#strength is being kind... and it's a practice

[bruisedfig]

୨ৎ — thinking about SOLDIER BOY holding you down and forcing you to take his fingers…

summary: left alone once again to babysit the infamous supe in a dingy motel, but he’s finally had enough of your quick mouth and rejection towards his unwanted advances.

warnings: smut, dubcon, forced fingering, mention of hitting/smacking, ben being foul, slight manhandling, forced proximity? (soldier boy x mouthy!fem!reader) 18+

wc: 2.7k

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you were curled up on the end of the motel couch, opposite soldier boy, trying to avoid meeting his dreaded stare. his lustful eyes roamed over you—you could feel the way he practically undressed you in his mind—and it sickened you.

he was a pig.

and he’d been a pig since the minute he’d met you, throwing out half-assed comments just to irk you, like how “women didn’t dress like you in his day” and how “thighs like yours are ones he’d be happy to die between.”

you were beyond repulsed by ben and more than tired of the constant barrage of unwelcome propositions. you thought he was revolting; you’d physically recoil anytime his booming voice filled the room with another vulgar comment, but somewhere deep down… there was always a tiny little flicker in your stomach that made your core clench.

“babydoll…”

eugh… you felt his gaze turn to you, abandoning the old army show rerun on the box television, and instead falling over you with an obvious desire.

“c’mon, don’t ignore me now. it’s rude, don’t you know?” he continued, dragging out his words, all low and velvety smooth.

you didn’t dare look up from your phone; you didn’t want to—engaging in any kind of conversation with ben was redundant. you didn’t need to hear the repeat stories of his glory days or the time he had sex with a celebrity that was long dead by now.

“hey, i’m talking to you,” ben huffed, tilting his head. “c’mere.”

that got your attention… unfortunately. you let your eyes lift up from your phone screen, meeting his, which shone with his typical glimmer of arrogance.

“there she is.”

you sighed, “can you zip it? just go back to watching your show.” you waved a dismissive hand at him and looked back down at your phone, intending to keep doomscrolling like you’d been doing since butcher dropped you off to ‘babysit’ this morning.

“jesus– can you not be on that fucking little screen thing for five minutes? i said c’mere. don’t give me attitude.” ben patted the sofa cushion next to him, the one between you both, his hand lingering on the fabric as he watched you, waiting.

“ben,” you lifted your gaze again, “i’m not interested in whatever little game you’re–”

before you could comprehend it, ben’s hand wrapped around your wrist and tugged you over to him in one smooth motion. a loud yelp punched its way out of your throat at the sudden movement. he was quick to manhandle you onto his lap, his hands resting on the plush of your thighs.

your brain eventually caught up, and you huffed, angry and full of disgust. “no, let me off now,” you scoffed.

ben chuckled, the sound low and full of mirth. “no can do, babydoll. got you right where i want ya.”

you sneered and tried to pull yourself away, but ben’s hands were quick, tugging you right back down onto his lap, holding you there with a force that he had lacked before, dipping into his ungodly strength. “don’t. you’re staying here while i watch my show, toots. so get comfortable.”

the sneer on your face worsened—an ugly expression that pulled at your features. it only made ben smirk more.

“no, let me off now!”

ben tutted, shaking his head in amusement. “such a mouthy little thing. y’got no survival instincts, do you, darlin’? talking back to a man like me? i could snap you in half without breakin’ a sweat,” he mused, his calloused hands rubbing up and down your thighs.

you shuddered at his touch and narrowed your eyes at his words. “yeah? so do it then. snap me in half if you’re so fucking eager.”

ben laughed again, this time a deep chortle right from his core. “aww, angel, don’t poke the bear. i’ve hit a lot of mouthy little girls for less.”

“yeah? did you feel good putting your hands on them? do you feel good putting your hands on me, huh? do you feel big and strong?” you continued, letting your mouth fly as usual, an unabashed confidence dripping from your biting tone.

ben watched as you spoke, his face contorting with sheer amusement and intrigue. no girl had ever talked to him like that—so loud and unapologetically direct. it was a nice change of pace, ben figured, but he was not a man to tolerate disrespect, and so he decided it wouldn’t hurt to push you just a little bit further.

“oh, it felt real good, honey… but i bet it’d be even better seeing your face all red and blotchy from a few smacks. bet you’d be one of those blubbering little things, probably beggin’ me to stop cause it hurts or some other fuckin’ bullshit.”

he watched your eyes narrow once more, the cogs in your head spinning as you absorbed his words.

“you’re a sexist pig,” you finally spat out.

“yeah, maybe i am. but you’re not fighting to get off my lap anymore,” he chuckled, squeezing at your thighs.

you groaned angrily, starting back up again, squirming in his lap, trying to pull away.

“let go!”

“no, sweets. you’re stayin’ here until my show’s over. i want some company, and you’re the only one here.”

“i was fine sitting over there!”

“and now you’re fine here. so shut up and relax, or i’ll make you.”

your lip curled. you could tell by the look on ben’s face and the way his hands were massaging your thighs that he was serious. you didn’t dare acknowledge the strange feeling the contact was inducing in your stomach.

“no,” you tried.

“yes.”

“no, let me off.”

“nope, stay fuckin’ still. you can get off when my show’s over, alright? just another thirty minutes. you can handle that, can’t you? you’re a big girl,” ben cooed, though it was anything but sweet, instead a taunt to rile you up further.

you paused at his tone, taking a moment to study his face. his brows raised, his expression daring you to challenge him again, and his plump pink lips were still curved into his stupid smirk.

you swallowed down your bruised pride before sighing. “do you promise? thirty minutes?”

“i do, doll. thirty minutes and you can get up and sit as far away from me as y’like.”

you huffed, taking another moment to decide. you were beyond repulsed, but his grabby hands, which you knew hid scary amounts of superstrength, made you think twice.

“fine. thirty minutes.”

“mhm, just thirty minutes.”

ben’s head tilted at your words, his green eyes flickering between yours in satisfaction.

“get comfortable then, girly.”

you huffed, holding in a deeper groan of frustration, and leaned down, reluctantly pressing against him as you rested your head on his shoulder. your arms came around his head, and you settled in—albeit a little uncomfortably—and started scrolling on your phone once more on the back of the couch.

ben enjoyed the way you gave in and pressed against him, the complete contact of your chest against his lighting a fire in his stomach. “atta girl. get cozy f’me,” he cooed again, letting his arms wrap around you.

his warm hands gently rubbed up and down your back, somewhat mindlessly, as he went back to watching the television.

the time quickly passed, and your body slowly melted into his as your anger from before began to settle. you scrolled through your internet trash, whatever was on your feed, just to give yourself something to do as ben’s hands gently travelled over you.

though eventually, his hands had made their way down and met the back of your thighs, gripping at your flesh softly. you sighed quietly to yourself; you expected this—ben trying to cop a feel—so you ignored it, vowing to just push through until his stupid fucking show finished.

but as the minutes passed, ben’s hands got a little more confident in their exploration. you felt his fingers swipe along your clothed slit. you froze.

“don’t do that,” you huffed quietly, your head still resting on his shoulder.

“hmm, doll?”

“i said don’t touch me like that. don’t,” you warned.

but did ben listen? no, course not.

instead, he let out a deep rumble of a laugh and swiped along you again, this time with more pressure. you felt the pads of his fingers find your clit with ease, gently rubbing it through your shorts—which you were now regretting choosing to wear for the day.

your hips jerked, trying to free yourself from the unpleasant pleasure ben was forcing upon you.

“mmm, don’t. i said stop, b–”

“stay still,” ben muttered, his free hand holding your hip to keep you stationary. his other hand went back to playing with you.

“no, ben. i don’t– i don’t want you touching me.”

“yeah? you’re not fighting very hard to get off.”

you groaned and pulled back on his lap, now able to look him in the eye. you frowned.

“stop.”

your hand grabbed his wrist between your legs, but any attempt to pull it away was futile; his superstrength out-winning your weak hands any day.

“shh, shh, shh,” ben cooed. he let his finger stroke you harder through the fabric.

a moan escaped you, much to your displeasure, and you shifted your hips, frustrated at him and trying to ignore the drooling of your cunt.

“ben, stop,” you whined, trying to sound firm, though the sound was a pathetic noise, taking you by surprise.

“baby, you don’t want me to stop. just shh and take it. be a good girl for once.”

“ben–”

“shh, let me play with you.”

before you could fight it, ben had slipped his slimy hand under the fabric of your shorts and into your underwear. his fingers met your wet heat, and you whimpered—slightly in discomfort, slightly in anticipation.

“shit, so wet, babydoll. you’re a fuckin’ liar. don’t want this, ben. wah, wah, wah. just a little goddamn liar with a fountain between her legs,” ben mocked.

he let his fingers rub slow teasing circles through your folds, kissing your clit with just the right amount of friction to make your pussy weep more for him.

“don’t want it,” you whined again, “don’t– please.”

a huff exited ben’s mouth. “yeah, sure you don’t. that’s why this pretty pussy is gushing for me right now. s’why you’re getting all huffy and stuttering. just sit back and let me make you feel good. it’ll shut you up for once.”

you frowned and let your eyes fall shut. you didn’t want to give him the satisfaction of a response. you stayed splayed on his lap, your thighs spread over his meaty ones as he played in your underwear. his fingers moved quicker, toying with your swollen bud with expertise.

you felt the clench of your stomach, and your hands shot out, grabbing his biceps for stability.

“oh, there we go. you’re close, huh? yeah, that’s it.”

the noises you made were whiny and loud, stuttering breaths that were half in fight and half in pleasure. your hands gripped at his firm muscles as your core squeezed, fighting off the wave of ecstasy from washing over.

“c’mon, now. just let go f’me, doll. i can feel this pretty pussy holdin’ out on me.”

his fingers rubbed harder against your tender nerves, the friction slickening up your pussy in preparation—what a traitor. you squeezed and whined, your hips jerking around in his lap as his fingers moved through your folds.

“cum, baby. c’mon,” ben murmured, watching your face scrunch and twitch, reacting to what he was doing between your thighs.

one final circle over your clit forced open the floodgates and let your orgasm rip through you. you moaned loudly, collapsing against ben’s front as he rubbed you slowly, drawing out your high. your slick covered his fingers more, and his free hand met your back, rubbing up and down your spine soothingly.

