can pull back and lean your forehead against hers, still giggling.

“You’re infuriating.”

“You’re dramatic.”

“You’re obsessed with me.”

“Who wouldn’t be?”

You kiss her cheek. She actually short-circuits.

—

—

You barely sleep that night.

Too giddy. Too electrified. Too busy replaying every second of her smile, her laugh, the way she short-circuited when you kissed her cheek.

The group chat keeps blowing up—Wanda’s in full meltdown mode, Yelena’s already planning the wedding, and you… you’re floating.

But the world doesn’t stop just because your crush finally confessed.

The next day arrives fast. Loud. Demanding.

And before you know it—

The interschool basketball match begins.

You shouldn’t even be in the gym.

You’ve got student council paperwork spilling out of your arms, a working list of urgent tasks highlighted in pastel chaos, and three missed calls from your VP asking where the sign-up forms are. Your planner is a warzone, your phone is blowing up, and you haven’t eaten since breakfast.

But you’re here.

Sitting beside Wanda, Yelena, and Kate in the front row of bleachers, legs crossed, hands clenched in your lap, trying very hard not to watch the court.

You tell yourself it’s just for school spirit. You're here to support the school. Support the team.

It’s not about her.

It’s never about her.

Except it’s absolutely about her.

Because Natasha Romanoff is on the court, and for the first time ever, she’s… off.

Her passes are sloppy. She misses two layups in a row. Her defense is late. Her rhythm? Gone. There’s a visible crack in her composure—she’s snapping at teammates, cursing under her breath, yanking at the hem of her jersey like she can pull herself together through sheer will.

“She’s spiraling,” Kate says quietly.

Yelena’s brows furrow. “She doesn’t play like this. Ever.”

“She looks—nervous?” Wanda says, watching closely. “She keeps glancing at the bleachers.”

You force yourself not to move.

Not to flinch.

Not to let the burn in your chest show.

Because she is glancing. Over and over again. Her eyes are scanning the stands, sharp and desperate, like she's looking for something—or someone—and not finding them. Each time she doesn’t find what she’s looking for, her face hardens. Her jaw tightens.

“She’s looking for you,” Yelena murmurs, like she’s just realized.

You press your lips into a thin line.

“She thought you wouldn’t come,” Wanda whispers.

And for a moment, you almost don’t.

But then—

Then she misses another shot. The crowd groans. She slaps her hands against her thighs, furious.

And suddenly, you can’t take it anymore.

“God,” you mutter, already standing, “if I get suspended for this—”

You cup your hands around your mouth and yell across the court before your brain can catch up.

“ROMANOFF! PLAY LIKE YOU MEAN IT!”

The whole gym stops.

Like, actually stops.

Every head turns. The air shifts. Even the referee pauses.

And Natasha?

She freezes.

Her eyes snap to you instantly—like she’d been waiting for that voice all game.

And when she finds you?

Her whole expression changes. Like she can breathe again.

The corner of her mouth twitches. A breathless laugh escapes her. Her shoulders roll back. Then—

She moves.

Sharp. Precise. Lethal.

The Natasha everyone knows is back.

She steals the ball from the opposing point guard like it’s nothing, darts down the court, and scores with a clean, perfect shot that wipes out the tension from the past ten minutes.

From that moment on, the game shifts. Momentum tilts.

Natasha becomes unstoppable.

You don’t even realize you’re holding your breath until the final buzzer sounds—Natasha’s team winning by two points. The crowd explodes into cheers.

You clap automatically. Just once. Then grab your things, ready to disappear before anyone processes what just happened—

But she doesn’t go to her team.

She doesn’t wait for the trophy, or the coach’s speech, or the photos.

She runs.

Straight. To. You.

Through her teammates, through the crowd, ignoring her coach yelling her name and the players trying to high-five her.

You blink as she stops in front of you—sweaty, panting, eyes burning with something so raw it makes your chest ache.

“Hi,” she breathes, like the world’s been holding its breath without you.

You stare. “Hi?”

“You came,” she says, her voice hoarse. “I thought—” she shakes her head, words failing. “You weren’t there. I looked and you weren’t—”

“I was late,” you admit softly. “I had council stuff—”

“I thought I ruined everything,” she whispers.

You frown. “Romanoff—”

“I couldn’t see you,” she continues, like it’s been sitting in her throat the whole game. “I kept looking and you weren’t—God, I thought I lost you.”

You blink fast, something thick in your throat. “You didn’t.”

A pause.

And then—

“Can I kiss you?” she asks, not a tease this time. Just desperate. Just honest. “I—I need to know this is real.”

Your heart is pounding.

“Yeah,” you whisper. “You can.”

She kisses you.

Right there. In the middle of the gym. In front of literally everyone.

It’s messy. Breathless. Charged with too much feeling and not enough time. Her hands slide into your hair, holding on like she’s still scared you’ll vanish.

Gasps ripple through the crowd. Wanda screams. Kate chokes. Yelena straight-up punches the air.

And when Natasha finally pulls back, she leans her forehead against yours and breathes, “Don’t do that again.”

“Do what?” you ask, dazed.

“Disappear,” she says. “Make me play like a rookie. Make me lose my mind.”

You grin despite yourself. “You were that bad?”

She scoffs. “I nearly fouled out looking for you.”

You try to look smug. “Guess you need me around, huh?”

Natasha leans in, brushing her nose against yours.

“Guess I do, President.”

The crowd is still roaring. Someone’s taking photos. The coach is yelling in the distance.

But all you feel is her.

And for the first time in weeks, everything finally makes sense again.

You sigh, dramatic and hopeless. “I’m so doomed.”

She kisses you again, softer this time.

“Yeah,” she murmurs against your lips. “But at least now you’re doomed with me.”

—

The next morning, Natasha walks up to you in the middle of the hallway.

She’s in her varsity jacket.

You’re in her hoodie from last night.

Everyone sees.

She stops in front of you. Smirks.

You squint. “Why do you look like you’re about to say something embarrassing?”

“Because I am.” She flicks your forehead again. “Hi, baby.”

Your entire soul leaves your body.

Wanda SCREAMS from across the hallway.

Yelena fist-pumps.

Natasha leans in, lips near your ear.

“Now everyone knows you’re mine, Pres.”

You elbow her. Lightly.

She catches your hand.

Doesn’t let go.

Then threads her fingers through yours like it’s always been that easy.

And maybe it is.

Because from the way your heart leaps, the way her thumb brushes yours—

You realize you’ve been hers all along.

[onlyseokmins]

size matters • l.c.

Pairing: lee chan x afab!reader Genres: major smut (minors PLS dni!), losers + idiots + besties to lovers Warnings: *deep breath* MONSTER COCK CHAN, swearing, love me some switch action, reader does not use specified pronouns but refers to their pussy as "she", reader also wears a skirt, pet names, alcohol and goofy drunk antics, bad humor, use of "whore/slut", tons of dirty talk, they're kinda pervs, mentions of toys, masturbation (fem), hints to past sexual partners, mentions of oral (male), actual oral (fem. receiving), car sex (kind of), condoms, fingering (fem. receiving), WAP lmao and squirting, bantering, degradation, wee bit praise, unprotected/protected MESSY sex, underwear play (??? lmao), precum play (??), edging, face-riding, groping/manhandling, objectification, reverse cowgirl position, bulge kink, slapping/spanking, possession, almost choking, biting, tears and crying, a bit of overstim and if i missed smth lmk sdfjkajdf WC: 8.3k A/N: this started out purely self-indulgent as usual and reads like a bad pornhwa but it's also nana month so a happy early birthday to @bitchlessdino because i will be asleep when the clock actually strikes 12 tomorrow! and bc i will dedicate all chan content to the loml! this is like my 3rd longest fic on this blog and 4th longest fic ever and it's just utter filth and smut... hate it here. i always get into a crazy headspace when i write for this man. i hope y'all enjoy my delusions before i retire out of shame 😬

"I'm worried my dick's too big."

Laughter bubbles in your chest at the same time the beer you'd just taken a swig of swishes around in your mouth. It's so like your best friend to say something stupid. Especially when your mouth is full.

