#raw Oreos

[sparklebelt]

can only make ohio jokes to @papayaprince for so long

[r3vengetour]

im sorry...... what......

[membermememusic]

How To Be A Man

[emosyzoth]

its funny to me when i see mk posts where syzoth is included eating normal food. guys please remember most human food will upset his stomach- this is rule number one of syzoth care !!!!!!!!!!!

[stillsparkle]

time for my favorite time of the week!!!!!

[raw1111official]

🌺🥑 Head over to RAW1111.COM and catch our tasty tidbit in "Snack Alert: Are Your Favorite Treats on the Chopping Block?" 🚨🍟 Find out which popular snacks are making the cut and which are not, all while discovering delicious vegan alternatives. 🍪 #GVWU Go Vegan With Us and keep your snack game strong and sustainable! 🌱✨

[fromdove]

“Are you making… Oreo brownies?”

You’re in the zone. Full concentration. Headphones in. Sleeves rolled up. Spoon carving its path through a thick swirl of glossy cocoa and sugar and crushed Oreos. The bowl is warm from your own body heat, the scent is, of course, delicious, and you're already composing the victory text you’re going to send Steph. Something smug. Something bold. Something with at least four exclamation marks.

And then.

You flinch like you've just been struck by lightning. The spoon slips from your hand and lands in the bowl with a dramatic clatter, launching a perfect arc of brownie batter across your forearm and onto your sleeve.

You rip your headphones out. “Jesus Christ,” you shout, heart lurching. You spin around so fast you almost step on your own foot. “Dick!”

You didn’t hear the front door. You definitely didn’t hear footsteps.

But you do hear his voice. Right behind you. Where you didn’t even realize he was.

You’re clutching your chest when he smiles.

“They look delicious. I’m absolutely starving.”

You scowl, hand still pressed over your thudding heart. “Can you make some noise when you enter a house? You’re not Batman.”

He has the nerve to lean forward towards you. his hand against the counter behind you like he didn’t just knock five years off your life. His hair is damp, curls sticking to his forehead in soft, sweaty pieces. His suit is peeled halfway down and tied around his waist like a towel.

“Hi,” he says, with an innocent shrug and an added grin for effect. “Didn’t mean to scare you.”

“You didn’t mean to—? You—!” You sputter, motioning wildly at the bowl. “You made me mess up my batter!”

“You’re welcome,” he says, is he kidding?.

You blink. “You’re home.”

“I noticed.”

“You didn’t text.”

“I was going to. But then I realized I liked the element of surprise better. more romantic”

You squint suspiciously. “that’s not romantic. that’s deeply annoying. I have brownie batter on my shirt now. you also could've given me a heart condition.”

He gasps. “Sorry, sergeant. Next time I’ll throw a rock through your window to let you know I’m coming.”

You don’t appreciate his tone of sarcasm. Not one bit. “Oh, fantastic. Your charming knack for breaking things really completes my day. Like you haven’t already wrecked enough. Just try not to break anything too expensive, alright? Because last time—”

He flicks your forehead before you can finish your sentence, His grin turns soft at the edges, curling deeper into his cheeks until his dimples show.

You hate that your face warms under the kitchen lights.

Damn his stupid perfect face.

You glance him over. He’s bruised. One big purple smear curling over his ribs and another blooming just above his hip. There’s a shallow scrape at his side, not quite bleeding, but still raw. He shifts his weight and you catch the faintest limp. He smells like gotham air and sweat and faint cologne, and honestly, it should be disgusting.

On anybody else, it would be, but not on him.

You cross your arms. “You’re bleeding. And you’re standing within blood-spatter distance of my brownies. I swear to God, if you get any blood on my batter…”

His eyes sparkle like that’s not even a threat. “Might improve the flavor. A little Grayson glaze.”

You groan. “I hate you.”

“No, you don’t.”

You really don’t.

“Also, I’m not bleeding,” he says, before you can threaten him again, gesturing loosely to his side, his grin faltering slightly. “It’s a superficial scrape. Barely leaking.”

“Dick.”

“I mean it. No drip risk. This is a sterile environment.”

“You are not a sterile environment. Look at you.”

He walks forward, hands raised in surrender. “I washed my hands. Rinsed. Lathered. I’m FDA-approved.”

“That is not how an FDA-approved person looks.” You give him a look. “And the limp?”

He hesitates. Looks down at his own legs like he has to double-check. Then nods once, very seriously. “Stylized walking.”

You deadpan. “Stylized walking.”

He nods, serious. “It’s called commitment to the bit. It’s my swagger.”

You reach for the spatula again.

“I’m going. I’m going.” He’s already retreating. “Message received. No bleeding near brownies. But I missed you. So. Had to say hi.”

You sigh. “Hi.”

He beams. “See? Worth it.”

You point toward the hallway with your spatula. “Shower. Go.”

He doesn’t move right away. Instead, he leans in just a little. Closer. He squints at your face.

“You have a little flour on your cheek.”

You start to lift your hand, but he stops you.

“No, wait. Let me.”

He blows gently against your cheek. Not enough to actually do anything. But enough to make you a blushing mess. You’re very aware of how close he is. How warm. How smug.

“Shower, Grayson,” you say through your teeth.

He groans like you’ve wounded him. “I nearly died for this country.”

“You were in Blüdhaven.”

“Details.”

He trudges off with the dramatic weight of a man being sent to exile. “No applause. No gratitude. No patriotic cookies. What has this world come to?”

You hear the bathroom door close behind him, then the water start a minute later.

You glance at the clock.

He’s never been under five minutes early before.

── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ──

When he reappears, he's wearing the soft cotton combo that makes you feel... things. That navy t-shirt hugs his torso a little too tightly, like it’s clinging for dear life, and the grey sweatpants hang low enough to show off the waistband of his Calvin Kleins. His hair is towel-dried and flopping into his eyes like he styled it to look that effortlessly perfect, even though you know he didn’t.

His socks squeak softly against the kitchen floor as he walks.