“mmm, there we go, honey. did that feel good? you liked soldier boy doing that to you?” he laughed, letting his fingers wander through your tumescent folds.

you whined into his neck as you felt them tease your entrance—his fat fingertips circling around the sensitive opening, sending electricity flying up your spine, dizzying your brain upon arrival.

“answer me.”

his voice was sharp but hiding a gentleness behind it, like he wanted you present with him.

“mmm, yeah…” you mumbled out against the tanned skin of his neck.

“yeah, baby? was good?”

his middle and ring fingers circled your opening one last time before slipping in. your jaw dropped at the pleasant stretch, and then a moan toppled out as he curled them up into the spongey spot that made your hips buck forward.

“oh, that’s it,” he hummed, rhythmically curling his fingers against your gspot. “such a tight little pussy for me. squeezing my fingers like crazy, sweetheart. s’like a little virgin cunt,” ben laughed.

his amusement continued as he fingerfucked you, drawing out your sweet melodic sounds of pleasure. you melted against him entirely, willingly letting him violate your pussy with his slimy fingers that had a history of violence but now were gentle and calm inside your slick walls.

ben revelled in your moans against his neck, the pretty sounds sending all his blood down south to his slowly engorging hunk of meat. you could feel it pressing into your thigh under his sweatpants—the sheer girth of it making your head spin as you thought about taking him inside you.

you whined into his neck again, feeling the combination of thoughts and his fingers driving you closer to finishing a second time.

“shit, listen to you, babydoll. so fuckin’ mouthy before, but all i needed to do was plug your pussy with my fingers and suddenly you’re a broken little slut,” ben chortled.

“don’t be mean,” you muttered out meekly, your breath ragged as your orgasm impended.

“oh, baby. this ain’t me being mean. i could be a whole lot meaner if you’d like me to.”

you shook your head into his neck, letting out a soft hum. ben chuckled, still forcing his thick digits into your hole, his curling motions almost like he was digging for gold inside your gummy walls.

“gonna cum for me again?”

you nodded. “please.”

“oh, there we go. that’s a good sweet girl. so polite, using your manners like that. that's what i like to see.”

ben’s fingers moved faster, making your core tighten again around them, working you up right to the edge again with his quick dexterity. his free hand held the back of your head into his neck, his thumb softly rubbing up and down your nape. 

“c’mon… let go for me.”

you followed his instructions, which was so unlike you, and he felt your cunt drool and flutter around his fingers as another melody of moans escaped your mouth, travelling right up into his ear.

“oh, good girl… goooood girl,” ben hummed and turned to place a gentle kiss on your temple as he fingered you through your second high.

your core continued to clench around his fingers, coating them in your sweet juices as they dribbled out onto his palm. you couldn’t help yourself from groaning into his ear, the sounds ragged and breathless—like you’d given up, like you weren’t fighting him anymore.

as you simmered down from your peak, and your walls stopped tightly hugging his digits, ben slowly retracted his now-pruned fingers from inside you. you hummed into his neck at the empty feeling, and he chuckled, his clean hand pulling you away from his neck so you could look at him.

ben raised his hand covered in you, his fingers and palms both drenched in the juices he’d managed to pull from you with ease. “you don’t get mouthy with me anymore, got it? cause look what i can do to you… the next time you need an attitude readjustment, i won’t be so nice.”

his eyes stayed on you as he brought his fingers to his mouth, sucking off the slick from his skin, tasting you. he groaned loudly, and a smirk grew on his lips. “shit,” he pulled his fingers away, “such a sweet taste for such a nasty piece of work.”

fig yaps: i am so back baby! was too depressed to write but then i thought abt soldier boy fingering me and now here we are LOL i hope u enjoyed !!! i was seriously fighting the urge to include a daddy kink in this but i refrained :( bc some people really don’t like it and i wanna write a mix of content !!!! anyways ily thank u for reading BYE <3

feedback and reblogs are welcomed and appreciated!

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[hopeyoufindalovelikethis]

Where All Roads Led

This piece was inspired by a simple idea—what if the quietest man carries the heaviest past, yet still chooses gentleness over bitterness? I imagined Sylus, not only as a symbol of strength, but as someone who survived everything alone—until love found him. Again. I’m endlessly grateful to every faithful reader who holds these soft moments close. Your presence makes each word worth writing 🤍

Synopsis | One quiet afternoon, she asked Sylus about his past—and he finally told her. From a lonely childhood in N109 Zone to becoming its ruler, his story unfolded in shadows and silence. She cried for what he endured, but he smiled, because every step had led him here—to her arms.

The late afternoon sun poured into the apartment in quiet amber sheets, casting long golden shadows across the floor. You sat on Sylus’s lap, nestled sideways against his chest with your cheek resting just beneath his collarbone. His arms were wrapped around your waist with practiced tenderness, one hand resting against the curve of your hip while the other slowly combed through your hair. The silence between you was soft and lovely.

You hadn’t planned to ask anything difficult that day. But as he absentmindedly began braiding a loose strand of your hair, your curiosity returned—gentle, but persistent. You tilted your head slightly and looked up at him, asking once again about the past he rarely spoke of. At first, he didn’t answer. He kept braiding in silence for a moment longer, fingers slow and sure, before gently tying off the end with a twist of your own hair. Then, with a small breath and a softness in his velvet voice that you had come to recognize as rare, he began to speak.

He said he didn’t remember where he was born. That his first memory was of the iron gate of an orphanage in the N109 Zone, looming too high for his small hands to reach. The adults were unkind, not because they were cruel by nature, but because the world there hardened people before they learned how to love. The other children were louder than him, more forceful, more desperate to be seen, while he remained quiet, withdrawn, clinging instead to the books discarded in the corners and the mechanical scraps he found behind the generator sheds.

He always loved to tinker. There was something about broken things—rusted hinges, stripped wires, shattered screens—that called to him more than people ever had. Machines didn’t lie. They either worked or they didn’t, and he found comfort in that kind of certainty. Human language, in contrast, felt like a maze he never quite understood. So he learned to survive in silence, building small things in the shadows. A motor that whirred when the others slept. A camera lens fashioned from old projector glass. Once, a small mechanical bug that crawled across the floor until one of the older boys crushed it underfoot.

His only companion was a crow. A real one, wild and wary at first, until it began visiting the window every day at dawn. Sylus named it Mephisto, after a figure in a myth he had read once—a being of knowledge and solitude. Mephisto brought him twigs, pieces of wire, bottle caps. Sometimes they shared food. Often, they simply sat together, quiet and alert. But one winter, the crow did not return. Sylus waited for days, then weeks, until he accepted it. Mephisto was gone. So he built a new version. A mechanical crow with synthetic feathers and eyes that glowed red in the dark. He gave it the same name, and from that day on, he never walked alone again.

As his voice deepened, he told you about the day he ran from the orphanage. There was no dramatic escape. No fire. No violence. Just a decision—a quiet one. He was done being spoken to as though he were less. He packed what little he had, and with Mephisto perched on his shoulder, he slipped out of the back gate under the dead light of early morning. He lived alone after that, surviving on scraps, building small devices in exchange for food or shelter from anyone willing to trade. Most weren’t. But he grew stronger.

And then his Evol began to manifest. It didn’t explode like some did. It hummed. Low at first. Then louder. It lived in his veins, in his bones. A force he could not name but slowly began to understand. He trained. Not with help, but through instinct. Through failure. Through pain. He pushed his body to the edge, broke it, rebuilt it, taught himself discipline so ruthless that even the mercenaries in N109 Zone came to fear the name he eventually carved for himself. He never sought power. He just refused to lose. Again and again, until no one could deny that he ruled the N109 Zone. Not by decree. But by presence.

Then his hand paused where it lay against your back.

You didn’t realize you had started crying until the warmth of your tears slid along your cheek and touched his skin. You turned slowly to face him, and Sylus, still holding you in the same careful way, looked at you with the smallest smile—calm, quiet, with a softness so deep it almost hurt. There was no bitterness in his voice when he spoke again. No hatred for the years that shaped him. Just a steady gratitude.

“Every moment,” he said quietly, “led me here. To you.”

And that was when your hands moved—one lifting to his neck, the other wrapping around his back as you buried your face in the crook of his shoulder. You hugged him as if your arms could take away every lonely day he had lived before this one, every night he fell asleep with no voice to whisper that he mattered.

Your voice cracked as you whispered into his skin, “You’re not alone anymore. I’m here. Always.”

Sylus didn’t say anything right away. He didn’t need to. His arms tightened around you just slightly, his nose brushing the top of your head, and in that held breath between words, you felt something wordless pass between you.

It wasn’t just a promise. It was a vow made in silence.

And in that moment, held in his arms as the golden sky outside deepened into dusk, you felt something shift again—not between you, but around you. As if the world had finally accepted that his past, no matter how brutal, had led him not into darkness—but into your arms.

[bloomzone]

💭. ˎˊ˗Jα𐓣𝗀 wo𐓣𝗒oυ𐓣𝗀 o𐓣𝖼𝖾 𝗌α𝗂ᑯ

Okay, sometimes wonyoung says things that just hit. It’s stuff that actually gives you a little push when you need it . I’m not here to just repost her quotes (wish I worked hard to extract them and translate them ) I’m here to talk about them, break them down, and explain why they matter. Like how they can help you with your mindset and life in general.

if y'all like it i will make more of them !

enjoy part 1 !

"Which is worse: the struggle of preparing, or the disappointment of a bad result?For me, I think I’d hate the disappointing grade more.So even though it’s tough, try to use this time wisely study efficiently, and work hard so you can feel proud.Once the exam is over, you’ll have time to rest and enjoy yourself. Even just a little bit.That’s why I think the most important thing is to give it your best, so you have no regrets."