He frowns in mild annoyance as you rock back and forth with mirth, struggling not to spit out your drink and make a mess. But also trying to refrain from choking. Because if you die, you sure as hell will find a way to make sure everyone knows that a dumbo and his terrible concern over having a big cock drove you to your demise in such an unfortunate manner.

And no one wants that.

"I dunno what's so funny," the man in question irritably gripes, "but for god's sake, calm down and swallow."

Though it ends up that Chan is the one gulping first. Ears burning and eyes widening when you wiggle your brows deviously and do as he says. Sticking your tongue out for good measure — just for proof that yes, you did swallow —  but he's quickly whipping his gaze away. Head turning to the side as if that does anything to hide the embarrassing look overtaking his expression. 

He thinks you'll back off, hoping the nervous twiddling of his fingers will deter further teasing. But he should really know better. The telltale signs are littered across the table in front of him and even overpower your usual sweet scent when you lean close into his personal space.

"So, you like it when someone swallows versus spits for you, Channie?"

"You're drunk."

"So are you." 

Because that's what happens every movie night. The two of you enjoy too many beers after a feel-good show and start talking nonsense.

"Yeah, and we're having a very serious conversation right now. A drunk one. But still, serious."

You purse your lips. "You're bluffing. No way you're complaining about the hugeness of your dick. 'Cause no one does that."

"It's not like I'm trying to boast or even insecure, I'm just worried."

"Worried about what?" you snort and push at his shoulder. "There'd be no reason to worry if you know how to use it. In the end, size doesn't matter at all."

Chan quirks an eyebrow, side-eyeing you. "At all?" 

"If your technique is good, it shouldn't matter as long as everyone feels satisfied. You know, you just gotta hit that one spot…" 

You start doing hand motions to demonstrate your point that seem wildly inappropriate and are honestly so drunkenly uncoordinated to the point that Chan not only feels compelled to stop you but doubts anyone would feel good from that. Then again, he's never really managed to partake in sloppy sex, so who knows? 

He grabs your hands to still them and though you no longer move, you protest. "What? You'll have 'em seeing and feeling stars! To be honest… you prolly will too if ya try your best."

"You know, I do know how to pleasure someone. It's not really an issue once I'm inside, it's just getting there that's kind of a problem."

"Channie, are you secretly a virgin?" You lay your head on his shoulder, hand running down his forearm and weaving your fingers between his. "Issokay if you are."

"You know I'm not!"

"Well, yeah I guess you're a bit of a whore. Still love you no matter what."

Chan chokes out your name in frustration. "All I'm saying is that I have a huge cock and I'm sad about it!"

"And you keep saying I'm drunk. Look, you're valid in being… upset about having a fat dick even if I don't understand. Just telling you that sometimes a ton of prep is helpful and even a decent amount of lube. No shame in that. Not everyone's built to take a large-ass, whopping cock." And then you mumble extremely quietly, "If it's even that big."

Unfortunately, he hears you and scoffs. Popping his shoulder up to gently shove you off him. Though that only causes you to grasp for his sweatpant-clad thigh and hold onto it for dear support in your half-drunken stupor. The perverted part of both your brains flash to your hand squeezing tightly around something else; the unmistakable heat of said something else radiating towards the closest part of your hand and causing a hot rush to flare across your entire body.

Or maybe that's just the alcohol.

Doesn't stop you from shamelessly ogling what you can only presume to be his bulge, gray fabric stretched over his groin and straining against muscular thighs. 

"Are you flaccid right now?"

"What's it to you?"

"Just curious. Thinking about my different dildo sizes."

He balks at that. "Pl-please don't."

"Yeah, not sure I wanna compare what your dick would realistically feel inside me," you admit even if you find it difficult to tear your hungry eyes away to take in Chan's mortified expression. 

"Can we stop talking about my personal parts now?" he squeaks out and you shoot him a dubious side-eye even though you do easily acquiesce.

"With pleasure. Speaking of which…"

Chan's hushed groan of "Oh dear" goes ignored even after you drape an arm on the back of the couch behind his head, lay the other across his chest, and splay your legs over his lap. Your lips end up leaving a sticky residue on his cheek, neck, and ear as you graciously whisper your own sex secret — the spontaneous topic of tonight — to him. 

"Only my bullet vibe has the ability to make me squirt. None of the others, not even the thirteen-inch one with suction ridges. So yeah, hm… size doesn't matter, does it Channie?"

"Well, those are toys and uh… my big dick is simply what it is. A big, regular human dick. Nothing fancy."

"Then you should try harder."

He apologizes for having such blatant ignorance about the matter and then eventually you end up falling asleep together. 

Limbs tangled and wrapped around one another just like every other night you doze off with the comfort of the other's body warmth. And like usual, you and Chan peer at each other with eyelids heavy from sleep and goofy but comforting smiles — merely inches apart when the sun's rays sneak a peek through the blinds to shine onto your faces. Because everything's normal and just right between the two of you. 

Like always.

Except it's not.

All you can think about is your best friend's dumb, gargantuan cock and his weird embarrassment about it. If you didn't know Chan as well as you do, you might think he was just using that as an excuse to get into your pants but you know better. He's genuinely perturbed over his too-big dick! 

You let out a sigh. Warm breath fans the tip of your ear while large hands lay on your hips, ringed fingers teasing the bare skin revealed by the daring crop top you decided to wear tonight.

"Am I boring you, baby?"

"Kind of," you admit, displeased that you weren't enjoying the usual thrill of grinding on the dancefloor with a hot man. Turning around to face said man, you purse your lips. "How would you feel if you had a big dick, Cheol?"

He raises an eyebrow in the self-assured way only the Choi Seungcheol can. "Shouldn't you be asking what it's like possessing the largest dick of the century?"

"Not helping, I'm not talking about big dick energy."

"That's not what you said when it was shoved halfway down your throat."

"Can't say much if I'm sucking someone off, you dolt. And I said you made my jaw hurt 'cause you're a guy that likes it rough, not 'cause I thought your dick was overly huge."

"Brat," Seungcheol says rather affectionately, "so whose humongous cock are you taking tonight?"

Your eyes wander over his shoulder to the bar, the same place he noticed your gaze strayed towards all night. A glee-filled smirk is on your face when you meet his eyes again though you only casually state with a shrug, "An absolute loser's."

"Wasn't aware it was self-pleasure night, sweetheart," he jokingly snorts, nudging you in that direction before you can get too mad at him. But not without delivering a playful slap on your ass as a 'good luck to charm' to send you on your way. "Go get 'em, Tiger!"

The cocky bastard must think you're after Soonyoung tonight, who greets you by placing a polite kiss on the cheek and a casual side hug. Though he looks hella fine tonight with slicked-back hair and donning the signature head-turning 'leather jacket, silver jewelry' fit that Seungcheol is sporting, he's not who you have in mind.

You squeeze him back though, always ready to return the affection you receive. "Rare to not see you dancing, tough crowd tonight?"

"Nah, I just have my priorities set." He angles his head toward the bartender who sneaks subtle glances at the two of you as if to distinguish what intentions you had approaching such a striking man. 

That they just so happen to have their eyes on. Luckily Soonyoung does too.

"Ah, well, so do I!" 

Never one to want to get stuck between two people and cause a potential misunderstanding, you pat him on the arm, wink encouragingly at the bartender, and skip away to find the person who's been occupying your mind for the past few days in a very different way like crazy.

Chan hasn't moved from where you last caught sight of him — in the corner of the bar nursing the same glass of bourbon for far too long. There's distinctly more water in it from the rapidly melting ice ball than alcohol but you still ease it out of his grasp. Taking a sip only to wrinkle your nose in disgust.

Your best friend observes your expression with a bemused one of his own after you hand it back, lip gloss staining the rim. A far cry from the darkened, sultry stare that followed as you moved from one gyrating body to the next. You wonder how you've never noticed it before. But then again, you yourself have never thought about him in that kind of way until now. 

While momentarily lost in your thoughts, Chan's working on getting the attention of Soonyoung's flirt target to order your favorite drink. But you place a hand on his arm, squeezing the firm muscle beneath your fingertips. 

"I wanna go home."

"What's wrong?"