He leans against a wall. No greeting this time. Just, “That pan is calling to me.”

You don’t give in. “Tell it to call back later. They’re not ready.”

“I think I deserve one.”

“Mm. Did you get shot tonight?”

“No.”

“Stabbed?”

“Nope.”

“Thrown off a roof?”

He pauses. “...Briefly.”

You glare at him with a look that very clearly does not say yes.

He starts walking toward the counter anyway. apparently your silence was enough permission for him.

“They smell heavenly,” he says, in a tone just shy of reverent. “there's no harm in one slice.”

“I baked them for tomorrow.”

“I live in the now. tomorrow’s just a trap to keep us from eating brownies today.”

You shift your body to block the cooling rack, hands on your hips. “You want one, you ask nicely.”

He raises an eyebrow. “What are we, six?”

“Six-year-olds don’t track blood from fighting criminals into my kitchen. You want a brownie? use your manners.”

He doesn’t answer right away. just looks at you. then steps closer.

His hands find your waist, fingers warm as they slide just beneath the hem of your hoodie. The contact sends a slow chill up your spine. He dips his head, smile curling at one side like he already knows what he’s doing to you. Which he probably (most definitely) does. Unfortunately.

“Please,” he murmurs, voice low and syrupy. he tilts his head and grins, inching closer until he’s barely two centimeters away.

You blink up at him, trying not to visibly short-circuit. this boy. your face is warming fast, your heartbeat louder than it has any right to be, and all you can think is: rude. so fucking rude.

He closes the space between you.

Soft, sure, stupidly confident. he’s known all along you’d let him. His mouth brushes yours once, featherlight, then again with more purpose. He kisses like he knows what he’s doing. Dick knows exactly where and how you melt. And then, just to be mean, he makes it worse. This boy has not been taught manners.

Your fingers catch in the fabric of his t-shirt, curled there, maybe you’re anchoring yourself in a way. His hands settle more firmly on your waist, thumbs tracing small, lazy circles against your skin underneath the hoodie.

He grins against your mouth when you let out a tiny, involuntary sound. you know he heard it. you know he's going to let you know he noticed it. you feel his smirk. Mr. Raised-by-Gotham’s-Greatest-Detective notices everything.

You pull back, breathing a little too shallow, noses still brushing, eyes barely open.

“Convincing,” you whisper, lips still tingling.

He smiles, a little smug. “I’m motivated.”

You sigh like you’re over it. (you are not over it.)

Scooping a gooey, still-molten corner from the edge of the pan, you hold it up. He opens his mouth like you’re feeding royalty. One bite in and he actually groans, head tipping back like this is the first thing he’s enjoyed in years.

You don’t comment. you try not to think about it. but your brain is screaming.

Sweatpants. Forearms. Post-fight glow. Groaning over brownies.

totally unfair. ridiculous, even. weren’t you supposed to be the sensible girlfriend? the one with self-control? not this hopeless brownie supplier who apparently crumbles the second he so much as breathes and gets turned on just watching him eat oreo brownies. the same brownies he’d rather kiss you over than say please for.

But… it’s him. somehow, everything he does is hot. even this. stupidly, ridiculously sexy.

“Holy shit,” he mutters, eyes closed. “I’d sell my soul for this.”

“You say that every time.”

He straightens, eyes bright. “Yeah, but I mean it more every time.”

You roll your eyes but your thumb reaches up instinctively, wiping a smear of chocolate from the corner of his mouth. His lips are soft under your touch. And stupidly inviting. And yeah, you absolutely think about kissing him again. just for a second. just to see if he’d groan again for something that wasn’t food.

“Next time,” you murmur, “come home with fewer bruises.”

He leans in and kisses your cheek, slow and warm.

“Only if you save me the gooey edge.”

You glance at the tray, pretending to weigh your options. “Hm. You got lucky. I was gonna give it to Steph.”

He gasps, full betrayal in his eyes. “You wouldn’t.”

“I absolutely would.”

He wraps his arms around you from behind, pulling you against him with no shame at all. “Betrayal. Treason. Actual emotional cheating.”

“You’re so dramatic.”

He nuzzles into your neck, not even pretending to be sorry. “Isn’t that your thing?”

© fromdove— All rights reserved. Reposting, translation, or modification of these works is strictly prohibited, regardless of whether credit is given.

∿　 　 . `💭` ㆍ

[iceiclehorned]

That sweet, resounding response echoed in the depths of her mind, filling up empty crevices and planting promising kisses along the curve of her spine. It had been unexpected, the way he allowed that request to come to fruition. Some part of that fiery spirit opted to keep her hope low, despite being the furthest thing from the way she did things on average. Spritely, living every last moment with the fullness of her heart, suddenly dwindling to a shy flame, wanting to hide the way he ignited an impact that allowed wax to melt much faster than it should. Hesitancy would no longer hold her back, and she found herself yearning to live up to the challenge.

"Don't make promises without reading the fine-print, Lighter," Burnice's tongue danced along her bottonm lip, brewing mischief in the purest of ways. "I may not be able to hold back once we start."

Of course, choosing to be brave in such a way, right as they traversed through the gateway into another world, one that held promises of an extraordinary fight ahead. It wasn't as if she was doing it on purpose, but for this to be their first date, how could one not expect some flirtatious behaviour to follow them into the claws of a Hollow den? An eager giggle followed after her, chasing that adrenaline rush as the guarantee of a good time pursued her very soul.

His words allowed her to smile. Honest, authentically happy. Within the depths of his own mind, he always knew who to trust with what, even if he would dispatch himself on those missions that felt particularly dangerous. Fortunately, she had sealed her fate right beside him, and there would be no need for him to risk his own life during the loneliest of periods. Starting from today, he would have a devoted partner. Almost like a little sidekick to cheer him on, as well as to keep up that fight right by his side.