- jang wonyoung vlive

﹙ ✿ ﹚

🗒️: the question of “Which is worse the struggle of preparing, or the disappointment of a bad result?” is a reality cuz the truth is, both are uncomfortable. But one of them builds you up, and the other just breaks you down.The struggle of preparing it’s tiring ofc no doubt. You have to push yourself when you’re sleepy, bored, or overwhelmed. It’s showing up for yourself again and again, even when motivation isn’t there. But there’s pride in it. A kind of strength that grows with every small effort and when it’s done, even if the result isn’t perfect, you still walk away with no regrets. You know deep down: I tried. I fought for this.But when the result is bad and you know you didn’t try... that’s a different kind of weight. It sits in your chest. It makes you wish you could go back, change things, redo the moments you chose to scroll or sleep instead.So when you think about it, studying hard isn’t just about getting a good grade. It’s about giving yourself the chance to feel proud, not guilty. Even if you don’t feel “ready” or perfect effort is always better than avoidance

♡ ﾟ a little tip from me : like always keep some backup energy. Whether it’s ur fav food , a calming playlist, or a memory that reminds you why you’re doing this your why your dreams and ofc your future self have something in your pocket for those tired moments. It helps more than you think.

"I think the most important thing is to cherish yourself and make yourself the top priority.Of course, I have to love myself first for others to love me.So I hope you all can think of yourselves as the most beautiful, the coolest, and the most precious.I hope you see yourself that way first.I already love you all, don’t I?So there must be so many people who love you, including me.Got it?"

- jang wonyoung vlive

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“Cherish yourself and make yourself the top priority.” it’s hard for some people ikr especially when you’re used to pleasing others, hiding your feelings, or not even knowing what you want.

Loving yourself isn’t just looking in the mirror and saying “I’m pretty.” It’s more like choosing not to talk badly about yourself when you feel down. It’s not easy, because your brain is used to doubting you. That’s why this mindset takes practice.

So how do you even start doing that? Start by treating yourself the way you’d treat someone you really love. Would you tell your friend they’re not good enough? No. So stop doing that to yourself. If you mess up, forgive yourself. If you’re tired, let yourself rest without feeling guilty you are ur own home treat it and tidy up yourself and take care of urself .It’s small stuff, but it builds up. You say no when something doesn’t feel right. You take time to listen to your feelings instead of pushing them away. You stop chasing people who don’t see your worth AND THIS IS VEEEEEEEEEEEEEEERY IMPORTANT and it’s all about being honest and gentle with yourself.And just like Wonyoung said even if you don’t see it yet, there are people who already love you. So try to see yourself through kinder eyes.

♡ ﾟ a little tip from me : life moves on. The people who try to bring you down now u won't see them forever. Start slipping away from them, little by little. Even if it feels like you have something good to hold onto some old memories, shared laughs, or habits that make you feel stuck you can let go. You can change your way of thinking. You don’t need to give your energy to people who drain it and stop giving a damn about their opinions. Block them from ur phone ur mind and ur heart You don’t need to make a big show out of it. Just slowly get busy with yourself. Your goals. Your peace. Your healing and look around for good energy ... They’re not worth the tears or overthinking.You’re allowed to choose yourself. To say, I want better and this is ENOUGH .The more you build your world, the more you’ll realize they were just noise .

"Even if someone says something hurtful, if it doesn’t feel true to me, I don’t take it personally.Honestly, things would be a lot simpler if everyone thought that way.If it’s not true, then it has nothing to do with me.But if it is true something I actually need to work on then I just focus on improving it.It’s all about knowing what to let go of and what to take in.Being able to tell the difference is a skill in itself."

- jang wonyoung for salon drip

﹙ ✿ ﹚

This wonyoung helpful way of thinking can really help us protect our peace. When someone says something hurtful, we don’t have to take it to heart if it doesn’t feel true to us. It’s like, if it’s not part of our reality or doesn’t resonate with who we are, we can just let it slide. This takes a lot of emotional strength and self-awareness n it’s about trusting ourselves enough to know that other people's words don't define our worth. But If it’s something we do need to work on, though, then we take it as an opportunity to grow and improve, rather than let it bring us down.

The real key here is knowing what to absorb and what to release. It’s a skill like developing emotional intelligence, and it can make a huge difference in how we handle life’s ups and downs by experience ! . Learning to distinguish between helpful feedback and unnecessary negativity allows us to stay focused on what matters our own growth and well-being so it’s about being strong enough to choose what gets under our skin and what doesn’t.

♡ ﾟ a little tip from me : Always take time to reflect in a journal and organize the things u want to work on. It's normal to be critical of areas where we're not perfect, and sometimes others may notice things we don’t. Use that as a chance to grow and improve, without letting it affect your confidence. Journaling helps u process these moments and stay focused on your personal development.

"I hope you live with the joy that comes from chasing and achieving your own goals. Rather than worrying about how others see you or trying to meet their expectations, focus on what you truly want to do and accomplish. I hope you can move forward in life not for others, but with the excitement of reaching your own dreams."

- jang wonyoung for youngji show

﹙ ✿ ﹚

The first key takeaway is focus on what YOU want, not on what others think or expect. This means getting real with yourself about what truly excites you, not what’s expected of you by others family, friends, or society. When you spend all your time trying to meet external expectations, you lose sight of your own desires and dreams. This shift requires clarity, so the first step is to figure out what goals genuinely make you feel alive and excited. It’s not about impressing anyone it’s about getting yourself to the finish line of your own goals.

But It’s easy to say, "I’m going to stop worrying about what others think," but in practice, it’s hard. There will always be moments when you’re tempted to compare yourself or feel like you’re falling behind. But YOUR life is YOURS. No one else is living your journey. The most important thing is not to beat yourself up when you feel unsure or when you hear those voices telling you you’re not enough. It’s normal. When you feel like you’re not meeting others’ expectations, take a deep breath and remind yourself: Your goals, your pace, your happiness are what matter most . It’s okay to disappoint others if it means you're staying true to your path. Move forward not for anyone else but for YOU. The excitement and joy that comes from chasing YOUR dreams will be more fulfilling than anything else.

♡ ﾟ a little tip from me :when the noise gets loud and you start doubting yourself, take a moment to unplug grab your journal, go on a walk, do something u love or also u can watch something that bring u back to ur passion... Ask yourself “Is this what I truly want?” Coming back to your own voice helps you stay grounded and protects your energy. The more you listen to yourself the less space doubt and outside pressure take up.

@bloomzone ✧⌨️👛*⁠。

[initforthethrill]

these gave me ideas and made me feel..............things i cannot elaborate on out loud out of fear i will be thrown into horny jail and they'll lock away the key.

bright eyed college freshman!cate

who didn’t come to college for the academics. or the social life. or the promise of self-discovery (though she might find her way there, anyway). no, cate came with a singular, unapologetic goal: to lose her virginity in the most obscene, unforgettable, utterly life-altering way possible. she wants to wake up bruised and glowing, hair a mess, thighs trembling, and sanity hanging on by a thread.

she's not looking for romance or slow-burn poetry; she wants it fast, hot, filthy, and preferably with someone who wouldn’t remember her name by morning.

and according to her very thorough research (read: tiktok deep dives and college gossip sites), there’s only one girl on campus who can deliver that kind of full-body-life-changing devastation—you.

upperclassman. frat girl. legendary fuckboy with a body count high enough to warrant a spreadsheet and a reputation for collecting virginities like merit badges. cate zeroes in on you like a heat-seeking missile at her first frat party—heels high, lipstick perfectly bitten, and a whisper-soft confession that she’s never done this before. that’s all it takes. one look from you—sharp, slow, amused—and cate knows: come morning, she’ll be ruined exactly the way she wanted. and probably begging for more.

cate “i came to college to get wrecked” dunlap—who treats her virginity like a ticking time bomb and has decided that you are ground zero. she’s not shy, she’s not nervous, and she absolutely did not pack cute pajamas because she’s not planning on sleeping.

freshman!cate who picked her outfit with military precision. skirt just short enough to flash thigh, lip gloss so sticky it practically invites a kiss, perfume dabbed right behind her knees. she doesn't believe in subtlety. she believes in being irresistible.

freshman!cate who practiced how to moan. not just in general—for you specifically. she watched porn and even made a playlist titled “Destruction Playlist: For Getting Absolutely Split in Two.”

freshman!cate who walks straight up to you at the party, offers you a red cup and a honey-sweet “Hi, I heard you’re good with virgins,” like you're ordering off a menu.

freshman!cate who tries to act shocked when you offer to take her upstairs, but in her head she’s already crossing “get railed senseless” off her orientation week to-do list. (right above “buy notebooks.”)

freshman!cate who has this mask of confidence—until you actually get her alone. and touch her. and look at her like she’s prey. then all that bravado crumbles, and she realizes: oh no. she’s about to be so much more than ruined. she’s about to be rearranged.

freshman!cate who practiced moaning into her pillow every night for a week before move-in. she made sure the house was empty and then moaned into her pillow to test out different volumes and intonations. one sounded too porny, another too breathy, and one just made her laugh. finally she settled on a desperate little gasp she thought would sound best echoing off your dorm walls.

freshman!cate who absolutely curated an entire sex face bootcamp. she spent an obscene amount of time in front of the mirror trying out her “O” face. soft lip part, chin tilt, lashes fluttered just so—tragically beautiful but a little ruined, like she’s feeling god and the devil at the same time. her notes app contains a ranking system for different angles under “sex face uudit.”

freshman!cate who practiced arching her back. first over a yoga ball. then over a pillow. then over absolutely nothing, just to build core strength.

freshman!cate who crafted an entire 'virginity destruction' mood board on pinterest titled "RIP to my Virginity 2K25🪦💋🔥." it's absolutely deranged. black lace, bitten lips, messy sheets, and screenshots of you taken from your socials and various tagged frat party posts. her phone background is a grainy photo of you shotgunning a beer with the caption “my future.”

freshman!cate with her fully packed suitcase that includes: three different lace sets (“options”), a mini bottle of lube (“just in case you don't have any but you definitely will”), a single condom she bought at a gas station for the aesthetic (“for the gesture, not function”), and two tylenol pm's—because she knows she won’t be able to walk straight come morning and plans to sleep through the soreness.

freshman!cate who hyped up her impending deflowering in the groupchat saying she was going to get "ceremonially destroyed" within twenty-four hours of stepping onto campus. emma told her to bring a rosary. marie offered to bake cookies for the aftercare. cate sent a selfie captioned: “pray for me bitches I’m going in” right before entering the frat house.