"Nothing, just feel like leaving."

He shakes his head. "You looked like you were having a good time."

"Ooh… are you jealous?"

"Hah, jealous? No. Concerned that someone did something you didn't like? Yeah."

"There will be," you tug him by the open collar of the flannel he's wearing so you're nose-to-nose, "if he doesn't take me back to his place right now."

His eyebrows raise, eyes widening as they drop down to the pouty curve of your lips. You swear he even peers at your cleavage with the tiniest of squints before finishing what little bit of liquor is left, standing, and pulling you along with him outside.

Walking to his car parked by the sidewalk is truly a breath of fresh air, the chill of the evening breeze and city noises rushing by helps bring Chan back down to earth. No longer on the crazy high fueled by the hypnotic, seductive thrall of the nightclub's booming bass that adds to him being wholly entranced by your teasing allure. 

Now it's just you and him. Simple as usual, getting ready to drive around.

"You want to go to my place?"

"Yeah."

He starts the engine, checking the side mirror to estimate when there will be an available opening to pull out. "Whaddya wanna do, stop somewhere for snacks?"

"Sure. Maybe condoms too."

"I'm sorry, what?" It's a good thing the car's still in park when his foot stomps on the gas pedal out of shock, revving the engine and making you both jump. "Why?"

Chan even goes as far as to steal a glance over his shoulder at the backseat. As if you had miraculously snuck in someone from the club that you were planning to fuck and he didn't know about it. 

There's no one there, of course.

"Why… are we picking up… condoms?" he repeats. "I um, I have a bunch of unopened boxes i-if you need them."

"You do? Good."

"Uh, can you at least let me know how many are used so I don't suddenly run out?"

Your eyebrows raise though he doesn't even dare look at you. "Do you think you'll cum that much?"

"Pardon?! N-no, I only have a surplus because I bought them in bulk!"

"I thought you weren't having sex a lot because you have such a big cock. One that rarely goes inside anyone."

His hands cover his face. "I'm saying it's fine if you want to use them!"

"Gee, thanks. You want me to make condom balloon animals or something?"

One brown eye glares at you between fingers. "… If you're into that."

"I bet extra large ones would make brilliant animal balloons but that's a sad waste when they could go around a dick instead. I mean it can't be easy for you to find ones that don't break. Whatever, at least you have a ton. And as you know I'm on the pill."

He has to know. He has to ask. "Are you confused or is it just me?"

"Clearly, because I don't know why you think I'd be into filling condoms with air and not cock."

"Forgive me if I'm wrong, but — I mean like there's no way — but are you implying that you want to… you know, with me…?"

"Whaddya mean 'no way'? Fuck yeah, I wanna fuck you! Sorry, was that not clear?" 

Chan chokes on his saliva and has a brief hacking fit. "No?!" 

"Damn, uh… my bad. Sorry, I thought it was super obvious. Simply put, I can't get the thought of you out of my mind or my pussy, so yeah. We should totally bang. Have sex and all that. Only if you want to obviously. No hard feelings if not."

Oh god, yes he does. Since he now knows that you can squirt, let alone with something as small as a little bullet vibrator, all he can think about is what would happen if he teased your cunt with the thick head of his cock. It's been driving him absolutely feral and fueled a rather ugly feeling when he saw Seungcheol all over you earlier. 

But now that he knows you want him? Maybe just as much as he wants you? Explicitly? 

He starts driving in an attempt to help collect himself. You're at ease, able to read him well and know he'll need some time to process and organize his thoughts. So, you wait in silence while he does just that, and when he speaks again his voice is low, laced with utter desire.

"You've been thinking about me?"

"Uh-huh."

"Your pussy has too?"

"Mhm, Channie… she's been crying for you like crazy."

"Fuck," he mutters and grips the steering wheel tightly to avoid swerving into the berm. He rasps out in a desperate beg, "C-can you touch yourself for me? Let me hear how loud she is?"

And you sweetly oblige with a hushed, "Of course," and can't lift your miniskirt up faster than you do now, pushing the drenched thong underneath to the side. Your clit's been buzzing nonstop ever since he whined about his big cock and you got to glimpse the outline of it. And with him now sitting beside you as your thumb rubs at the tiny nub, pointer fingers dipping in and out of your clenching hole, you both let out groans — you at the thrilling sensation and him at the insanely filthy sounds.

Chan steals a moment to take in the sight when he switches lanes, loving the way your tongue lolls past glossy lips that part to release little whimpers of pleasure. It's unlikely you'll squirt right now. But there's still a slick sheen of arousal glistening on your thighs so he holds onto the sick twist of hope that a trace will be left behind. He's pleased and licks his lips but has to swiftly pay attention to the road again, especially when your head rolls to the side, eyelashes pleadingly fluttering at him.

He needs to get home fast. Now.

The car fills with the sloppy noises of you playing with your cunt which grows wetter and wetter by the second. The air is heavy and oozes sex, the compact space growing more humid as you work and rile up your pussy, yourself, and the man beside you. You keep easing up to that delicious edge but never fully dipping over it, making sure to continue growing needier and more wanton until the blurry scenery rushing past the windows half-registers as familiar in your already fucked-out state of mind.

"Wanna get a feel of your cock," you whine out with no shame at how pitiful it sounds. "Gotta know how many fingers to stuff inside to stretch myself out for the real thing."

The way he spits out your name like a curse word makes your gummy walls contract tightly, emitting a moist suctioning sound when you pull your fingers out and bully them back in. 

"No. You have to wait."

"Don't wanna! Been waiting long enough."

"So fuckin' needy," he taunts as if he's not panting heavily with his fingers drumming against the steering wheel. "I don't think they'll come even close to opening up that tiny hole of yours effectively for my dick. But size doesn't matter, so whatever. Right, sweetheart?"

You cuss him out jokingly while working knuckle-deep inside your cunt. Humping against your palm and pulling at your nipples with the other hand underneath your top when he rolls to a stop at an empty four-way in the neighborhood. 

He swats your arm out and away, curiously sweeping his own fingers across your damp folds that flinch at the sudden contact but still mourn the devastating loss of being filled before he slaps at them. Chan grins like a total heathen at the way your hips jolt upon impact, growing more and more delirious at the way droplets of your arousal splash out at the action.

"If you cum by rubbing yourself on that seat — no hands — before I pull in the driveway, I'll let you touch me to mentally prep yourself before we get inside. Before I get inside you." His words are enunciated with a smirk that drops after bringing soaked fingers to his lips — eyelids fluttering with a grunt at your taste eagerly licked clean with his tongue. "God, do you know how delicious you are? Need you to sit on my face at some point, wanna drown in that sloppy pussy."

His dirty talk could be enough to finish you off, you belatedly realize. The earlier command to rut your aching clit against the scratchy fabric to soothe it makes you thrillingly feel like a depraved whore. 

"You're a fuckin' perv, Chan," you growl out as if you aren't doing exactly what he asked on instinct and loving how he's talking to you. How good he is at making you feel divine.

"Yeah? But I want something to remember this by."

"Sick," you snarl through gritted teeth like the knowledge of him thinking about this moment every time he gets in his car and looks at the passenger seat isn't getting you off even more. Bonus points if he jerks off to it. You act like it's not the catalyst to you coming undone, blaming it fully on the bump of the asphalt connecting to the concrete driveway hitting your hard nub just right — absolutely defiling his poor car with your arousal. "Sick in the head."

Neither one of you care. 

In fact, Chan's so pleased he ignores the words you both know you don't mean. Grabbing the hand you buried deep within your hole, but then chose to use it to grip at the console while following his command, and guides it to his mouth. Happily repeating the same thing he did to his own, maintaining eye contact as he tongues at your fingertips. Pupils dilating with how addicted he's become to your taste. Growing more and more eager to have it straight from the source in the very near future. 

Then he places your spit-coated fingers where his cock strains against dark jeans. A darker, damp spot on the denim signifies how much precum the tip is leaking, begging to be released. He squeezes the hand sandwiched between his and the hardening length, shallowly thrusting up into your palm so you can completely grope at its mouth-watering, jaw-aching girth. 

"Feel that?" he goads, "that's gonna have to fit inside your tight cunt."