“In that case, I’ll do my best!!” Enthusiasm dominated the texture of her heart, guiding those legs to the place they would come to meet the ending of the parasites that held the lives of hundreds of thousands of people within their grasp. For that Hollow claim held a dystopian novelty in people’s hearts, there would always be a refusal to let that fire be struck out quite so easily. A perilous journey would never push the mixologist away, not when being a certified adrenaline-junkie served its purpose, both on and off the battlefield.

Seeking a thrill, allowing that excited pulse to live within other people’s hearts was precisely the thing that was needed here. Even with the way the halls were decorated in horror, meant to strike fear, Burnice’s flame would always light the way for a much sweeter path.

“Let’s watch ‘em dance, shall we?”

Springing to life were ember stars, prepped to come to life. Preparation was made for a close-range attack, her eyes peeled for vulnerability in the sudden range of pathetic bug-like creatures clattering around. It was as if being challenged put them in a daze, and that was more than enough for the devious blonde to put herself into action. Danger held no real bounty over her head, not when the promise of having her back watched was known. Springing forward, an explosive charge would be performed, asserting complete control as cool, metal pipes began to heat, thwacking a multitude of swarmed enemies, allowing those pipes to then give rise to flames, scalding a sweet, charring promise to those within her proximity.

The start of something bigger began to culminate, her body twirling as if she were about to put on a show of utter elegance, only to turn it into an arsonist’s dream. Starry flames dancing together, like a night’s sky emerging at sunset. Specks of fuel flew onto the specimen, allowing for a bigger punch to be set in stone.

“I can’t wait to see what you have planned for date number two!”

Except for another kiss, maybe.

A soft huff follows from that modestly made wish. It was encased in fondness from the infernal uprising that very act made. To Lighter, this holds as a decision and confession all the same. Her very taste had the intent of becoming a more permanent fixture in this new road of choices. There was whimsy in how she made warmth beyond the ferocity of flame give a more mellow ground in his heart. To see even the ever fearless Burnice find her way into looking a touch coy?

That served undeniable proof. A growing and gradual understanding found itself ripping from the haze of night. "Without a doubt." He'd follow in. "In a case like that? It'll be as much as you like."

With a new promise forged, it's not the matter of the task at hand. The Ether concentrations found themselves gradually heightening the further down they went. High security often meant that more under the desk deals and activity were high on the rise. If one thing hadn't changed from the ancient times, it'd be that the essence of Ether was akin to a devilish whisper to the heart's of man. Supernatural strength, technology beyond all measure, there was no limitation to the depravities committed to see such matters through.

"It hadn't been a mere moment of taking a break at your place. Much as I wanted to anyways. Stuff like this requires your critical eye, and at this point it'll be under Calydon jurisdiction. As the professional out of our motley bunch, I figured you were the perfect fit for what's going on here." And that's only the technical aspects. Lighter often thought on how her expertise led to the thriving etheric fuel he channels for his W-Engine. While she'd never require a price, it only fortified in his mind that returning those dues were pivotal.

As the elevator pauses at the lowest levels, it'd be at Burnice's springy charge that he's soon matching that energized pursuit. An array of military vehicles and firearm racks would be in abundance in the current locations, while a more solitary hallway casting a foreboding shadow lies ahead. Similar to many grounds they've excavated, the lost history held in these bases always held a more perilous or risky tale. While resources were great, often times it was better to not think about the prices, the sacrifices

That route was likely where they'd find their weight in progress.

"Looks like the company remembers me. Just so ya know, all of these cars n' floors have some decent flame resistance. So I better not catch ya being shy." Soon as those thoughts were voiced, the familiar flicker across their visions enacts as multiple portals found tearing through this unruly reality. A multitude of lower scale ethereals found themselves scuttling in a charge. Scorpion looking varieties, the regular bunch holding blades and forcefully fused pipes, dragging them across the grounds as one of them tossed a vehicle overhead amidst their charge.

Before it could even consider squishing them, a singular reach from the Champion caught that daunting weight outright.

"Time to play ball, I'll cover your six."

[hazelira]

little rebel

Ni-ki was all sharp edges and cold glares, the kind of guy who made people step aside without a word. On the other hand, you were soft-spoken, the quiet storm beside him, wrapped in oversized band tees, ripped jeans, and smudged eyeliner. A matching aesthetic but opposite auras. He was the fire; you were the slow-burning ember.

And then there was him.

A tiny, fragile thing wrapped in a black onesie with skull prints nestled against your chest, his tiny fingers curled into your shirt. Your baby boy. Ni-ki’s son. A piece of both of you, somehow softer than either of you ever thought you could be.

Ni-ki leaned against the bedroom doorframe, arms crossed, watching you hum absentmindedly as you swayed with your son. His face was unreadable, but you could tell—he was fighting something.

“Why do you always look at me like that?” you murmured, adjusting your hold on the baby.

Ni-ki scoffed, running a hand through his messy, oreo dyed hair. “Like what?”

“Like you’re afraid.”

Silence. Heavy, uncomfortable, stretching between you both like the night sky.

Then—

“I don’t wanna mess him up,” he muttered, barely loud enough to be heard. His jaw clenched. “I don’t wanna mess you up.”

Your heart ached. You stepped forward, gently bouncing your son in your arms. “Ni-ki…”

“I’m not like you,” he continued, voice lower now. “You’ve always been quiet, careful, good. I’m—” He let out a bitter laugh. “I barely know how to be a person, let alone a dad.”

You reached out with your free hand, grabbing his wrist before he could run like he always did. His skin was warm, his pulse quick beneath your fingers. He never got used to how easily you could break through him.

“You’re here,” you whispered, tugging him closer. “That’s enough.”

He exhaled sharply, gaze flickering to your son. His son. Sleeping soundly despite his father’s demons. Ni-ki swallowed hard, hesitating before brushing a finger over the baby’s cheek.

“Yeah?” His voice cracked just slightly.

You nodded, pressing your forehead against his. “Yeah.”

Ni-ki closed his eyes, breathing you in.