freshman!cate who starts off so smug. she struts into your room like she’s auditioning for a music video, hips swaying, batting her lashes, all fake confidence and breathy moans way too early. she's like, “go easy, it’s my first time,” and you just give her a slow, wolfish grin—“I’ll go slow… at first.” cut to cate making absolutely feral sounds fifteen minutes later.

freshman!cate who immediately regrets this (in the best way) because the moment you actually get your hands on her—mouth on her throat, hand between her thighs, voice all low and filthy in her ear—cate’s brain short circuits. she's clinging to your arm like it’s a lifeline, stammering, “oh my god—oh my god, wait, hang on—okay no don’t stop—fuck.”

freshman!cate who just will not stop talking. quite literally cannot shut up. she’s a stream-of-consciousness symphony of “ohmygod,” “yesyesyes,” “i’m gonna die,” and the occasional “did you just grow another inch?” every time you say something smug and borderline praise her like “You’re doing so good, sweetheart,” cate practically ascends.

freshman!cate who is crying. like literal tears. not sad tears. no, no. these are iI didn’t know it could feel like this" tears. "i thought i was being dramatic but oh my god i’m actually going to heaven" tears. she sobs a little. it’s kinda beautiful. you're honored. cate is mortified the second she realizes.

freshman!cate who convinced herself she wasn't going to be a pillow princess. tried to dom initially—thought she was gonna ride you. she really did. she got on top and lasted exactly two bounces before her thighs gave out and she collapsed onto your chest, whispering, “okay i’m done, you take over, i wanna die pretty.”

freshman!cate who absolutely begs. not like fake porn star begging—real begging. desperate, slurred, babbling nonsense about how good it feels and how she can’t take any more but also please don’t stop. one hand fisted in the sheets, the other clinging to you like she’ll float away otherwise.

freshman!cate who collapses at the end. when it’s over—if it ever ends—cate is just gone. boneless. ruined. her legs are jelly, her mascara’s smudged, she’s got your hickey map blooming across her neck and chest and collarbones, and she’s whispering, “i think you broke my soul. like in a good way. like, five stars. highly recommend. ow.”

freshman!cate who despite all her practice, comes completely undone. the sounds she makes? inhumane. cate genuinely thought she was gonna be all breathy and sensual, maybe a few soft whimpers here and there. instead, she’s making noises that sound like she’s being possessed. like something feral climbed out of her and took the wheel. there’s one moment where she wails and immediately slaps a hand over her mouth in horror, eyes wide, gasping, “was that me??”

freshman!cate who grabs anything within reach. the sheets. your shirt—before it was off. at one point, her own ankle. she’s just clutching for something, anything, like gravity has failed her. at one point, she literally pulls her own hair and gasps, “oh my god it’s too much—but also don’t stop—I mean—stop for like one second—okay no never mind—actually please fuck me harder.”

freshman!cate who ascends to another plane when you do that one thing™. maybe a hand around her throat, maybe a dirty whisper about how tight she is, maybe a sudden shift in angle and cate literally levitates. her eyes roll back. her soul exits her body. she yelps and then laughs in pure shock like, “i didn’t know that was possible.”

freshman!cate who is no longer a virgin. freshly deflowered. practically glowing. wearing your hoodie like a goddamn trophy. cate emerges from the frat house barefoot, legs wobbling, proudly wearing your oversized hoodie and nothing underneath except last night’s lace. it swallows her whole and still somehow makes her look sluttier. she definitely gives one of the frat bros a cheeky little wave and a “good morning!” like she didn’t just get rearranged like IKEA furniture a few hours ago.

freshman!cate who immediately explodes the group chat sending a number of increasingly blurry images and one clear one of her legs tangled up in your sheets with the caption: “dead. buried. spiritually reborn.” emma replies, “wait you’re still there??” and marie venmos her for coffee titled “post-nut recovery fund.”

freshman!cate who takes a walk of fame. it's not a walk of shame, because cate looks smug. radiant. there’s a glow to her that only comes from being ferally, reverently, mind-numbingly railed. every upperclassman girl who sees her leaving your room pauses. notices. because that hoodie? that’s basically a varsity jacket around here. and cate? she just joined the most exclusive club on campus.

freshman!cate who can hardly even sit right during her first class of the semester. who leans against the brick wall of the nearest building just to breathe. her thighs are screaming. her cunt is ruined.

freshman!cate who sneaks out that morning but not before she kisses your temple. like a fool. like a girl who didn’t explicitly say this was a one-night thing. you shift in your sleep and murmur something that sounds a lot like “mm...’gain later.” cate bolts. heart racing. because oh god. oh no. she might want a repeat. and worse? she might actually like you.

freshman!cate who spends the afternoon in the student center, icepack between her legs, journaling about “the transcendental experience of getting absolutely dismantled by a frat fuckboy,” and considers making it her senior thesis. she also googles “can you fall in love from one night of sex” while sipping an iced oat milk latte with trembling hands.

freshman!cate in class, trying failing to focus on Intro to Psych because the devil on her shoulder will whisper “remember when she said you were made for her cock?” and suddenly the lead in her pencil is snapping in half and she’s chewing on her thumb and not absorbing a single word on the syllabus.

freshman!cate who's thighs still ache, even three days later. her neck is decorated with artfully-placed bruises. her hips are sore in the best-worst way. she’ll be walking across campus, suddenly pause, and just go: “oh my god. i really got fucked like that. in real life. by the hottest person alive.”

freshman!cate who is overanalyzing everything. you followed her back on instagram. even liked her most recent post. you used an emoji in a text. you said “see you around” with a wink. cate starts journaling like it’s wartime—“day 4. i think she smiled at me in the quad. or at someone behind me. but maybe me. am I delusional? i would let her ruin me again just to find out.”

freshman!cate who still hasn't washed that hoodie she wore home. it lives on the back of her desk chair, and she sniffs it when she's stressed (which is all the time since that night). still smells like you.

freshman!cate who avoids the frat house like the plague…until she doesn’t. at first, she refuses to step foot near it—too dangerous, too many flashbacks. but then a party invite circulates and guess who definitely shows up wearing your favorite color, perfectly styled like she just “accidentally looked this good”? cate dunlap, baby. looking for a round two. or seven.

freshman!cate who realizes she might be in trouble. the worst part? the way she keeps thinking about you. not just the sex—though, holy god, the sex—but the way you looked at her. the way you murmured, “you’re so good for me, baby,” like you meant it. cate catches herself daydreaming about bringing you coffee. about holding your hand. oh no. she’s not just wrecked. she’s hooked.

and you? you had rules. not written-down rules, because you don't do planners or structure or anything that feels too close to commitment—but guidelines, sure. a code. a lifestyle.

no repeats. no cuddling. no fucking virgins who looked like they wrote poetry and believed in soulmates.

and yet, four nights after that night—the night, the night you will not talk about, think about, dream about but totally have—you find yourself sitting in the quad with a cigarette you aren't smoking, replaying every second of pretty girl cate dunlap coming apart beneath you like it was a film you directed.

you didn’t mean to. it was supposed to be easy. cate walked up to you at that party with those soft, glistening lips and said, “hi, i’m a virgin,” like it was a threat or a promise. you grinned. took the bait. took her home.

and then cate…oh, cate. she’d gone from cocky to clutching, from biting her lip to sobbing into your neck, whispering, “you’re so good—I didn’t know it could feel like this—oh my god—”

you remember the way she said your name like it meant something. you remember the tremble in her thighs. the way her fingers laced into your hair like you were tethered together by something deeper than want. the way she cried when she came and laughed after, shaky and bright-eyed like someone who’d just survived a storm.

and you—idiot, rule-breaking, emotionally bankrupt fuckboy—haven't stopped thinking about her since. not just the sex. (though, holy fuck, the sex.) but the after. the warmth. the way cate curled into your side like she’d always belonged there.

and yeah, maybe you broke a rule. maybe you let cate stay the night. maybe you kissed her gently after. maybe you whispered, “see you around,” even though you never say that. and maybe you watched cate walk away wearing your hoodie and thought, fuck me. i think i want her to come back.

bots incoming? can't decide if i want to do this version of cate who is determined to get her brains fucked out and beelines for the best person to fulfill that goal or the cate who has resolved within herself that it's part of the college experience to lose her v-card but god she's flustered and really has no idea what she's doing and instead of it coming across as embarrassing like she expected it's really just incredibly endearing...and that's ridiculously disarming because great, now you're going to fall in love too, aren't you? sigh. this inevitably means i'll just do both, doesn't it...? on a side note: goddamn do i need this woman in ways offensive to feminism…like are you fucking kidding me? she just walks around looking like that? the eyelash fluttering…the lip bite…the way she looks up? i’m twitching. i’m feral. i probably need to be locked up to protect myself and others. this is insane. typical thursday as a maddie phillips stan i guess…does she need a loyal butch lapdog? cuz...i’m free.

[hsrwife]

here's my one piece self insert with some minor changes from before! info is pretty much the same - which ik i havent shared here before but ive had them since FOREVER so!!! all the details can be found under the cut!

BASICS

Name: Julian Jay Species: Skypedian (hides it pre-timeskip) -- Epithet: "Smiling Stowaway" -- Bounty: 56,000,000 (first), 700,000,000 (current) Age: 18 (pre-timeskip), 20 (post timeskip) Pronouns: it/any Gender: Unlabeled Orientation: Queer (technically abro but doesn't care to label it) Height: 5ft 6in

PERSONALITY

PRE-TIMESKIP Julian is a snarky and sarcastic individual. Though not outwardly hostile, it's not considered the nicest person either. It jokes about everything, it doesn't take anything seriously, and sometimes it's attitude can get on the nerves of other people. Deep down it really care about those it loves, though, it just has trouble showing it. But with it's enemies? It's vindictive, hateful and angry - ready to fight whenever the opportunity arises.

POST TIMESKIP Julian had time to grow from it's previous self. The two years away from it's only friends had shown it just how much of a huge jerk it was being, and slowly but surely, it began to see the kindness around them in the world too. Such a perspective change practically changed it as a whole. Now optimistic and cheerful, it is much more open about it's care for others and have an open heart for other's situations as well.