Your eyes nearly cross at the realization. And of course, your pussy forlornly clenches around nothing, dripping out more arousal to add to the already soiled mess beneath you. 

Oh, you cannot wait.

He wasn't lying, positive every single finger stuffing your hole couldn't compare to the size you just felt beneath those very appendages. Tears collect at your lash line, already anticipating the sheer amount of pleasure you know you'll be feeling with a very warm and real dick. And he's not even anywhere inside of you yet!

Chan coos and wipes the tear that escapes to your cheek. Then he gets out of the car and comes around to the other side to help you walk since your legs are weak and shaking — for more than one reason. That's fine because it gives him almost a weird sense of pride and an excuse to grind and grope at you as he pleases while unlocking the front door. Surprisingly, both of you are giggling together as if you're naughty teens again, always up to no good. It feels strangely wholesome, a light sense of relief blooming and filling your entire body.

Until you're on the other side of the door and those feelings morph back into something carnal. More primal. And Chan must feel it too because you swear he growls when pinning you against the wall. 

"You'll let me eat you out, right? 'Course you will." 

Now it's your turn to feel perverse satisfaction, watching as his lip trembles at the very thought of getting denied such a treat. Feeling the man's absolute desperation through the fingertips that dig into your hips and slightly hike up the already ridiculously short skirt you're wearing.

"C'mon bestie, please."

"… You did not bestie-zone me right now."

"I — " Chan hesitates and you fear the reality of the situation has hit him. That he'll back out and leave you a yearning mess like this. But then he leans in close to whisper hotly against your ear, "What, you want me to call you something like baby?"

Your hum of consideration encourages him to continue, palms sliding down the sides of your bare thighs and lowering himself at a pace that matches the syllables of each word leaving his mouth. Keeping eye contact with you the whole time as a mischievous smirk lights up his stupidly handsome face. 

"Darling? Babe? Lovely sweetheart? Or…" His voice gets thicker, more gravelly until he's finally on his knees and peering up at you. "A vixen? Seductress? Little whore? My slut?"

His hands sneak upwards again, pausing when they're hidden under the pleat of your skirt. 

"Still, you'll always be my dear best friend." He acknowledges and for some reason, it fills you with a comforting sense of reassurance.

And then he waits, hoping — praying — to get your permission.

The coy way you lift up the skirt in no way matches the cute grin you flash at him. Biting your pointer finger as you reveal your pretty pussy for Chan, its puffy lips spread by the continually soaked thong stuck between them. His eyes flick almost nervously away from yours to get a look, letting out a strangled moan at the sight. 

Automatically drawn like a bee to honey. His heart thumps anxiously when your fingers bury in his bangs to yank at them, halting him just short of being able to stick his tongue out for a taste that he already misses. He whines, fully surrounded by the heady scent of your arousal and unable to feast. But you have something to tell him first.

"You can't make me cum."

"What? Why? Need to stretch — "

"No. I already spent hours practicing with my thirteen-inch, so it'll be fine. We're doing this so you know what the telltale signs are when I'm about to cum when this," you briefly release his hair so manicured nails can pet the outside of your glistening wet cunt, "is wrapped around your dick." You smile when he moans quietly at the revelation and you tug lightly again at silky strands, eager to hear more before you absolutely break him. "And don't you want to see me squirt?"

"God, yes."

You shove his face between your inner thighs. "Then this'll help, baby boy. So, don't you dare let me cum unless it's on your cock."

Chan really can't protest against what you call him and honestly wouldn't want to because that would mean leaving the delectable meal he's finally being allowed to dine on. Though your thong remains in the way, he uses it to his advantage. Sucking all the wetness out of it with a hearty groan of appreciation, pushing it back between your folds, and running his tongue that put it there in zig-zag motions along the sorry excuse for fabric. Then repeating the same motions on either side of the bare supple pussy lips that clench at every nibble, suck, and brush on them.

It isn't very long until he gets frustrated by its restrictions though, feeling outrageous at how jealous he's getting of a piece of cloth that gets to wrap around your cunt all the time. Like you can read his mind, you pull him off with breathless laughter at his inevitable moan of sadness and mumble words of reassurance that you're doing it for his benefit.

He can't really hear with the rush of adrenaline roaring in his ears but he surely sees how you rip the offending thong away. It tears easily, falling apart at its most sodden point. And finally, your pussy is truly bare all for him and he rushes to dive back in. Slurping and sucking at your drenched hole like a dehydrated man finding an oasis in the desert.

Again, Chan's intentions were to leave you weak with the magic his mouth and tongue could work but you don't really allow him. His neck's cranked at an awkward angle as you continue to grip at his hair and smother his lips and tongue with your cunt, sloppy ruts back and forth causing your clit to catch and bump against his nose. He doesn't mind even if he's ninety-nine percent positive this is how you'd get off on one of your toys — no, he definitely has not imagined that — but he's not complaining.

There's something in the way that you're utterly using him like he's nothing but an object for your ultimate pleasure. It has the blood rushing down to swell up his cock even more. And maybe he's willingly happy to do so. Offering his body for your pleasure, making sure to stiffen his tongue so it will hit part of your clit as you move and grind all over his face. 

It's kinda hot. He also might be enjoying this a little too much.

And just as his eyes roll up for the umpteenth time out of delicious, delirious dizziness, he feels it. 

The buildup must have been when you started humping his chin shamelessly, slamming down harshly enough that he's sure he'll have bruises to show off. Settling more and more of your weight forward to arch your back, breasts heavy as they follow gravity, and your nipples visibly poke through the crop top's thin material. 

Your hips jerk up and away a few times, the subtle wiggle in them certainly has your ass jiggling cutely. He also notes how your "ah" moans turn to "mhms", positive you're biting your lip with closed eyes and a pleased grin. By now the hands tangling in his hair have made their way to the back of his head and Chan knows one thing for sure.

You're on the brink of climaxing.

And as much as he wants you to make more of a mess on his face, he's a little afraid of what you might do — or might not do — so he obediently, but regretfully backs away and sinks down to sit on his heels. Pathetic, the way he has to simply watch like a good boy as your slit flutters above him and you release the death grip hold you had on his poor hair.

Once all of your weight is supported by the wall again, you slide down it to plop on the floor. A sheepish grin on your face as you praise him for doing such a great job, reveling in what a sexy, fucked-out look he's wearing — mussed-up hair, swollen lips, and a shiny mix of sweat and arousal decorating his face as his eyes struggle to refocus while he catches his breath.

He embarrassingly thinks you might kiss him when you lean in. Only to jolt with surprise at your hand slipping into his back pocket and he flinches after you squeeze at his well-shaped ass with a naughty giggle. 

"A souvenir," you murmur in his ear and he feels the spongy ball of your torn thong when he stands like it's a gold coin weighing down his jeans.

"Can't believe you ripped those yourself."

"Can't believe you didn't rip them."

"Didn't wanna ruin them," he admits because he'd honestly feel bad. Though you shoot him a funny look that he doesn't quite understand as he assists your wobbling frame on the walk to the bedroom.

"Dude, you've already ruined so many, what's one more pair?"

"Huh?"

It's amazing how serious you are when you ask, "Don't you remember how wet I've been getting thinking about your dumb cock? Almost ran out of panties to wear."

With that admission, Chan is immediately rushing you down the hallway and has you on his bed at record speed. It's so comical that you have no choice but to once again fall into that giggly headspace like earlier as you help one another strip each other's clothes off.

"God, why are you like this? Such a fucking little tease."

"You love it."

"Hm, yeah," he looks at you with such tenderness, "guess I do."

You verbally agree even as you grab at his wrist before he can throw his boxers to the ground. "Hand 'em over. It's only fair if you have mine," you point out when he raises an eyebrow.

"Someone's full of surprises."

"Well, somebody's loved all of them so I'm sure he'll like this one too."

Though he falls onto his back easily when you push him down, he can't help but raise concern. "I get that you… practiced, but wouldn't a better position be with me on top? You'll like — "

"And I get that you liked being used like a dildo, baby boy." 