Ni-ki never thought he’d be the type to get soft. But here he was, standing in a dimly lit bedroom with you and his son—the two things he swore he’d never deserve.

The baby stirred in your arms, a tiny yawn escaping his lips before he settled again. Ni-ki’s gaze softened, his calloused fingers barely ghosting over the kid’s cheek.

“He looks like you,” he mumbled.

You huffed a quiet laugh. “You always say that.”

“Because it’s true.” His fingers trailed to the baby’s tiny hand, watching it instinctively grasp his pinky. His heart clenched. “But he’s got my attitude, I bet.”

You smiled, leaning into him. “God help us.”

Ni-ki chuckled, his lips brushing against your temple before he sighed, shifting uncomfortably. “I keep thinking I’ll wake up one day, and this—” he gestured vaguely to the quiet life you had built, the warmth of it, the normalcy—“will be gone.”

You frowned, reaching up to cup his face. “Ni-ki.”

He swallowed, dark eyes flickering with something raw. “I don’t know how to be what he needs. What you need.”

Your brows knitted together. “You’re already what we need.”

He shook his head, pulling away slightly. “I grew up thinking love was temporary. That people leave. That no one stays long enough to fix things.” He exhaled, staring at the baby, who still had his pinky in a tight grip. “But you’re still here. He’s here. And I don’t know what to do with that.”

You took his hand, guiding him to sit beside you on the bed. The mattress dipped under his weight, and for a second, he looked smaller. Like the boy he used to be before the world made him sharp.

“Then we’ll figure it out,” you whispered. “Together.”

His throat bobbed. Slowly, he nodded.

The baby squirmed, his tiny face scrunching up before he whined softly. Without thinking, Ni-ki scooped him up, resting him against his chest.

You stared, surprised. “Look at you.”

“Shut up,” he muttered, but there was no bite.

The baby nuzzled into his hoodie, sighing in content.

Ni-ki froze as if the weight of his son had suddenly settled into his soul.

You watched as something shifted in his expression—fear melting into something deeper, something softer. He pressed a hesitant kiss to the baby’s forehead, eyes fluttering shut.

Ni-ki had never felt anything like this—this fragile weight against his chest, small and warm, like something sacred. His son. His actual son.

The baby scrunched his tiny nose, letting out a shaken coo, the sound almost questioning, as if he was asking to be held correctly by his dad. His tiny arms flailed, one hand smacking against Ni-ki’s chest, the other grazing his arm with a surprising amount of strength for someone so tiny.

Ni-ki blinked.  

It was weird. The way his son moved reminded him of Bisco, his dog, whenever he held him like a baby. But this wasn’t just some pet he could cradle for fun. This was a real baby. His baby.  

His throat went dry.  

“Uh… what do I do?” he muttered, looking at you in panic.  

You chuckled, reaching out to adjust how he held your son. “You support his head more like this.” Your hands guided his, settling the baby into a secure position against Ni-ki’s chest.  

The baby whined at first, legs kicking, face scrunched up like he was about to scream—but then, as if realizing this was precisely where he wanted to be, he nuzzled into Ni-ki’s hoodie. A deep sigh left his tiny lips, warm breath against his father’s collarbone.  

Ni-ki’s entire body stiffened.  

The baby was so close. So tiny.  

And he trusted him completely.  

“… Oh,” Ni-ki breathed, staring at the little bundle in his arms. “He—he’s just… chilling here.”  

You grinned. “Yeah. He likes you.”  

The words hit deeper than they should have. Ni-ki’s chest tightened. “You think so?”  

“I know so.” You rested a hand on his arm. “Babies can tell when they’re safe.”  

Safe.  

Ni-ki had never thought of himself as safe before, not with how he carried himself—grunge hoodies, ripped jeans, sharp glares that kept people away. But looking down at his son, tiny fingers clutching onto the fabric of his hoodie, he realized that this little thing didn’t care about any of that.  

He was just his.  

Ni-ki swallowed hard, hesitantly lifting a hand to brush his thumb over his son’s round cheek. His skin was soft. Warmer than he expected. A tiny, perfect human.  

His son cooed again, snuggling even deeper against him.  

Ni-ki let out a slow breath, sinking into the moment.  

He was holding his baby.  

And for once in his life, he didn’t want to run.

PART 2

requested by: @mochijoshi

my perm taglist<3 <- request here

[sparklebelt]

no one talk to me. my emotional support wrestler is making his entrance

[r3vengetour]

[bokunoheros]

TAGS/WARNINGS: reader is gender neutral but afab, reader and katsuki are dating, everyone is 19+, orgy shenanigans, raw sex (reader is on birth control its okay guys), double penetration, creampies, oral (m. receiving), cum swallowing, handjobs, idk what else GENRE: nasty disgusting smut SUMMARY: your boyfriend asks what you want for your birthday, and your answer certainly surprises him. WORD COUNT: 957 🦊’s A/N: happy 20th birthday to meeee :3 this was a bitch to write btw its literally just some bullshit i cooked up i am so tired i literally gave up on this im So Sorry guys please have mercy // i actually wrote day 22 before this one lmao

     “mmfh!”

     “shhh, easy pretty,” eijirou coos down at you, cupping your flushed face with one hand, his cock stuffed down your throat.

     currently, you were jerking off denki, trying not to choke around eijirou, with shouto fucking your cunt, and katsuki buried in your ass. to say you were stuffed full would be an understatement. 

     “nngh—” your pussy flutters around shouto’s girthy length, and he groans beneath you. 

     “shit, honey—you’re so fucking tight—” he moans, hips rolling up into your drenched cunt. his words paired with katsuki’s relentless pounding and eijirou’s dick in your mouth had you drooling like a bitch as you try to jerk poor denki off, tears welling up in your eyes from the overwhelming sensations. 