COMBAT

weapon of choice: fists strengths: hard hitter & very good defense w/ devil fruit weaknesses: slow and can't dodge very well. devil fruit - rock rock fruit (iwa iwa no mi) the rock rock fruit allows the user to harderntheir skin, creating rock-like layers that act as both an extra layer of damage and a protective shield. -- pros: the rock-like layers are hard to penetrate with blades or bullets, making the user a very good tank. -- cons: the rock-like layers add weight, making the user incredibly slow to move. it also makes them susceptible to heat exhaustion if they don't crack the shell off for too long. the layers when removed can leave the skin tender and red, and is often painful to the touch.

BACKSTORY

Julian grew up on the streets on an island where a clear hierarchy was established between the authorities, the rich, and the poor. It doesn't remember how it got there or why it was there, all it remembered was the cold winter nights alone, bundled in whatever it could find. That was until a homeless man who it affectionately called 'Pa' took it under his wing.

Pa taught it everything it had to know about surviving in a cold, cruel space. He basically raised it from a child to a teen - that was until the authorities tracked him down and arrested him. They claimed he stole an ancient artifact from them. A prize locket that was fabled to be a clue to the One Piece. Julian was furious, knowing that it's adoptive father was innocent. So it began their search.

Eventually, after many break-ins and robberies, it finally found the culprit. A fellow marine who'd been there at the arresting of Pa. Presenting the evidence to the authorities, they wished to take it back - but it only would give it back if Pa was released.

That's when the marines revealed that Pa had died in prison. Sick, frail, hungry. They laughed in their face about how it probably was better for him than being on the streets as a poor man. Infuriated beyond belief, Julian smashed the locket into the ground and stomped on it, shattering it completely. Now not only a pathetic peasant, but a criminal in the eyes of the law, it ran away and hid in an idle ship - it hid until it set sail, and since then, it jumped from ship to ship, hiding in their stock and stealing their supplies for itself until eventually meeting their forever home: the Going Merry.

TRIVIA

it joins the strawhats after robin and before franky

it perceives objects with names, personalities, etc, but still recognizes that they're objects with no sentience -- they perceive zoro's swords with different personalities and likes one of them, is neutral with one, and hates another

pre timeskip julian is a smoker and often steals sanji's cigarettes

it ate the rock rock fruit on a ship it was hiding on, not realizing it was a devil fruit. it's fate was sealed that day /j

paired romantically with luffy, zoro, nami, usopp, sanji, robin, franky, jinbe, yamato (yes, all at the same time) paired familially with chopper (little brother), pa (father)

[griffinborn]

@the0fi what you said is all true and I completely agree with everything you said except just one thing. And don’t think of this as in any way as me defending that man, he is the worst kind of toxic parent and he’s not even a full on parent.

But the thing is in some ways he did undergo psychological conditioning, the most prevalent kind, societal psychological conditioning.

Let’s take a few facts into account because I know mcu won’t.

Alexei is a super soldier -

A regular man injected with a serum that strengthens everything about him, his strength his speed and most importantly his beliefs. He was a soldier selected by Soviet Union Military to become their weapon and going by general views of the Soviet Union army (and lens from which Americans and the Marvel studio view them and want to depict them as) they would not have chosen someone good with a sense of justice to be their weapon they would have chosen someone who staunchly believed in their ideology which is (again very narrow viewpoint depicted through the Marvel lens) the individual matters only to empower the nation, that is what is good and that is what is right. (Let me reiterate not what the actual ideology is but probably what a military would look for in an obedient soldier)

So from his point of view Natasha and Yelena both Russian daughters were doing the right thing by being able to serve their state, and by letting them be trained at an elite facility that would make them the best of the best he was doing them a favour.

Let’s look at a similar but much lower stakes example Indian parents (*cough Asian cough*) sending children to rigorous after school tutoring, increasingly at an earlier and earlier age nowadays. These children go straight from school to tutoring with no breaks continue in tutoring until late into night and then come home and study more (do the homework prescribed by the school and tutoring). This is mentally draining and damaging for the kids who don’t even get proper nutrition throughout the day. And this was happening in educated households, to parents who believed they were doing their best for their children. Of course this was ultimately condemned and looked down upon but I have no idea how widespread this practice still is (because me and my brother are both out of the schooling atmosphere and I do not have contacts with viable information anymore).

So when Alexei has an overachiever daughter like Natasha who was practically a baby raised and trained in the red room. And who was by all accounts an excellent spy with every possible accolade. In his mind there was no doubt in his mind that his other daughter would be anything less and he saw no issue in them going to the place that would train them to bring themselves glory and be adored by the state, thus making them successful and happy in adulthood.

They might not like it but it is good for them, like his dad ‘going toilet on his hand. Urine is 35° C. It staves off frostbite.’

Shitty!Alexei voice: ‘You know. Fathers.’

He is very very wrong but not knowingly malicious.

⚠️ MAJOR THUNDERBOLTS SPOILERS AHEAD ⚠️

I’ve taken a moment to collect my thoughts, so this one’s a bit more organised than just me screaming about how much this movie destroyed me. I’ve got a few of these little rants sitting in my drafts, honestly not sure if I’ll post the rest but here’s this one because...Alexei Shostakov is not a good man and I hate that (some) people seem to think that he is.

Spoilers below the cut!

Alexei is not some bumbling, well-meaning father who just made a few mistakes. He’s not misunderstood. He’s not the comedic relief with a heart of gold buried under the bluster. No. He’s a coward. A narcissist. And worst of all, he’s a willing participant in the very system that destroyed Yelena and Natasha from the inside out.

Let’s be clear: That motherfucker gave them to the Red Room. He knew exactly what that place was. He chose to hand over two little girls, two children who trusted him, to a man he knew would brutalise them, rip away their identities, their agency, their futures. And he did it because it suited his goals. His comeback. His glory. That’s what mattered to Alexei. Not the children in his care. Not their safety. Just the chance to wear a red suit again.

And when he sees them again after all those years? He doesn’t apologise. Not immediately anyways. One of the first things out of his mouth isn’t regret, it’s a rant: “I could have been more famous than Captain America. Then he buries me in Ohio. Three years! Boring me to tears. Then prison for the rest of my life.”

As if he was the victim. As if he was the one who suffered most.

No accountability. No acknowledgement that he ruined their lives. No acknowledgement of the scars they carry, the memories they can’t speak aloud. That he was the one who tossed them straight back into Dreykov’s hands. Just ego. Just bitterness.

And when he does talk about the girls? It’s not with love. It’s not with pride in who they are. It’s pride in what they became. “Yelena, the greatest child assassin in the world.” “Natasha, not just a spy...but an Avenger.” He doesn’t see daughters. He sees achievements. Killing machines forged by the very system he sent them into. He doesn’t see the brutality, let alone take responsibility for it. Because in Alexei’s mind, it worked. That’s all that matters.

And then… suddenly he flips? At the end of Black Widow, he starts trying. He says sorry. He wants to be forgiven. And the thing is, he even seems genuine. But it’s not earned. Not even close. Because barely an hour earlier he was whining about being stuck in Ohio.

Then we get to Thunderbolts, and somehow, he’s meant to be this goofy dad again. Rolling up in a limo, talking like he’s here to save the day, when in reality he hadn't spoken to Yelena in over a year before she shows up desperate, barely holding it together, practically begging him for some sense of permission to stop. And he uses it as an opportunity to talk about himself again, about how he’d love to work for Valentina. Still, it’s about what he could be. Not what she needs.

Yes, in Thunderbolts, he tries. He gives a speech. Seems to care, is genuinely trying to be supportive. And okay, fine, he’s not completely useless. He does make an effort.

But even during that big speech when Yelena breaks down, he says he doesn’t see Yelena’s mistakes. And on the surface, that’s kind. But dig deeper? It’s just more of the same. Because to him, her “mistakes” weren’t mistakes at all. She did what she was trained to do. She killed. She was efficient. That’s what matters to Alexei.

The films want us to forget what he did. They want us to laugh with him. To see the warmth. The effort. But they’re asking us to ignore the damage. The betrayal. The fact that he let his daughters burn, and only now wants to hold the ashes like they still belong to him.

And here’s the part that really fucking kills me: Yelena accepts it.

She’s not angry that he gave her to Dreykov. Not angry about the years of torment. No. She’s angry because he didn’t call. Because after pretending to care in Black Widow, he just disappeared again.

And that's even more devastating for her. Because she’s been hurt so many times, by so many people, that even Alexei’s bare minimum, his delayed, fumbled attempt at showing up, is enough for her. She’s been taught to expect nothing, and she’s learned to be grateful for scraps. She’ll take whatever little piece of warmth he offers, and call it love, because she doesn’t know what love without condition looks like.

He was never a father. Not in the way that matters. He was another person who broke her, who gave her away and never looked back. And now, he wants forgiveness. He wants to be seen as someone worthy of redemption.

But forgiveness without accountability is meaningless.

And Alexei? He still doesn’t understand what he did. Not really.

[cowboycarters]

the only thing i think of when i see things like 'what would you tell your younger self' is specifically i wish i could tell 19 year old me that so many people will love the kindness you have and always will have - that is the real definition of resilience, and not abrasiveness out of violence you unfortunately had to go through. people love and want that gentleness all the time. not a character you portray out of being hurt...which makes you more isolated and misread and hurt when it's impossible to connect with anyone. you made a lot of things in your life for the wrong reasons and not being true to yourself

[kurokoros]

i wanna talk about my big bnha reimagining so bad asdfghjkl

[wainawtmai]

thinking of satoru dating mean!reader who absolutely despises any sort of pda. All of his students wonder how he’d even managed to woo you when you dodged his kisses, cringed at his excessive compliments, and shooed him away every time he tried to hug you like the touch-obsessed bug he was. It was a wonder that you guys were even together.

…well, it was kind of hard to brush him off when he was balls deep inside you.

“fuuuck, you’re taking me so well, baby.” satoru moans, that stupidly pretty grin on his lips as he watches your pussy absolutely gobble up the length of his cock. You tremble from the feeling, struggling to bite back your moans as his thick dick thrusts up into you. You hate the way the sound of his voice makes your body buzz with heat, a mix of embarrassment and lust that you both hate and love.