You miss the chagrined look that rapidly spreads across Chan's pretty face at the callout. But that's okay because you turn around to throw a leg over and straddle his prone body, staring at your prize of the night — the fattest dick you've been fantasizing about in the flesh.

"Thanks for these, by the way." You send a wink at him over your shoulder, waving the boxers that dangle off your pointer finger. "Need something to bite onto," you add and moan when you deliberately let your tongue meet the salty patch of precum smeared on them before clamping the black cloth between your teeth.

His heavy cock jerks up, already overwhelmed by everything you're doing. His hips follow suit, also lifting once the feeling of your dripping cunt soaks his abs as you sit and press him back against the bed and reach a hand out. He groans, clutching at the blanket when your palm rubs at the sensitive skin. You marvel at how your decently sized fingers fail to fully wrap around the entire girth.

It already weighs a ton laying against the hand you're using and struggling to prop it up. Shining in all its glory from the excess that's leaked and coated it thoroughly. You seem happy to add to it and Chan's eyes widen at the couple of clear globs of arousal that drip out of your cunt, aided by two free fingers spreading your pussy lips and contracting your inner walls to squeeze them out. And then you sink a little lower, kissing the tip of his cock with your clit before rubbing the thick head between your folds.

"You're… you're so w-wet, mhm, fuck!" He's already on the brink of tears and this is just the beginning. And the gasping man might've just let out a sob at the sight of both of your hands shaking, clasped around his dick as you position it at the right angle and slowly ease the tip inside. "God, 'n so soft," he fucking gargles out due to how much he's drooling.

You're no better off. The saliva that's pooling in your mouth at the delightful ache and burn has completely saturated his boxers. They do nothing to muffle your moans that only grow higher in pitch with the few additional inches you attempt to take, a little more each time. But at least you won't grind your teeth together, plus you're buried in the taste and scent of Chan's essence. Even more so as you topple forward, nails digging into his shins.

It's almost humiliating. How you've ended up face-planting into the mattress and your hips take on a mind of their own, humping up and down midair yet still on the top of his cock. Circling and gyrating as they attempt to both run away and plop firmly up and down onto the hard, thick length begging to fully bury into your tight cunt that's slowly widening to accommodate. 

Luckily, it's not like Chan can make fun of or even blame you, focusing everything he can on not thrusting up into your wet heat on his own accord right now out of consideration. The man understands it's a stretch, a painful one at that.

He doesn't mind staying mildly distracted. There's so much to take in. Ogling the way your ass bounces and jiggles, pornographic sound effects of his cock absolutely bullying your pussy as it squelches in and out. Filling the room with nasty noises audio porn wishes it could truly replicate amid both of your pants, moans, groans, and whines.

It feels like forever until his length has finally made its home within your squishy walls that welcome it inside with a multitude of affectionate squeezes. But honestly, that barely lasts because your hips refuse to let up and once the stretch no longer burns as much and instead melts into mind-numbing pleasure, all you can do is ride him into delirium. And Chan fucking loves it, continuing to watch how your ass reverberates with each downward slam accompanied by the sting of ass cheeks slapping against his stomach over and over again.

"S-so slutty f'me, b-best friend actin' like a whore on my dick."

"Ah, mm… cock… your cock! It's makin' me act slutty!"

"Yeah? You like being my slutty best friend, baby?"

You lug your head onto the leg you'd been riddling with love bites and salivating all over after spitting out his ruined boxers, looking tearfully in his direction. Cross-eyed with a goofy smile on your face at how fucked-out you've become as your clit grinds against his squishy balls that tighten, firm, and fill up with each thud of your hips. 

"Mhm… yeah."

"You gonna be my slutty baby from now on?"

"Ohhh, touch me Channie… please!"

"Since y-you asked so nicely." He squeezes at your ass cheek though it's quickly wrenched out of his grasp because you can't stop moving. "But I… I asked you a question." And then his palm flies out, skin meeting skin in a loud crack against your other cheek. As if it's actually a punishment. "My pretty whore's too fucked out to answer, h-huh?"

"Mhmph! More… more!"

A gasp leaves your mouth and impossibly, your hips only speed up before they suddenly halt. Practically screaming at this point with how good your best friend's cock is buried so deeply and fully seated inside as you somehow manage to sit up with inhuman strength. 

Oh, but your darling Channie knows why.

He lazily grins, empty mind now playing all the signs through his head along to the same moments happening in real-time. You have a death grip on his thighs, certain he'd really impale you in a morbid way if you lose your hold as you bounce haphazardly. How nice, he decides to aid you — giving into the urges to thrust up into your suffocating little cunt whenever you rise up so you constantly remain stuffed full every single time.

Your back does its arch thing and he runs a hand down the curve, pushing down ever so gently as he takes over. It's his turn for a slapping assault, his balls returning the favor on your tender clit that pokes and rubs at them, egging on the brutal pace you started in the first place.

"Gonna squeeze the life outta me," and you clench even tighter around him so that even the air in his lungs is sucked out by the squeeze of your cunt. "You wanna murder me with that sweet pussy of yours? Choke the life outta me, sweetheart? Like the well-behaved little whore that you are?"

Chants of "yes, yes, yes" fall in between salacious moans of "mhms" and "fuck Channie, so good" and it fuels Chan into true unleashed feral mode. The addition of the white ring forming at the base of his cock in no way, shape, or form is helping to reign him in at all. He presses appreciative bruises into the skin of your hips, aiding your sore and tired legs with the powerful strength of his arms.

"A creamer too… oh my god, what can't your cunt do baby, fuck — so freakin' perfect."

"All… all for you!"

Chan laughs and it's mean, a petulant frown causing your lips to jut out at his mocking tone. "For me? You gonna be a-all mine from now on? Let me be the only one t-to stretch this sweet hole out?"

Ongoing cries of "yes" mixes and slurs with "yours" but it's enough for him, especially when you manage to moan out with a promise that you're definitely his slutty whore and will only be his forever.

That pleases him, an elated grumble rumbling in his chest. "Gonna fill 'er up real good and you'll swallow me whole baby. Feel me for days, drippin' outta — ah, shit!" 

His voice cracks, the hands assisting your movements haul your hips up and then down, anchoring them firmly against his pelvis. You peer over your shoulder at him in utter dismay at suddenly being empty. His missed cock trembling without your warmth, flopping hot and hard against your stomach. Granting a helpful outside visual of how deep it can drill up into your cunt. But that's kind of useless when you already experienced it first-hand, so all you can do is send Chan a weepy glare.

"S-sorry babe, we just, I should probably… " His eyes dart to the unopened drawer of his nightstand. "Gonna throw a condom on."

You let out a scoff of disbelief and discontent, surly brat behavior poking through. "Doesn't matter, wanna feel you fill me up. 'N then squirt it all out, won't matter anyways."

"That's not how it works."

Chan's grateful the usual post-nut clarity somehow hit before. It's still awful timing and might have been a complete mood killer but you're both so worked up — you in particular — it doesn't seem to matter. Even as he nudges you off while reaching for a package, you back up and try to grind against his cock to change his mind. But you reluctantly give up, especially when he ends up reacting with a harsher hiss more from rolling the latex down the sensitive length than your plump ass rubbing it. 

You're honestly a little offended. 

He hushes and tries to soothe you. Fumbling with the slick mess around your gaping hole and dipping inside occasionally with one hand as he works on the condom. But you know for a fact you've been ruined because you barely feel a thing after your cunt's been stretched out for and filled specifically with his huge cock. 

Now you just wish he'd ultimately finish the job of ruining you. Oh, and maybe continue some more after. And a lot. 

You grimace because you're able to think too much. And then Chan's finally all ready to go and your cheek is suddenly pressed into the rumpled sheets, nipples brushing deliciously against them. You're pushed onto your forearms and he helps widen your knees at a spread angle so your pussy is fully presentable and gapingly accessible. 

"Good thing I'm flexible." 

"Yeah," Chan licks his lips, "just as I'd expect from my sweet slut." 

"You gonna fill this slut up then, Channie or — " 

You're cute off by the squeal at his cock ramming back inside of where it belongs. Meanwhile, he chuckles darkly, running a hand through sweaty bangs as he tries to distribute weight solidly with how he's risen to his knees. Finding little support from the mattress to support the onslaught of powerful thrusts in and out of your pussy and discovers a better method with a tight hold of your hips where his hands instinctively fall. 