     “nngh–! mmnngh,” you moan, one hand coming to tug at your boyfriend’s spiky hair, an action that has the blond growling and smacking your ass harshly, quirk popping off as his calloused palm makes contact with your tender flesh.

     you squeal at the impact, and it takes every ounce of self restraint kirishima has to not start fucking your face at your wide and teary eyed expression, and you accidentally grip kaminari’s dick a little too tight for comfort, making him moan in a masochistic manner, all while both your cunt and asshole clench around the dicks inside them.

     when katsuki had asked you what you had wanted for your twentieth birthday, the very last thing he had been expecting was for you to shyly, but with an unwavering sort of confidence, request a fucking orgy with some of his friends! you immediately followed up and explained that it wasn’t that you were bored in your relationship with him, but rather that you had always found them to be attractive, too, and you wouldn’t mind getting fucked by them just once. it took him a couple days to mull over the answer, and he ultimately decides sure. fuck it, as long as this wouldn’t ever happen again, right? 

    so, he found himself agreeing to your request on the condition that this was strictly a one time thing, which you accepted of course, as you understood your boyfriend still had a bit of an inferiority complex he was trying to overcome, and the very last thing you wanted was him thinking you wanted one of his friends more than him.

    which is how you found yourself double stuffed like an oreo and then some.

    “mmhhhng—” 

     “you’re doin’ s’well for us, baby,” kaminari slurs out, one hand tangled in your hair, nearly touching kirishima’s, as he bites his bottom lip at the feeling of your hand pumping his slick dick. 

     everything is just too much, and it’s all you can do to mewl around eijirou’s painfully hard cock, the vibrations traveling up his spine as he groans and bucks his hips forward, almost until your nose is flush against his dark pubes (he doesn’t dye them, weirdos) and you’re having to focus on controlling your breathing so you don’t gag like a bitch.

     “yeah, they’re doin’ fuckin’ great,” katsuki adds, one large hand gripping your hip as the other reaches around to play with your neglected clit.

     katsuki..! goddamn him! you think as your body tenses and back arches deeper than you thought possible. 

     your jaw is starting to get sore as well as your arm, and you briefly wonder what on earth you had gotten yourself into before that thought is quickly pushed out of your mind at denki’s announcement that he was close—of course he was, his stamina wasn’t that great to begin with so you sorta figured he’d probably be the first to cum, but what you weren’t expecting was for shouto to bounce off what the dumber blonde had said and admit that he was close, too. 

     it made sense when you took a second to think about it—although he wasn’t lacking in stamina, shouto was still a virgin before all this! (he doesn’t know what exactly compelled him to agree, but here he was anyway, in the middle of an orgy.) so it was only natural that he’d cum fast. not that you took the time to consider a factor like that, though, as you yourself were being worked up towards your first orgasm of the night.

     eijirou as well, you’re quick to figure out, based on the way his cock is drooling and twitching in the back of your throat, and you do your best to swallow around him while looking up at him with glassy eyes. your expression has the redhead biting his fist and groaning into it as you stick your tongue out to lick press against the underside of his cock. 

     it’s not long before kirishima’s cumming down your throat with a loud cry, just as denki jizzes all over your hand—some of it even landing on your face and in your hair. shouto’s not far behind either until katsuki yells at him not to cum inside—something todoroki blatantly ignores due to just how snug your pussy was, squeezing around him like a goddamn vice. how the fuck did that explosive bastard seriously expect him to pull out?

     despite having cum already, kiri makes no efforts to pull out of your mouth—not until denki’s shoving him out of the way at least, claiming it was his turn next. 

     “wa—ahh! wait! i— i ne–need a second!” you cry as katsuki suddenly spanks your cunt, making you jolt at the impact and wail his name—providing kaminari with the perfect opportunity to shove his dick in your mouth. 

     “hhmng—!” you whine incoherently around the new dick invading your hot mouth, and a chill runs down your spine when you feel shouto cum inside you—holy shit. 

    it was going to be a long fuckin’ night….

return to KINKTOBER | CLASS 1-A M.LIST

[jenosbigtoe]

okay so I've been thinking...

you're dating nomin and jeno was fucking you while jaemin was getting groceries. jeno though it would be a good idea if you would call jaemin to see if he could notice.

(IDK WHY BUT SOME KIND OF IDEA LIKE TJAT HAS BEEN IN MY HEAD FOR FOREVER😫)

mdni. nsfw 18+

pairing: lee jeno x reader x na jaemin

warnings: poly nomin, phone sex (kinda), unprotected sex, daddy kink

a/n: when i tell you when this came in my inbox 😵 i almost passed away

“stop fucking moving.”

jeno hisses into your ear as his hips drill into yours from the back relentlessly. he has you trapped underneath him, his thick arms locking you into place to keep you from squirming out of his grip. your throat is almost raw from the moans spilling out of your mouth with every thrust of his cock. as he continues to pound your abused cunt, you arch your back and push your ass back to meet his thrusts.

“fuck- daddy go faster,” you whine.

the feeling of every ridge and every vein on his thick cock rubbing against your gummy walls and his heavy balls slapping against your clit with every thrust left your legs shaking and core tingling with intense euphoria. you don’t even hear the phone ring and vibrate on the nightstand until jeno holds the phone’s blaring ringtone right next to your ear.

“answer it,” he rasps.

your mind is numb with pleasure and you can barely register what is going on. “w-what?” you gasp out.

he doesn’t relent his thrusts, continuing to pound your pussy like he was trying to break you in half. “i said answer the phone.”

he gives a particularly sharp thrust to your cunt, reaching his cock deep into your walls and kissing your womb. a shock wave shoots up your body, causing you to scream out in pleasure. before you can even give a reply, he’s always swiping the answer button.

“hey dude,” he answers. but he doesn’t stop fucking you, still thrusting his cock in and out of your poor little cunt in a steady rhythm. “yeah she’s right here. wanna talk to her?”

you panic, shaking your head no no no but he puts on the phone on speaker and places it next to you anyways.