“so wet and ready for me all the time, aren’t you?” you know part of him does it to get a rise out of you, the sadistic little shit liked watching you squirm and sputter, all flustered at the sound of his voice.

and as per usual, you told yourself you wouldn’t give him the satisfaction, “S-Shut up.” you mean for it to come off as a warning but it sounds more like a pitiful whine. You can’t help it with the way he thrusts up into you, mouthing sloppy kisses into your skin in between his sinful words.

“you know you love me,” he sings into your ear, “You loveee the way my cock fills you up, don’t deny it, baby.” as if to further emphasize his point he brings his hands to the meat of your ass, prying you further open and drilling into you, fucking into that spot that drove you insane. You couldn’t even try to hide your disgusting moans and whimpers, nails digging into the skin of his arms as you tried and failed to fight the pleasure.

“what did I say,” he sing-songs, bringing a hand to your clit and rubbing at it with quick circles, “I’ve turned you into such a pretty mess.” of course he still has that Cheshire-sized grin on his face, his crystal eyes mesmerized by the sight of your grinding hips and the slickness you leave along his cock with each thrust he makes into your trembling pussy. Listening to the desperate little sounds you swore you didn’t make when he pressed a finger to your clit. Rendered absolutely useless. He loved seeing you like this.

“so pretty.” satoru moans, his voice slightly slurring with pleasure, “so—fuck—g-gorgeous all fucked out for me.”

you mustered up what was left of your strength to slap a hand over his lips, silencing him as you shuddered from your orgasm. “shut up, s-satoru.”

But you could see that look in his eyes: framed by those annoyingly pretty white lashes, blue and mischievous—or at least more so than usual. He brought his own hand to your weakening one, pulling your fingers into his mouth and sucking on them with a loud whorish moan, all the while still pounding into you.

“Mnghfuck you, satoru.” You garble, whimpering with overstimulation despite still grinding down against his cock in time with his thrusts, you hated how much he knew you loved being overstimulated, the freaky little fuck.

He only hummed in response, too occupied with your fingers to respond, practically deep-throating the index and middle. You could feel his chest rumble with amused laughter as he watched you fall apart once again, your skin tingling with the shock of your second orgasm. He followed you soon after, aquamarine eyes lidding as he practically gagged on your fingers, emptying himself into you with a long, drawn out moan.

You tiredly pull your fingers out of his mouth, slightly missing the warmth, and practically fell on top of him. But before your eyes could flutter closed, you felt Satoru throb, your cheeks heating as you remember the nasty fucker also had a thing for overstimulation.

You swear as his thrusts continue, fucking his milky cum dripping between your thighs back into you. And despite how much you tell yourself his words were annoying, his murmurs of imagining your fingers as your clit as he sucked at them, drove you to the edge all over again.

Maybe you didn’t hate it.

[justmossyaps]

it would be nice to have someone in office who is both right and, yknow, a decent person. like these two things do not have to be mutually exclusive

[compassionmattersmost]

Self-Compassion

It’s common to wrestle with feelings of inadequacy, especially in the face of challenges like chronic illness. Remember, your worth isn’t defined by productivity or meeting expectations. Embrace self-compassion and acknowledge your resilience in navigating life’s difficulties. 🙏🕊️🙏

[navydoves]

Mermaid!Rafayel and his strange habits while in heat.

He has a lot of cycles… all of which you have to suffer through.

✎ᝰ a/n. alright, rafayel is our starter for this sister series! i hope people enjoy this series as much as they did the “affectionate habits” one. if you want to be tagged in the next updates for this series, pls lmk i will be happy to. the other lis are:

- bunny xavier, cat zayne, dragon sylus, and cyborg/puppy caleb (i have to choose for caleb)

enjoy!

affectionate habits ver.

࣪𖤐

❥ he hisses! no more chirps or chitters, rafayel cannot stop hissing at everything around him. it’s not even just other men or women, it’s also like… coral reefs and amoebas. the hissing is rather loud and a bit scary, but he never does it to you. no, rafayel’s hisses are a way to ward off others in order to protect you. even if those “others” are passing crabs.

the first time rafayel started doing this you thought he was mad at you and this was his way of expressing it. you would recoil at the sound and then try and comfort him so you could figure out what you did wrong. but as soon as rafayel notices you’re upset, he immediately brings you into an embrace and reassures you that it’s not you. it’s the seaweed next to you, babe.

although when it comes to actual people, rafayel will get even louder in his hisses. he genuinely hates the idea of others being with you when he needs the most attention now. he thinks everyone’s out to get a piece of you and his anger only tells you he would never hesitate to hurt or kill those who get too close.

❥ he pins you constantly. it’s no secret rafayel is concerningly strong, but his muscle mass and strength become more prominent during his heat. by no joke, he will pin you with an index finger and leave you helpless writhing. but that’s precisely why he likes doing it. he really enjoys seeing you submissive and struggling underneath him, even if he’s not gonna do anything.

but most of the time… he is gonna do something. the whole point of his pinning is so he can keep you still as he going ramming into you from every position. his thrusts are deep and strong, so you need to be kept still or else you’re gonna go flying out the sea. he’s rough when he’s in heat and he’s practically training you to take his force because… well who else is gonna help him? only you can, no matter how much smaller and weaker you are.

❥ he speaks in lemurian. about half of the time rafayel spends in his heat he spends speaking to you in tongues. his heat is so instinctual that he can’t help be speak his native tongue even if you can’t understand him. he’s pawing at you, growling and begging right up in your ear until the entire tone of his voice changes. suddenly you’re hearing words you can’t make out in low pitches that make you shudder.

knowing he needs you is hot enough. but not knowing what he’s gonna do to you is even hotter. all the dirty talk he’s probably saying in your ear as he bend you over a rock and presses his 12 foot form against you gets you going. overtime you’ve learned a few words here and there… kind of. you know the words he says when he’s satisfied and or about to come, but you don’t actually know what they mean. you know the words he uses when he’s threatens you (not actually, just sexually) to come help him.

he’ll switch back and forth between his two languages unconsciously, especially in the heat of the moment. but if you’re being honest… you kinda want him to swoon you in lemurian all the time.

❥ he cries a lot. i think it’s well known that rafayel can have major mood swings sometimes, and his heat makes this a lot worse. while he is rough and claiming a good decent amount of the time, he’s also super emotional when you’re not around. he’ll curl into seaweed beds or alcoves to sob and whimper because he doesn’t have his darling with him. he’ll especially throw a fit if his heat becomes painful and there’s no outlet for him to use.

it’s a very sad sight to see. pearls come floating out of his eyes because he feels so lonely. his biology is telling him to give his body to his beloved, but if she’s not here or can’t, then it physically pains him. he’s physically bonded with you and can’t even think about using anything or anyone else to help him with his heat. the best he can do is stimulate his two cocks in private to best simulate what you might feel like, but it’s never ever enough.

❥ his cocks are always out. usually there’s a slit on the forefront of his tail where they retract and hide away until necessary but during his heat… well they’re just kinda always there. and it’s not because rafayel can’t put them away, it’s just that he doesn’t want to. at first you though maybe it was just a biology thing. cocks always out? right makes sense, he needs them constantly. but you learned from him that no… he just likes having them out with you around.

it’s for convenience sake. any sudden surge of horny he gets, no time is wasted getting those things out. he’ll immediately have you on your back with his floater friends ready to penetrate. they’re never soft either… they’re always just kinda hard and slick. while the sight is maybe a little bit amusing, it’s also impractical. you can’t sleep next to him without having to make room for his long schlongs. you can’t graze against them accidentally unless you want to be spurted with strange lemurian liquid. you can’t look at them for too long without rafayel getting incredibly horny and wanting to fuck you.

at some point you asked him why he doesn’t just put them away until they’re needed, but he insists on having you admire impressive his assets.

❥ he’s really obsessed with baby-talk. give him the benefit of the doubt, he’s in heat. while regular, normal rafayel isn’t too keen on the idea of babies, lemurian, in heat rafayel loves them. he massages your tummy and imagines his little seedlings in there. he doesn’t let himself come anywhere else but inside you in hopes of getting you pregnant. he’s constantly playing with your breasts in hopes that you’ll magically start milking.

the biology won’t allow it and rafayel knows that, but his brain is too muddled with ideas of you becoming a mother to his children. while he is no doubt aggressive in his heat, the heat itself is a biological purpose used for only mating. and lemurians mate for life. there’s no one else. so be honored <3

࣪𖤐

[yougavememyopia]

Here's the result from the poll! Sorry, it took long. I lost my progress and had to write it over T-T. Longer than usual to make it up to my lovely peeps. Anyway, here is the confident, popular yandere who becomes a desperate pathetic mess for you.

Popular yandere, who was never alone. Circled with adored gazes and loud chatters, people gathered around him like he was some kind of celebrity. His overstretched smile full of fake glee. Crinkled eyes masking a hollow emptiness. No one would care enough to truly look at him, all too busy talking nineteen to the dozen.

It was so easy to predict them. The mundane topics boring him to death. Nothing exciting ever happened. Gritting his teeth, he endured their ramblings. Endured their dullness. Their stupid problems.

Taps of his pencil slapped the wooden desk rapidly. A practiced, charming grin when he greeted you— his new project partner. The invisible loser at the background whose face he rather recognized.

"Hey there, guess we're partners, huh? What a total unplanned coincidence! Uhh, anyway, you can pick the topic. Nono, please, go ahead. I'll just follow your lead."

His crew strolled passed you in the fields. Always sinked down on the grass with your back against the concrete wall. Blue light reflected on your face, nose buried deep in your phone.

Your lack of a life amused him. Fascinated at how isolated you were, and yet you were beaming. Giggling at your screen while your posture got worse. Not seeming a bit sad about being alone or wasting your time playing on a machine.

Simple enquiring quickly led to obsessive stalking. Justified by stating how he was merely observing you. Interested in your name and your hobbies, what you ate for the day, where you walked when you had no school, how the interior of your home looked like. A bit of curiosity, that was all!

The school project was the key to getting closer to you. Instant refusal to every person coming his way, sweet talking them into grouping together by pointing out their strengths. No objections were made. His judgment very well-trusted. Now you had the idolized annoyance as your group member, exactly like he planned.