"Best way to shut a whore up is to fuck them." He clicks his tongue in disapproval because you're nuzzling face-first into the bed, muffling the sounds that drive him crazy. "Doesn't mean I don't wanna hear you moan f'me, baby."

What he doesn't know is you're trying to find something to bite into that won't end up being your poor tongue. 

To manhandle you as he sees fit, Chan's fingers slip down to splay around where your vocal cords lie. Thumb digging beneath your jawline into the soft fleshy skin of your neck. Teasing you with a not-quite-there chokehold that causes you to pulsate around the cock sliding in and out with little resistance thanks to the help of the slick that pools endlessly out of your core. 

Then he's turning your head to the side to watch your eyelids flutter rapidly. Noticing how your jaw is clenched, teeth practically gnashing at each push into you that now relentlessly strokes that bundle of nerves. Taking pity, he lends a finger. Prying open your mouth and not caring when you bite down on it with a ferocity that could break skin — that's what he offered it for anyways — though it will definitely leave behind bruising indents that'll take days to heal. 

But he wouldn't care if you ended up breaking his bones too. With the way he's driving his dick over and over into you like a madman, he possibly could break something by that alone. The new position benefits the both of you greatly, granting him a better angle to reach deep and you find comfort in the way his body lays against yours. Pressing you down further into the bed, the weight comforting.

Even through the latex, he can feel the little bump of nerves his tip brushes against that's just rough enough to make him shiver. He purposefully aims his pelvis to be able to hit it each time. The lone arm at your hip wraps around your abdomen and he moans at how he can feel the bulge of skin pressed against his forearm from the size of the monster dick within you. 

It drives him feral, punctuating each sharp thrust with a praising hiss of, "Best. fuckin'. pussy. ever!"

And then it's happening. You can literally see the tightly-wound knot unraveling. Can feel as it loosens while your cunt suctions around his cock in a hard, vice-like grip. You cling around him, refusing to let him leave your warmth for a second. Not even daring to let him slide even a bit out. Though he wouldn't even think of it. As the mental ties come undone in your brain, so does your body — plummeting over and free-falling off the cliff of pleasure.

White flashes across your vision as your body writhes and shakes beneath Chan. Overcome by how fucking amazing it feels to be so full with the devastatingly huge dick of the person you care about the most tearing apart your insides. You're sobbing, tears drenching your face and where it lays. 

Chan's praising you through it all, complimenting how good you are for him, how perfect everything about you is, and how only you — his bestest, sluttiest, sweetest friend — could take him so well.

"Fuckin' knew you would be the one," he confesses and presses a kiss against your neck. It's so tender, full of love and gentleness despite how his hips cruelly still haven't let up, and it makes you wail even louder. "Ever since you smiled at me. Now, c'mon sweetheart 'n give it all to me. Show's only just gettin' started."

He's guiding you through the most intense orgasm you've ever had as it spirals from a crashing wave into a soon-to-be gushing waterfall. Yes, you've squirted before. But never with such a delightful buildup like this. And he knows you can take it, knows it's what you want as he coaches himself to hold off from his own finale. You let out a hearty moan, shaking at the overstimulation and feeling him twitch repeatedly inside. Almost as if his dick itself is begging for your release so it can do the same.

Your body listens and obeys, utterly charmed by your best friend's cock. Not like that would change the impending fate bound to happen anyway. Your cunt expels him out with a spray that splashes against his abs and drips down his thighs. Chan swears and grabs his length that bobs in the air upon being freed, fingers holding the condom tightly at the base like a makeshift cock ring. 

Furiously jerking off just a little bit to reach completion and then he's emptying what feels like a life's worth into the poor condom that can barely contain it. Unlike your pussy that would take it all if given the chance. It inflates, ballooning out and filling up with so much cum it's threatening to pop. As if it wasn't working overtime, straining around the sheer size of his cock.

It's so full and heavy, gravity weighing it down to flop against your folds that squirt out a tiny bit more upon contact that has your legs seizing. Your lower body — now growing numb — was somehow still sustained by Chan's insane one-arm strength until he flops onto you. Bringing you both down onto the wet mess on the bed.

"Get off, you're heavy," you grouch though a dumb smile lights up your blissed-out face.

He laughs breathlessly and rolls onto his side, bringing you into his arms and looking at you with stars in his eyes. You nuzzle into his neck, inhaling his comforting scent you never want to be without now that you've been fully encompassed by it in such an intimate manner. So you wait, feeling the way your hearts both beat rapidly and he takes a deep breath. Chest expanding as his lungs fill with much-needed air after so much exertion. 

Anticipation brims from the crown of your head to the tip of your toes when Chan finally asks, "Hey, do you still think size doesn't matter?"

You blink. Once. Twice. Thrice. Definitely not the question you were expecting.

There's a lively spark still dancing in his tired eyes and you match it with a playful smile. "I'm not really sure, I think you'll have to prove it to me a few more times."

"Suppose there's still a lot of condoms we can't let go to waste."

"Aw, you don't want me to make you some balloon animals?"

"That offer is tempting but…" Sneaky hands tickle the swell below your breasts and you giggle, half-heartedly batting him away. "Not as much as you are."

"And you know… there's still a lot of chances to confirm some things while we test out whose theory is right."

"Confirm what, my dear? 'Cause I'm pretty sure I've already staked my claim on what's mine." It's embarrassing how easily Chan can read you, a know-it-all smirk on his face as he cups your warm cheek oh-so-lovingly. "My slutty bestie's the only one who can take my cock like a champ, there's no way I'm letting you go now."

It's even more embarrassing that your heart and sore hole flutter at crude words that totally shouldn't make you feel like a silly fool in love. But because you are, it only makes you fall harder.

"So, you're mine now too?"

"If that's okay with you."

And of course, it's okay with you, you verbally affirm. Feeling his smile against your own when he leans in to kiss you. You'll confirm later that size really doesn't matter.  After all, you just happen to be lucky that your bestie-now-turned-boyfriend has a huge cock to complement the equally huge amount of love he has stored for you in his heart.

onlyseokmins: June 2023 ©

[augustjoy]

But She Loves You.

Based on the following ask: Hi can I request hotch X reader that owns a cat – That’s it, that’s the ask lol! I took this and RAN AWAY with it. I have two cats sooooo this was an easy one.

Aaron Hotchner x Fem Reader Angst/Fluff Word count: 800

REQUESTS ARE OPEN - not edited - please be kind. Requests are open and feedback is welcome if it's constructive!

Warnings: My blog is 18+, minors DNI, unspecified age gap (reader is mid/late 20s/Hotch is late 40s), reader is a cat owner, cat’s name is Charlie, Hotch is not an animal person, mention of Haley’s death, mention of Jack, Fem reader, no physical description, reader has hair, some explicit language, I think that’s it – LMK if I missed any!

I do not consent to having my work translated or reposted to any other site. That being said I do not own the characters portrayed in this story.

Aaron Hotchner was not an animal person. Now…that doesn’t mean he doesn’t like animals, in fact, he loves them, he is basically a dog whisperer. Growing up, Aaron wasn’t allowed to have pets, his father didn’t allow them…and after he was gone, the boys were too old to be begging for a puppy for Christmas.

His desire for a pet never really came around. When he and Haley got together, their focus had been having a child, which didn’t come easy for them. Then, once they had Jack, he became the center of their universe…that and well, Haley didn’t want to take care of a baby and a puppy all while Aaron was away all the time.

Truthfully, Aaron hadn’t even thought of getting a pet, and Jack didn’t ask. Spending time at his aunt’s house with her dog had proven enough to satisfy his need for animal companionship.

--

Aaron met you eight and a half months ago, you’d been reaching for a box of cereal on a shelf just out of your reach, he’d come up behind you and grabbed it for you. You’d thanked him and offered a kind smile, one he couldn’t get out of his head for the next week or so.

He’d been beating himself up over having not asked for your number then and there…so, when he saw you at the grocery store once again two weeks after that first encounter, he’d asked you to dinner.