“hi baby” a familiar voice calls out from the other side of the screen.

you want to freak out. “daddy, please,” you whimper quietly. you turn around to face your boyfriend from behind you with a desperate look on your face.

but he’s already grinning back at you with an evil look on his face as he places the phone next to your face. he continues to thrust his hips into yours, tightening his grip on your body to keep you from even thinking about getting away. he mouths to you, it’s just jaemin, baby. you can talk to him. he’s your boyfriend too.

“hello? baby are you there?”

your mind is a mess and you can hardly think straight enough to decide what to do next. “y-yes? why d-did you call, jaem? did you need something?”

“well i called because i’m at the grocery store. i know i ate the last of your favorite oreos and i promised to buy you more but they’re out of the kind you like. which flavor should i get instead? they have birthday cake, java chip, mint, ooooh snickerdoodle that sounds good, um-“

jeno’s hand snakes down to your throbbing core, rubbing your clit as he fucks your hole. you bite your lip and try to breathe through your nose, holding back moans threatening to spill out into the phone.

“fuck, that’s fine th-that’s fine!” you cut him off. you pussy clenches around jeno’s length, squeezing him as punishment for putting you in this position. the combination of his hand on your clit and his cock in your pussy is driving you crazy, sending waves of pleasure from your core to every nerve in your body.

you can hear the confusion in his voice at your outburst. “um, baby, i said I’m sorry for eating them. i mean-“

jeno’s hips deliver a particular sharp thrust straight into your cunt, completely bottoming out and reaching even deeper than before. you yelp, caught off guard and unable to hold back.

“j-jaemin just get whatever! i don’t c-care, fuck,” you try to steady your breathing but with jeno’s cock pumping in and out of you and bringing you closer to your climax, you can hardly even think straight.

between jeno’s thrusts and his work on your clit, your orgasm crashes over your senses like an earth shattering wave, filling your body with pure euphoria. your hips shake erratically and your cunt clenches around his thrusting cock uncontrollably as you ride out your orgasm. he continues to fuck you through your climax, relishing in the way your cunt drips around his cock and squeezes him so deliciously with your release.

from the way jeno’s length starts to twitch against your walls, you know he’s close. his thrusts go from strong and steady to fast and erratic as he desperately chases his orgasm.

the phone has been silent for a while and you think jaemin has already hung up.

until you hear him say “did you really think i didn’t know what you were doing this entire time? what you sound like when you’re getting your pussy fucked? like i don’t know that you only call us daddy when we’re fucking you like the dumb slut you are? open the fucking door i’m already home.”

[ariaste]

Do you have any advice on how to get funnier? Do you bounce jokes/plots/etc. off other people to see what hits? Do you just write what you find funny? I feel like I'm funny enough in real life, but it's hard to translate that to the page.

Oh gosh, this is a toughie. HOW TO FUNNY.

Well, for one thing, being funny in writing is a lot harder than being funny in person, because in person you're generally talking to people that you've built a rapport with (friends, acquaintances, coworkers). Humor is one of those instinctive evolutionary tools that we developed in order to help form social bonds. Like how our brains register babies as cute because or evolutionary development requires us to be really invested in caretaking. That's how an adult bonds to an infant, yes? But then there is also an evolutionary advantage in adults forming bonds with other adults. Sometimes this happens with physical traits like cuteness or hotness (romantic/sexual attraction is one type of bond), sometimes with vulnerability and "this person needs me" (caretaking is another type of bond)... There are lots of bonds. Leadership. Respect. Solidarity. Community.

But then humor is a REALLY effective form of bonding -- arguably the MOST effective, because it can trump any other of the other bonds any day of the week, and twice on Tuesdays. We have all met someone who was physically not that spectacular to look at, just sort of a Normal Looking Human, but then you find out that they are SO FUNNY and suddenly they are the "hottest" person in the room. We have all heard of a situation where someone was the leader of a clique and had managed to get everyone to worship them... Until a new jokester entered the social circle and suddenly the leadership-bond is not nearly so compelling as THIS GUY WHO MAKES EVERYONE LAUGH (and the leader gets huffy and grouchy about it, and suddenly everyone notices that the emperor has no clothes and that the leader were faking it the whole time. And then the local jester has won the day).

So how to GET FUNNIER? And how do I advise you, when comedy is so individual and what you find funny might be different than what I find funny?

First, study funny shit. Study it like a bug. Read funny books or watch comedy shows with an eye of "How are these jokes constructed? What is making it funny?" Frequently you will notice that some comedians aren't actually all that funny, they're just snarky and good at building rapport with the audience, so the audience laughs as an expression of the social bond, not because the joke was legitimately hilarious. (Here is my "this made me Actually Laugh out loud" tag if you want some insight into my comedy style and possible raw material to study)

Second, a lot of writers like Terry Pratchett and Douglas Adams have written about the art of writing comedy, and I'm sure that there are how-to books for comedians as well.

There are a couple main things that make something funny: The juxtaposition of things, the element of surprise, anticipation that pays off, repetition of an established joke, and comedic timing. (Notice that surprise and anticipation are OPPOSITES -- sometimes a thing can be funny when we see it coming a mile away. Sometimes a thing is funny when it is unexpected.)

Examples: In this video, the comedy is coming from the juxtaposition of the background song against the long shot of the Oreos. We see the punchline coming from a mile away (the oreo package says "MOST STUF" and yet he takes the oreos apart to increase the stuf, thereby disproving the package's claim), and so it reasserts something that many people already know and have experienced for themselves. It's the "we've all been there" effect. This would probably not be a funny to people who did not grow up eating Oreos, or who for some reason did not go through the spontaneous phenomenon of "take them apart for MORE SUGAR".