FINALLY, he could talk to the nobody persistently invading his mind. The endless thoughts of you giving him heartache. He couldn't get his beauty sleep at night, and when he did, the dreams were all about you. He wasn't normally the type to approach people, not like he had the time to. Every waking moment of his day was stuffed with zealous yet shallow admirers. Everyone loved him. Gawking at his good looks, adoring his style, praising his intelligence.

You didn't even bat an eye.

He was nonexistent to you. Eyes boring into indifference. Frustrated, at how you treated him like he was someone insignificant. People already began to question his strange, out of the blue behaviour. How he stared at the wall without blinking. You were getting the best of him— he couldn't keep his mask on, uncontrollably snapping at people, apologizing as if he was having a bad day. Every day was a bad day. A torturous wait for you to just look his way.

If you didn't notice him anytime soon, he was going to do something crazy.

Thanks to the project, you finally spoke to him. Irritated, sure. But you saw him, a dopey grin on his face when you repeated back his name. Even getting away with patting your shoulder. He greeted you in the hallways the day after, approached you during lunch the next week, and then started to text you like crazy the following month. No idea how clingy he was acting until you pointed it out. Falling more in love with your weirdness and hidden personality.

You acted uncertain towards him. Hesitant that this was a prank. Afraid that you'd become a laughing stock if this progressed any further. So you built a metaphorical wall between you.

Questions after questions overwhelmingly flooded his brain. Your behaviour much different than the way he was used to being treated. Sarcastic remarks and harsh dismissals hurt his poor, sad heart.

He started to crave even the slightest approval from those around him— what did they think of his carefully picked outfit? Or his light makeup and shiny hair? He needed you to drool over him like the rest of the school did, yet you still didn't trust him. Accusing him of being fake, when all he wanted was to befriend you.

"B-but I swear, I genuinely want to be your friend. Please, listen. I can be myself around you. I don't have to be perfect, y'know? I thought you'd understand..."

As you grew more doubtful of his intentions, he became more hopeless. Desperate to change your mind while fighting the insecurity that loomed over him.

You pushed him to completely give in to the urge to follow you home and watch over you from a distance. He'd ask his many connections to keep an idea on you when he couldn't, but since their questions and teasing and judgement would get on his nerves, he settled for a tracking device instead. The digital dot always beeping in the same, familiar spots on the map.

His mind jumbled into a chaotic mess. Your dislike for him beyond his comprehension. All he ever did was be nice, so why did you not give him the time of day? Gifts nor compliments, nothing was good enough for you. He had never did anything like this before. Chase after someone. Love, actually love someone.

For your attention, he was willing to do whatever.He longed to be useful to you. Be at your beck and call at any time like a loyal dog. Everything from your terrible posture to your poor diet to your sleep schedule, he could take care of it. He could take care of you.

In the end, he had no patience, he couldn't stand the wait— he had to ask you out. A spontaneous minute that he wished he could take back. Stutters left his lips while he tried to make the date sound super romantic. Roses, candle lit dinner, moonlight. A perfected plan delivered with anxious jitter. Red face burning hotter than glowing coals and big, round eyes awaited the response.

"Eh... no thanks."

His eyes twitched. You were a loser! A common known label that he hated to use. But how could you turn down the first guy who pursued you? Choosing fictional anime crushes over a live flawless boy pleading for a date. How long were you going to stay in your lonely shell as a kissless virgin?

His determination didn't waver. He was willing to do anything to win you over. Countless attempts turned down due to excuses. Weeks after weeks of him chasing after you. You were driving him insane. Like you were doing this on purpose. "No?!? W-Wha... Why not? You don't want to go outside, you don't want to come to my place, why... Why can't I come to yours? I-I don't care if it's messy or if it s-smells. I actually love it. Um, I just need a chance, please. I need to prove to you that my love is real."

How did he end up being the one begging at your feet? Fingers clenching around your calves, while he looked up with a shameful blush on his face. Embarrassing himself in front of everyone he knew. Their gasps and murmurs ringing through his ears. Humiliation turning his body weak. Hot unwanted tears flooding his vision. He didn't care— he couldn't take the rejection anymore.

"Please believe me, please. It hurts so bad. Ah, I can't breathe. I love you so much. Pleasepleaseplease don't push me away. Don't cast me aside. I want to be with you. I want to be with you..."

He could barely make out your face with the fat tears rolling down his cheeks. His forehead rested on your knee, his head down as if waiting a death sentence. It was getting more awkward the longer he stayed on his knees. Yet he stayed glued to the harsh, cold floor. He'd never felt emotions to this level of intensity before you came. The hurt tightening his chest. A vice grip clamping down to crush his lungs.

Rubbing the back of your neck, you sighed. Feeling bad about the dishevelled flawed mess he turned into. Sweat worked up on your skin from the many eyes staring at the scene.

"You won't stop until I say yes, huh? I guess you proved you were telling the truth. So, fine. Let's get going now... You brought quite the audience here."

"..." His head remained stuck against your knees. Hands shaking against your legs while he exhaled. Not budging at all. The hushed whispers exchanged in the background making your blood boil. "What are you guys staring at? Scram! Go away! Leave him alone."

And they slowly faded one by one. You ran a hand through the soft, silky hair of the needy boy. More attentive to the mess on the floor to care about your surroundings anymore. Sitting on the floor beside him, you lazily wrapped his arms around your neck. A finger pressing his chin up so you could take a good look at him. He sniffed. Eyes all puffy and red. A deprived beg escaping his glossy lips.

"Please... I—"

You cut him off with a small smile. "You can hug me until you're satisfied. I'll be here."

Arms tangled tighter around you. Head tilted in, and you realized what this meant. A hint of anxiety bursted butterflies your stomach. But you went for it. Suppressing the flinch and moving in. Eyes half-lidded when velvety flesh met. Low hum buzzing from him. He pulled you closer and closer. Lips parted while you snaked your tongue into his mouth. A loud moan met your eardrums. Your little theory of him wanting you to take charge confirmed correct.

He melted like butter despite how you barely knew what you were doing. Uneven movements and unsure licks were just met with pathetic whimpers. Each stroke of saliva making him hot and dizzy. You had a way of making him unbelievably sensitive. No clue to why he felt like this was his first real kiss too. Never understanding the fuss about this pleasant feeling until now.

He pulled back for breathe much too soon, and panted against your face. "I'm so glad we found each other, darling. C-can I call you that? Since I'm your b-boyfriend now... Right?"

You didn't answer. He didn't give you a chance to. Another peck was placed on your lips. Desperate tongue reaching to wet your lips while you cupped his face. Hands grabbing your wrists to ensure you keep them there. Determination ran through him; He was going to plead and plead until you finally gave in.

[seumyo]

a softie for sentimentality, bakugou katsuki.

Bakugou wears a bracelet. You’ve known about it for as long as you could remember, but only decided to acknowledge it now that you’re in your third year at UA, two weeks before graduation.

It wasn’t flashy or adorned with any kind of logo—just a simple, sturdy piece of metal with a stainless clasp that he seemed to wear all the time. You tilted your head as you studied it.

“You’ve had that bracelet for as long as I can remember,” you said, sitting down on his study chair. It’s a privilege to even set foot inside of his room without immediately being told (yelled) off, really.

Bakugou looked up from his book and glanced at you. “Yeah, and?”

“Is there, like, a story behind it?”

“No story,” he said with a shrug, but you weren’t entirely convinced.

“Really? That’s so bland. I thought there’d be like a gut-wrenching or life-changing story for it.”

He sat up from his bed with a huff, his eyes narrowing at you. “It’s just somethin’ I wear. What’s it to you?”

You raised your hands in mock surrender, a playful smile on your lips. “Alright, Mr. Mysterious. Keep your secrets.”

“Fuck off, dipshit.”

“Again with that! Why can’t you be nicer now that we’re graduating?”

“Shut up,” he grumbled.

-

But the conversation stuck to you.

It’s the day of graduation when you presented him with a small, handmade box. It was simple, made of sturdy cardboard decorated with his signature colors and an orange ribbon to match. Bakugou rose a brow.

“What’s this for?” He asks, holding it up like the box might explode at any given moment, though there was no bite to it.

“A box.”

“No shit,” he scoffs, “what’s in it?”

“Open it to find out!” You egged him on.

Bakugou sighs, opening the box with a focused pout. He went quiet when he saw what was inside.

“Ta-da! A bracelet,” you said, smiling. “For you. Thought you could use something new to switch things up.”

He held the stringed bracelet in his hand, looking at the material as if it would erupt in flames if he glared hard enough. It was a stark contrast to his metal one—brightly colored warm complementary beads with little charms that somehow still managed to feel like him. There was a red charm shaped like an explosion, a black bead with a skull design, and a small silver charm with an engraved kanji for “strength.”

“I’m not wearing this,” he said flatly.

It’s like your cartoonish heart balloon had suddenly been popped with a prickly needle.

“What? Why not? It’s cool!” you argued. “I even made it myself to really match you!”

“It’s not my style.”

“Sure it is. Look, it’s got black, silver, and even a little red—it screams Bakugou Katsuki.”

“I didn’t get you anythin’ as a parting gift,” he tells you.

“Don’t worry about it! It’s fine,” you replied, waving your hand in dismissal. “Just thought this’ll go with your metal bracelet.”

He nodded, though there was a somewhat frustrated pout on his expression, muttering something under his breath a soft “thanks,” and placed the gift back in the box, never actually letting you see him wearing it during that moment.

-

Years later, during a photoshoot for the yearly hero gala, Bakugou stood in front of the camera in his full Dynamight suit. The photographer adjusted the lights, snapping rapid shots as Bakugou struck his signature confident poses.

“Hold still,” the stylist said, adjusting his gauntlet slightly. Her eyes flicked to his wrist, and she paused. “Oh, that’s cute. Is that handmade?”

Bakugou blinked, following her gaze. Wrapped around his wrist, right next to his ever-present metal bracelet, was the colorful string bracelet you had made him all those years ago.

He stiffened slightly, but instead of taking it off, he shrugged. “Yeah. What about it?”

The stylist smiled warmly. “It’s a nice touch. Makes you seem... approachable. And quite frankly, it matches your suit.”