That night had gone well; Aaron had been a perfect gentleman all evening. He’d gone as far as walking you up to your door and giving you a goodnight kiss, with the promise of a second date.

You relationship had blossomed from there.

--

With Aaron’s busy work life, it took some time before he actually spent time inside your place. When he finally did…he got to meet Charlie.

“So, Charlie can be kind of temperamental, just ignore her. She’ll come to you when she’s ready.” You explained.

“Charlie?” Aaron questioned.

“My cat, silly!” You laughed. “I told you about her. She’s an orange tabby, a total wild child when she wants to be.”

“Right…” Aaron nodded.

“You are so not an animal person.” You let out a chuckle.

“That’s not true! I just…I”

“…Have never had a pet.” You finished for him.

--

Aaron was convinced that your cat was secretly plotting his demise. He claimed she purposely went after him and his things, any chance she got. Scratching his briefcase, chewing on the laces to his dress shoes, sleeping on his head at night, burying her food bowl with his socks…the list went on and on.

You had told Aaron that she was just trying to get used to him being around. She could tell he wasn’t fond of her so she was just responding…it wasn’t anything personal. You could tell he was agitated…especially because Charlie had taken an early liking to Jack.

The first time Jack came over, Charlie snuggled up in his lap, purring. And yet your damn cat would hardly let Aaron near her. Playing this teasing game, where she’d rub against his leg and the second he’d lean down to pet her she’d swat him away or run off.

--

It took months, months of back and forth between Charlie and Aaron before they finally took a liking to one another. The shift had happened slowly. Aaron would be the one to feed her, scratching gently at her head as he set her bowl down.

She’d nudge his arm, begging to be tucked under it while she slept, curling up gently on his chest while the two of you laid out on the couch watching movies. Which is where you were now.

“So have you given it anymore thought?” Aaron asked.

“I don’t know Aaron, you don’t think it’s too soon? And what about Charlie…” You asked.

“Sweetheart, I wouldn’t have asked if I thought it was too soon. And I don’t know, maybe we could rehome her.” Aaron teased, scratching Charlie’s chin.

“Aaron!” You gasped teasingly swatting his chest. To which Charlie moved to nip at your hand. “You’d never rehome her!”

“She’s a little shit babe. Look at her, she’s trying to bite you!” He laughed.

“Because she’s protecting you!”

“Yeah well…” Aaron smirked at you.

“But she loves you! You’d never seriously consider giving her up!” You shot Aaron the biggest frown you could muster.

“No, I’d never give her up…Charlie is too damn sweet.” Aaron continued petting her head while she purred. “We will be sure to set up her cat condo in your reading room at the house sweetheart. She will be the queen of the castle…that is if you ever agree to move in.”

“Okay…yes! We will move in with you!” You smiled, hugging Aaron.

[tobesolnelyx]

Hi!! I'm a huge fan of your blog!! Just wanted to say you make every day of my life so much better💗

Okay, so we’ve got the fratboys Shauna, Lottie, Jackie, and Nat… but how do you think they would react to a pregnant R? Who’d be the most excited? And… could someone have been careless on purpose? 👀 I’d love to hear your thoughts!

— juno || fratboy!yellowjackets x pregnant!reader 🌫️

a/n: thank you so much anon! that’s so sweet <3. read that and immediately thought about juno by sabrina carpenter 😭

summary: your girlfriend accidentally knocked you up! fluff. unexpected pregnancy. g!p yellowjackets girlies.

warnings: none! pure fluff!

shauna shipman who is terrified at the begging. you come to her, pregnancy test is in your hand and before she have a chance to greet you, you push small thing into her fingers. she stares at that, then at you, and you see how colours just drain off her face. you don’t have to say anything. of course she’s smart enough to understand. for once in her life she’s serious. thoughts are racing in her head, wondering when you two forgot about protection. well…you had many occasions, actually.

but once she’s used to that thought? she goes insane. she insists to do everything. she cooks, cleans, brings groceries. you try to tell her that you’re fine, you’re able to do things by yourself. not like she’s listening. she nods, acknowledging it, but still do all that.

she reads every single article in internet about being a mom, how to take care of someone pregnant, how you’d know if it’ll be girl or a boy…she even adjust diet for you. she doesn’t orders you what to eat or do, but she’s always there with advice. she actually might know more about pregnancy than you.

not to mention that she absolutely panics at first, when your waters breaks down. fortunately, she’s smart enough to get her shit together in time. overall? she’s going to be a great parent. maybe a little bit overprotective but still.

lottie matthews who laughs at you in disbelief at first. she acts like it’s all a good joke and you’re just messing with her. once she get used to thought that you’re really pregnant, she needs solid ten minutes to proceed. she sits on your bed and stares at the wall. later that day, she wraps arms around you, gently caressing your belly.

“i’ll take care of everything, i will,” she murmurs into your neck. and you know that no matter what you’ll decide, she’ll be there to help. to make things better.

the next day, she wakes up early. she goes around the apartment, studying it. at the end of this weird journey, when you’re in the kitchen, she lets out a small tsk, and hitting dad pose, she says:

“we need a new one,” she states and you furrow your brows.

“new…?” you stare at her.

“apartment,” she sighs like she’s talking about something obvious. “with another room. for our kid.” she explains. “unless you decided that you don’t want to…?”

and with that, she buys new apartment next week. not like it’s much for her dad to pay. even if her family is usually totally shitty, her parents are more than ready to give you financial support. so lottie decides to spoil this kid before it’s even born. of course, she arranges room, she buys furniture and assembles it. like proper baby daddy.

jackie taylor who offers you support immediately. of course she’s terrified. it’s not something she really planned in her life. not that early at least. but she guesses you might be way more scared than she is. god, at the end she’s not the one carrying her baby. and jackie is always there to take responsibility. she doesn’t know how she’s going to explain all that to her parents. or how she’ll manage to be a parent, but she’s there.

so she gives you kind of a pep talk. well, sweet pep talk. she reassures you, tell you that you’ll be great, that you two gonna get through this together. and she really means it cause… in the inside she’s excited. something about the fact that she managed to impregnate you is extremely hot to her.

she starts making plans. obviously she makes sure you’re okay, that you’re ready to keep this child. then, on those late evenings, she curls at your side. she spreads kisses all over your belly and rambles to this kid…well, fetus more like.

“you’re gonna play soccer,” she states and you shake your head, giggling softly. “or not. it’s your decision,” she adds sheepishly. “but if you do, i’ll make you a star player.”

“jax,” you say, brushing her hair. “you know that they can’t hear you yet?” she huffs only at that.

“shhh, im creating child-parent bond,” she says seriously like it’s the most important mission right now. with that, she keeps talking about everything she’s planning to do as a parent.

also! she’s on instant by your side when you say you need massages cause your back or your legs hurts. she can gently loosing knots for hours. everything for you. and it’s pretty much godly experience — her hands are stronger than they seem to be.

natalie scatorccio who denies it. you tell her that, and few minutes later she’s outside, taking a long walk. she doesn’t go drinking, but she just leaves. for a moment you’re scared that she won’t come back. regardless, she does. she always do. after few hours of pacing around the campus and trying to proceed everything, she returns to you.

she slips in your sharing bed, her hands gently wraps around your belly and she spreads kisses all over your neck. her fingers are tracing your abdomen. like she’s scared to hurt something so fragile. this little life growing inside you.

“we’ll get through this together,” she murmurs into your skin and you finally relax after hours of uncertainty. “i’ll be there, i promise, i just…” she presses another kiss and you melt. “needed a moment.” she finishes quietly.

natalie is scared — no wonders. not like she ever had proper parent figure. and sure as hell, she doesn’t exactly knows what to do. her eyes widens anytime you grimaces because of pain or discomfort. her hands are tentative, careful and soft. especially when she touches your stomach.

she’s stubborn to do everything for you. only to keep you well and happy. and even if she doesn’t exactly know what to do, or god, how this whole being parent works, she tries. she helps you to pick clothes for kid. she’s there to soothe your doubts and fears. sometimes you see her in the bathroom or living room, when she reads on her phone one of those articles how to raise a child. she won’t be like her parents. she can’t be.