Comedic timing is, of course, the king of comedy techniques, and it is the hardest to pull off in writing. Or, well, people say that it is the hardest. It's not actually the hardest, because it's just a subcategory of the technique of Pacing, both on a story level and on a sentence level. If you can figure out how to take control of the reader's mind and ride them like they're a jaeger and you're the pilot, then you can make them laugh. This is done by controlling the SPEED that they're reading at and the rhythm -- control their speed and rhythm and you control comedic timing. Controlling a reader's speed is done with relatively simple techniques, of which there are two big ones:

Sentence length. Really short sentences read fast. Use a lot of short sentences. Your readers will read quickly. This style is easy to skim. Unfortunately, it can also get boring. See what I'm doing here? Lots of short sentences. On the other hand, as everyone knows and as you have probably experienced for yourself, longer sentences give the impression of a longer and more complex and nuanced thought, even if not as much information is being conveyed; it's a simple matter of hanging a lot of dependent clauses off of one main thing and seeing how long you can go before you hit that final full stop. Varying your sentence length varies your timing and starts to unlock some of the timing control necessary to generate comedy. You can put something in a joke rhythm with this and then it will read like a joke.

Forcing a pause. A pause is the alpha and the omega of comedy. Thus, do not underestimate the comedic potential of a strategic paragraph break. The human brain works so quickly that even the NANOSECONDS it takes for your eyes to physically move from one line, through the strategic paragraph break, to the punchline -- that alone is enough time for the brain to register a pause and for the reader to then feel "surprised". Strategic paragraph break is perhaps the king of comedic writing techniques, IMO. (Careful not to overuse it!)

There are other mechanical techniques involved, but these are the big ones for timing. With these, you can take an otherwise unfunny scene and adjust it through nothing but timing alone to suddenly be funny.

Finally, a fun fact: When I am writing comedy, I am writing with a dead straight face. I am a cold and ruthless joke-engineering machine. I nearly never laugh at my own jokes. There is ONE (1) joke that got me to crack when I was writing Running Close to the Wind, and that was someone talking about Avra "scuttling up a tree like a little rat that's got something badly wrong with it". Still makes me grin to this day. Idk man.

Anyway I hope that helped!! wow this got long

[mad-hatter-memes]

FunkyFrogBait Starters

A collection of dialogue prompts from the videos by FunkyFrogBait. Feel free to edit quotes as necessary.

TW: Swearing, threats, and suggestive references

"My fellow Caucasians astound us with their ingenuity yet again..."

"This is just an evil, evil thing to do with pasta..."

"No spaghetti for you, sir."

"I could be doing any number of things with my life, but I've chosen to share this moment with you...Don't you feel so special?"

"This feels very forbidden..."

"I don't know what this is but it's not fettucine!"

"I just scalded myself! That was uncomfortable..."

"To be clear...I would not feed this to a dog..."

"This esophagus is rated E for everything!"

"Aren't I a lucky little boy? Only 40% of these are broken!"

"Is this a complaint that I'm hearing? Spitters are quitters, [Name]."

"It's just you and me, [Name]. So...who's gonna union with you?"

"If there is a god, he has abandoned us for celestial milk and cigarettes."

"That looks like something that would leak out of an infected wound!"

"This looks like porridge was spilled on the floor of a gym locker room and left to ferment for forty days and forty nights!"

"Trying to boil Pringles to make mashed potatoes is like trying to send her flowers after she's already taken the kids."

"Hahahaha, that's really cute, how about you go fuck yourself?!"

"Being a dad seems pretty fun; All you have to do is sometimes remember their names and forget to pick them up from soccer practice. "

"Now, now, don't be hysterical, dear. This is a nearly painless procedure...For me anyways!"

"I have not been allowed around a glue gun since...The incident..."

"The caveman method usually works in my experience."

"Aw babe, your texture makes me wanna barf."

"Now the nice thing about turkey bacon is that you can eat it raw! I think..."

"This says it serves twenty four people...They haven't met me."

"Hello, Mr. [Last Name]. I'm here to pick up your daughter."

"Please don't call the police...I know this a weird use of my free time but it's technically not illegal."

"I'm about to give myself an accidental haircut..."

"Can I just call up a priest and have him waterboard me...?"

"Whoookay...This makes me want to join a nunnery."

"Who up praying with they rosary right now?"

"STOP FINGERING EVERYTHING! I AM A CHILD OF GOD!"

"Girl, what foundation is that?! Not a pore in sight!"

"[Name], honey. You're already slaying, you don't need to slay innocent civilians."

"Where did they find this child? The Victorian Era?!"

"ASAB: Assigned Sidekick at Birth. How unfortunate..."

"Who is giving these children access to deadly weapons?! Hello?!"

"The kids like thirteen. Just throw a Roblox gift card as hard as you can and run in the opposite direction."

"[Character Name] is dead, [Muse Name]! And you're worried about the fidelity of this game to it's source material?!"

"Paint a picture for us, [Name]! Don't hold back!"

"I would've bully the fuck outta this kid. And I did musical theater!"

"Where are people getting all this Tannerite?! I want some!"

"Is the cockroach infestation required or optional?"

"I'm being manipulated by a gothic aesthetic and common sense!"

"Yikes! Don't show that to your grandma!"

"That's my heart after the hot girl in my Com Sci class tells me that our star signs are incompatible!"

"I really wouldn't talk how other people look if your eyebrows can't agree on what timezone they're in."

"Is god really rockin' with you? Sinner..."

"Let me eat my oreos in peace goddamnit!"

"I'M GONNA START POWERWASHING THE CEILING!"

"You know what crybaby fumblefingers? At this point you owe me money. Hand over twenty, pretty boy!

"Why is she beckoning me ominously...?"

"That's because you've been selected for ritual sacrifice, [Name]. You know how they are this time of the month..."

"Do you have family, [Name]? Anyone you'd be particularly devastated to lose in a violent and sudden way?"

"You know what, [Name]? I'd probably punch you over a Hot Wheels too!"

"I see god's law not as a restriction...but a challenge!"

"I am deeply dissatisfied with my life choices and I am NOT afraid to make that your problem at five o' clock in the morning!"

"I hope one of your family members is in a car accident this week!"

"It's fucking terrible and I'm overcome by a desire to kill James Corden for some reason!"

"I'm sorry...Do you think mother earth is just lactating blue raspberry surprise, bitch?!"