[74thcookie]

PureMilk/ShadowVanilla AU List.

I still have no free time from school so once I do I’ll put a link or just make separate blogs for each AUs I made (mostly by accident). This post is just a reminder to not only others but also myself on what I made so far.

I was inspired to constantly post my ideas after many months ago I watch a video of GinjaninjaOwO/June where she mentions that she doesn’t want to die with her ideas. I also don’t want to die with my ideas and I’m a small guy. I just want my weird ideas to be seen even if it’s hated or liked.

Note: In all this AUs I tried my best to mix both the in game PVSM and the fandom one (the ones that are commonly used) so it would be a bit fun but also grounded. I want to also say I have played crk since 2022, I stop at the start of golden cheese arc and came back to shadow milk. So I have a lot of catching up, this is the first time I interacted with the fandom. I need to mention that since I don’t want others to tell me again that I ruin these characters.

CondensedMilkAU/EvaporatedExtractAU

An AU where it focuses mostly on the Sage of Truth and how he balance his life between his usual work and his new life of being a Mother of two demon children while trying to live a normal cookie.

It takes place many many years after his first meeting with the Truthless Recluse.

It was made by accident after the concept of a burnt out Sage was made and it was later developed into its own thing.

The CondensedMilkAU is the original name of the AU based on the concept/doodle comics that uses the characters of the Burntout Sage/Mama Berry with his children the Demon/Devil Siblings.

The first comics and other comics that are doodle drawn under the CondensedMilkAU tag are the concept ideas where we explore possible stories for these characters. Think of it like those early cartoon logic where continuity ain’t really taken seriously but some mentioned events pop out from time to time or info may not make sense as it’s being made.

The EvaporatedExtract is more of a story where I try to make an actual storyline /Game concept based on whats mentioned in the CondensedMilkAU.

It has a lot changed from the CondensedMilkAU but the main concept of the Sage getting burnt out and living a double life to feel alive as Mama Berry remain.

The only change I know that will remain that differentiate it from the CondensedMilkAU:

The Siblings (BlackSapphiCookie and CandyAppleCookie) are adults now but still under the guardianship of the Sage.

Truthless Recluse being a focus of the tutorial guide for the Sage. In this story, TR has done the double life premise before Sage.

The story may have the original Fluff of the CondensedMilkAU but it will explore the dark and degenerate part that can be possible. For example being CandyAppleCookie’s obsession, in the CondensedMilkAU it’s more of an admiration for the Sage but in the EvaporatedExtractAU her admiration is obsession and if not in checked, her actions towards the Sage/Mama Berry would be dangerous and degenerate. Making even the siblings a threat to the Sage.

The Sage was hinted to have done evil stuff before as he weaponizing the truth, it’s just now we get to see him trying to repent for his sins. (I’m not sure if the evil was done by the Sage unintentionally or intentionally).

I had a dream before about a ShadowVanilla AU where it involves making consequence decision matters. We call it the Umbrella..something dream since it has PV breaking and entering another school to get WhiteLilys Umbrella back at night. It has him and Shadow milk exploring the curse school at night and the events made them open to each (I took the concept of it being a game with consequences and apply it to the EvaporatedExtractAU)

There’s a lot that is in this AU but that’s the Summary since not all is set in stone.

This AU was made during late March 2025 or early April 2025. After the release of the SoT and TR skins.

DosedofNightShadeAU/ Sanrio ShadowVanilla/OldManFount/3PM_AU

This concept was originally made an as excuse to draw Pure Vanilla and Shadow Milk in the modern AU still as cookies but the settings are like the April fools. It is an excuse as well to draw them in cute dresses and outfits.

I accidentally made a fanfic of these two loving Kuromi(PV) and MyMelody(SM) after my brain try to debate itself as to why they’d wear the theme Sanrio clothes.

It was based on the concept of “opposites attract” and how similar Kuromi and My Melody are to PVSM in where Kuromi does like to be My Melodys friend but is pissed then her jester clothing, her gang, her parallels to My Melody. Then for My Melody it’s her caring nature and openness to others but a bit aloof. Making PV attracted to Kuromi themes and SM to My Melody is like making them unconsciously into each other or the personality and style that reminded them of the other cookie.

Days after I made the Fanfic I did a doodle of what if The Fount of Knowledge, The Sage of Truth and Shadow Milk are siblings in a modern “human” AU. The headcanons given by the people that comment that initial post inspire me to make a PV version.

Fount was only made after the poll of making him look more motherly type than cutesy

It was supposed to be just two PVs since I always see Classic PV and Awaken PV as one being and TR being his own thing but others are sad that the Fount has no PV of his own. One suggested the Fortune Teller and all hell breaks loose in my green pea sized brain.

The story as of right now compare to the previous AU since it’s made in Mid/Late April of 2025 as a brainrot.

The only concept is ShadowVanilla(Sanrio)in where they are the most healthiest and the kinkest, FountFortune are the middle ground, in where they are the horrors but also hurt comfort. Then SageRecluse, the weirdest and creepiest one, probably dead dove do not eat and any content with those two STAYS IN THE PRIVATE ACCOUNTS.

One concept though I want to keep is that all three SMilks are not innocent. Shamil committed bullying and harassment before, Sage made students go insane due to academics and his ego, Fount committed war crimes that even the police are afraid of him.

I saw floatinglittlestars tag for the AU being 3smpvau which is easy to remember which I love but I know there’s a lot of AUs from other artist that has 3 SM and PV in it.. so gonna call it 3PM_AU like 3:00 pm in the morning where they do something funky. (Especially Fount and Fortune). Though I really like the 3smpvau a lot. It’s very easy to remember

Those two are the ones I can say are AUs. There’s a Fable one but that’s not completely develop since I’ll only finish one of that once the poll is done and my hell is over.

[zepskies]

(Not a fanfic request) Imagine spoiling Ben and/or kissing him stupid. Just getting through all the machismo stuff and becoming his safe space. Doing mundane tasks but they never feel mundane because you’re with your best friend. Imagine him growing as a person. Imagine him looking at you with nothing but adoration. Jensen Ackles has so much to atone for— How dare he be so talented. 😭💕

Ahhh you're giving me the warm fuzzies, anon! 🥰 I definitely think this would be the vibe between SB/Ben and the reader in my series Break Me Down, and I've tried to give that sense of them being each other's safe space in many of the sequel stories.

In that story-verse, Ben's the one who makes you feel safe, who gives you the support you need so you don't have to be so strong all the time. While you're the one who makes him feel like there's someone in the world who understands him, accepts him for who he is, but also takes him to task when he needs it.

More domestic headcanons with Ben:

(Whoops, my hand slipped. 😂💚)

You and Ben watch old movies together and argue about the plot, with your modern, feminist view vs. his "traditionalist" view. But he also gives you behind the scenes info whenever he actually knows the actors, directors, etc. -- like the best movie commentary ever.

Ben won't easily admit it, but one of his favorite things is just chilling on the couch with you, flipping through channels, drinking a glass of whiskey or snacking on junk. You using him as a body pillow, basically. Or him with his head in your lap while you scratch his back or run your fingers through his hair. You like playing with his hair, the soft strands.

You also like his hands, long fingers and wide palms. But he likes the gentleness of your hands.

Ben likes taking you out to dinner, but he also likes going grocery shopping with you because he likes picking out new things to try (even as he makes fun of all the "oatmilk this" and "quinoa that").

Late at night, if either of you can't sleep (or after a few rounds of keeping each other up), Ben starts to open up.

He tells you about his life before Compound V, about his mother, about his father, about the world he grew up in, and sometimes, very rarely, about that Russian lab.

Those are the times that you have to hide how much your heart breaks, because you don't want him to instinctively close back up, not wanting to be pitied or seen as less of a man for being honest about what he went through.

He also admits to things he did when he was the "leader" of Payback -- his "glory days." What he doesn't admit, but you can tell just by his tone and demeanor, is that he's less proud and yearning those days than he used to be.

Actually, he wouldn't go back to those days even if he could.

Because now, he has you. He has a real family. That's the main thing that's real to him now.

AN: Again, didn't mean for this to become a mini HC, but there ya go! loll 💚

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