[marigold-hills]

your hands; mine (stalker Remus AU) part 4

PART 1 | PART 2 | PART 3 | PART 5

It’s almost one in the morning when Sirius wakes up.

Remus feels it in the fluttering of Sirius’ pulse. It speeds up from a sluggish, sleep-slowed 50 beats per minute to a normal waking rhythm of 90.

Sirius opens his eyes. They’re clear now. Tired and red-rimmed but the haze is gone. His pupils aren’t dilated.

He looks straight at Remus.

“You’ve got blood on your chin,” he says, not breaking eye contact. It’s the first thing he says to Remus with his mind intact.

Remus had washed his hands before making tea. He scrubbed them clean under too hot water, using bleach as soap. They’ve been red and raw and painful since. He didn’t think to check anywhere else.

“It’s dried,” Sirius adds when Remus tries to wipe the blood off with his sleeve. “How long has it been?”

“Two hours.”

“And no police at my door yet? Aren’t you lucky.”

It sounds like Sirius doesn’t want an answer. He sits up - tries to, body heavy and not very cooperative - checks himself over. “Will I find you’ve sold my kidney?” He asks. 

“I would never hurt you,” Remus tells him. It’s probably the most truthful sentence that’s ever crossed his lips.

“So you’ve said. Forgive me if I don’t believe you.”

And that’s understandable. Sirius doesn’t know Remus.

But. 

“You called for me.”

Sirius lets himself fall back on the sofa. He doesn’t answer. “I’m hungry,” he says instead. “This feels like the worst kind of hungover.”

“I can make you eggs,” Remus volunteers. It’s the only thing he can cook with any confidence. Boiled, fried, even poached. He makes a mean omelet. He imagines Sirius eating something Remus would make, tasting the food and letting it chase away the residual bad feeling.

If sending him a drink was nice, this? This is going to be great.

“Don’t have any,” Sirius shatters the little daydream quite completely.

Remus is a quick thinker. He pulls out his phone. “I’ll order,” he says and finds the orange website that lets you order food. He doesn’t use it much. It’s expensive. Mentally, he goes back to his shopping list and removes the items that put him too close to the budget.

The only place open is a kebab shop a few roads from Sirius’ flat. He passes the phone with the menu open.

“Can’t you use the app like a normal person?” Sirius doesn’t look up as he asks, busy choosing his food.

“Phone doesn’t have enough storage to download it,” Remus tells him, and it’s partially true. The part that’s a lie has to do with the menus he got through the door and kept, some hung up on the fridge with novelty magnets, some stuffed almost-neatly in his clutter drawer. The one that tried the app and got too confused on setup to continue.

“Too many photos of me taken from behind bushes? Sirius looks up this time, and his lips have that twist to them, the one he gets when Remus texts him.

Beautiful, Remus thinks. “I only shoot you in film,” he says.

“My apologies,” Sirius mumbles, a haughty thing that’s not an apology at all. He finishes his order and passes the phone back to Remus.

Remus goes over his shopping list again. Removes everything that’s not a necessity.

He’s just about to hit checkout when he spots the final category. Milkshakes.

Strawberry 

Banana

Chocolate

Kinder Bueno

Oreo

Remus loves a chocolate milkshake. Always has: a special treat when he was a child, on hot days in their little Welsh cottage. His mam would take big fat scoops of chocolate ice cream and mix it with fresh milk. He drunk it out of a jar they used for pickles in the winter, through a wide striped straw like they had in American movies.

It’s been a while since he treated himself. And he deserves it tonight, doesn’t he? He’s had quite an evening. He adds it to the order, a kind of guilty giddiness rushing through him that he remembers from sneaking into the sweets pantry when he wasn’t supposed to. He knows this will put him over his budget and he knows he’s going to regret it later, but now? Right now he’s tired and there’s someone else’s dried blood on his chin.

“What got you smiling like that?” Sirius asks, “found someone new to obsess over?”

“Absolutely not,” Remus is outraged. His affections aren’t fickle like that. “Just ordered a milkshake.”

“Such a child,” Sirius dismisses him, before looking back Remus’ way again. “Get me one too, won’t you? Strawberry.”

Remus adds it with no argument. Removes the laundry detergent off his shopping list. Wonders what would happen if he were to put liquid soap into the washing machine instead. Nothing good, probably.

“And go wash your face, I can’t focus on anything with that blood on you.”

The bathroom is to the left of the sofa, first door on the way to the bedroom. It’s simple, the kind of white-tiled monstrosity common in new builds. There is a bathtub lined with Sirius’ various body washes and shampoos, and in the corner hangs a bushy fern.

In the mirror, Remus looks like death walking.

He’s careful about removing the blood. It comes off easy, as if there was no weight to it. For a moment, Remus sees not his own face but the stocky man from the pub. Before, while he was taunting Sirius, and after, pale and slack-jawed and dead.

The phone call comes just as he leaves the bathroom.

It’s an unknown number and Remus doesn’t normally pick those up. His heart stops quite completely. Someone found out, he thinks.

“You ordered from Authentic Kebab and Pizza?” A heavily accented man screams into the phone over the shouts in the background.

“Yes?”

“No chocolate. I give second strawberry. Good?”

Remus’ heart breaks. “No, I…”

“And I add garlic bread. Leave review,” and he hangs up before Remus can protest that he’s not that fond of strawberry, actually. 

NEXT PART

✨✨✨✨

notes:

sorry no new part yesterday because the heat had melted my brain.

Remus isn’t getting a chocolate milkshake because he doesn’t quite deserve it yet. Yes, I know he killed a man. Don’t worry I’ll make sure he gets one eventually. the eggs are @tealeavesandtrash fault.

Tags!

@hoje--aqui

@rae-lune

@wickedcoeur

@shunstanpike

@floretissogay

@remoonysiriusly

@lunalovegoodsgirlfriend

@father-imperator

@brighterthanthou

@a-pine-cone