Bakugou snorted. “Whatever. Let’s get this over with.”

-

When the photos surfaced online, fans quickly noticed the bracelet. Social media practically exploded that day.

Is Dynamight wearing a friendship bracelet??

A HANDMADE BRACELET ON DYNAMIGHT??

Guys, he’s worn this thing for YEARS. Check the old pictures! 🙂‍↔️

You, of course, caught wind of the news—because honestly, who wouldn’t when it took all social media platforms by storm? You saw the posts one evening while scrolling through your phone. Your heart skipped a beat when you saw the photos. It was unmistakable—the bracelet you had made all those years ago.

Long after your UA days were behind you and your lives had taken you and Bakugou down different paths, the all-too-familiar bracelet made you smile sadly—more nostalgic happiness than actual sadness, really.

You stared at the screen, sighing quietly. You thought back to the last time you’d spoken, to the unspoken decision that had pulled you in different directions. You never thought something as small as a bracelet would still mean anything to him.

You didn’t even think you’d live to see the day he wears it, much less keep it after the years.

But there it was, bright and unapologetic on his wrist, a subtle reminder of a bond that hadn’t completely faded with time.

Somewhere across the city, Bakugou stood on a rooftop, the evening wind tugging at his hero uniform. He glanced down at the bracelet on his wrist, running his thumb over the frayed edges of the string. He smirked to himself, a quiet acknowledgment of the past and the person who’d given it to him.

“Guess you were right,” he muttered, his voice barely audible over the wind. “It does scream Bakugou Katsuki.”

SEUMYO © 2024, PLEASE DO NOT REPOST, PLAGIARIZE, MODIFY OR TRANSLATE.

[s0dium]

YOU'RE A PERVERT!!!

/ˈpərˌvərt/

a person whose sexual behavior is regarded as abnormal and lewd

Synopsis: How perverted are JJK men? What are their perverted tendencies?

Characters: Gojo, Geto, Sukuna, Choso Warnings: Voyeurism, Gojo uses a vibrator on you in public, cockwarming, fantasizing, public sex, dub-con, male masturbation, mating press, begging, blindfolding and restraining, breeding

Gojo Satoru

7/10 on the pervert scale

This man is full of kinks and thinks about sex quite often.

His kinks aren't necessarily abnormal but he can be obsessive

Has sniffed your panties and used them to jack off

A shameless pervert

Would be into blindfolding

The rich man he would invest in some toys and is a fiend with them

"Shit." You mumble under your breath, biting your lip to prevent any more sounds from bubbling up.

As you sit in the glossy, high-ceilinged conference room surrounded by the austere faces of the Jujutsu Society high-ups, you keep your head down, staring desperately at the floor as the toy inside you buzzes against your clit and your gspot. It's fucking unbearable. Across the table, Gojo sits, the picture of nonchalance with his trademark blindfold, his lips curving into a barely-there smirk that only you can decipher.

The vibrations of the toy are slow, most certainly on the lowest setting which you are almost thankful for. The sensation is like warm sunlight filtering through a window, gentle yet insistent. The dual stimulation of your clit and gspot has you practically gasping for air, it is delicious, slow, and not enough, not what your body is starting to crave. You can feel the thrum of pleasure at the tips of your fingers and toes, then spirals inward, igniting every nerve ending with a whisper of pleasure. The warmth expands, filling you to the brim, making your breath hitch unexpectedly.

Around the table, the meeting drones on, a background hum to the electric thrill dancing under your skin. You shift in your seat, trying to contain the heat that Gojo’s toy stirs within you. Under the table, he is most certainly playing with the remote, circling the buttons that could at any moment lead you to your doom. How did he even get you to do this in the first place? Each brush of your clothes against your skin turns into a caress, intensifying the sensations that you desperately try to mask.

The more you squirm, the wider Gojo's smile grows, though it never reaches his eyes, which are focused intently on you, enjoying the scene he orchestrates from across the room.

Your face flushes a deeper shade of red with each passing second, a silent plea for respite mingling with the fear of being discovered. The heat pools at the pit of your stomach, waves of pleasure cascading through you in relentless pulses. You clench your hands under the table, nails digging into your palm to anchor yourself to reality, to the droning voices discussing projections and quarterly returns.

But Gojo is relentless, you can practically hear the click of the remote that speeds up the toy inside you. You immediately jolt as if you have been electrocuted and you cross your legs to try and tame the ticklish pleasure coursing through you like a tidal wave.

"Everything ok Y/n?" Someone from across the room asks, and you feel everyone's gaze turn to you.

Before you can muster up the strength to say anything, Gojo cuts in.

"Oh she's fine. Just excited to be here isn't that right?"

Geto Suguru

6/10 on the pervert scale

Geto prides himself on keeping his composure intact.

But the man has so sick fantasies roaming around in his head

Behind a kind smile and hazle eyes he is mentally tearing away your clothes and fucking you on the desk you are sitting behind

Totally acts on these thoughts. Eventually he will find a way

Doesn't really care about what others think of him, which makes him very bold

He is less of a pervert and more of a "sex lover" if that makes sense

"Stay still baby, dont want anyone getting ideas do you?" Geto coos into your ear and you have to bite the inside of your cheek to stop your self from moaning. Thank god you wore a long skirt today because if it was any shorter you were sure everyone would know you weren't just sitting on your boyfriend's lap. No, you where impaled on his dick.

You glance around, your cheeks heating up as you catch a few curious stares from nearby moviegoers. Geto seems unfazed, his focus calmly fixed on the screen ahead. You can feel your body instinctively squeeze around his length, desperately yearning for friction, but two big hands keep you secured on his lap preventing you from moving.

Geto's presence is both arousing and disconcerting as you try to focus on the movie, hyper-aware of every shift and breath. As the room darkens with the film's start, you attempt to blend into the dim anonymity, hoping the engulfing shadows hide your flushed face and the flutter in your chest.

Suddenly, Geto slightly bucks into you, so his fat tip presses against the part of you that you only dream about reaching with your fingers. As the waves of pleasure gently cascade through you, you press your lips tightly together, restraining any sound that threatens to escape. You force yourself to remain utterly still, despite the overwhelming sensations of his large member that tempt you to move. The restraint heightens every tingling sensation, each pulse becoming more pronounced, more insistent. Your fingers curl into the fabric of your skirt beneath you, gripping tightly as you focus on the subtlest of movements—a breath, a slight shift—that could betray the intensity of your experience. The stillness becomes a challenge, a game of control where every fiber of your being is acutely aware, and every small victory in maintaining composure amplifies the pleasure silently swirling within.

"Doing so well baby, you sure you can keep this up?" Geto mummurs into your ear, nibbling on the skin of your lobe.

Choso

7/10 and for very good reason

Listen, the man has never experienced intimacy before.

So when he experiences sex for the first time, oh boy, choso is down for the count

he wants to try it all, do it all with you, to you

He's the type to think about stealing your panties or is tempted to look up your skirt but reprimands himself for it

"Come on baby just keep your legs on my shoulders. Can you do that for me?" Choso's breath is hot against your ear. "F-fuck please" he says through a groan. If you weren't so fucked out of your mind you would think that he was actually begging. And you were right. Choso swears his isn't a whimpering man but here he is, voice cracking from the vice grip your cunt  

You are too dumb to reply, only spurting outcries and whines about how good he was fucking you. Choso snapped his hips so fast that everything seemed like a dream, the bed was shaking immensely with the headboard banging on the wall and you were losing your mind from the friction of his dick against your walls. How long have you been in this mating press? How many times have you cummed? How many times has he cummed in you?

"Wanna fuck you every day,"  he grunts out, pumping into you, the length and level of his arousal brutal. "fuck fuck fuck," Choso swears, as he brings a hand to the back of your head and presses your lips onto his. Your so dazed you practically drool into the kiss, letting him entangle his tongue with yours until spit smeared on either side of your lips. He doesn’t slow the movement for a second as he kisses you, giving you full, hard thrusts, your breasts bouncing from the brutality.

Suddenly, it hits you. Like an ignition of fire your brain goes white and you feel yourself ascend to euphoria.

“You gonna cum baby?" he coos into your hear, pressing light kisses on the hollow of your neck. "fuck, cum for me baby, please, cum on me."  Choso's hand flew between your bodies to rapidly rub your clit back and forth, hurtling you towards your orgasm. Your pussy tightens so hard around his cock that he nearly has to stop his thrusts. Your mouth grows lax as you feel yourself splitting in two, coming with his cock buried deep inside you. 

“That’s it,” He fucks you through your orgasm, pouring every ounce of his strength into chasing his own high. His thrusts became sloppy, hips stuttering before he stilled his hips flushed against yours, burying himself in your creamy cunny.

“Fuck fuck fuck FUCK!”

Sukuna Ryomen

This is difficult, sukuna is not much of a pervert as he is a sadist.

So on the sadist scale, he is a 10/10 and the correlation with pervertedness would also be a 10/10 because of the wild things he does to you

He just loves to see you embarrassed and degraded. If that means fucking you in public so be it. If that means cumming on your panties and making you wear them so bit it

There isnt much he isnt open to (unfortunately)

You feel dizzy.

The soft fabric presses gently against your eyelids, urging them to remain closed. With your sight stolen away, your world narrows, funneling your awareness to the heightened sensations that begin to bloom from your core.

You whine at the feeling, squirming at the sensation of sukuna's fingers massaging your gspot. His pace his maddening, every curl of his fingers is so slow and exact, so much so your muscles tremble from the pleasure.

"Faster, faster please" you mewl, and you don't even need sight to know that there is a devilish grin on Sukuna's tattooed face.

"You feel good dont you? Poor thing." Sukuna chuckles.

The material encircling your wrists is smooth, almost silky, tying your hands behind you leaving them free to roam but only so far. As the pleasure builds, coiling tightly within you, the lack of sight only deepens the mystery and intensity of each contact, each sensation. You're adrift in a sea of touch and sound, each wave crashing over you with more pleasure than the last.

"So pretty, I love it when you're desperate, god," Sukuna groans and he leans in close so you can feel his breath against your ear. "You're making me so hard baby."

Your hips buck up when you feel the pace of his fingers quicken. The fiction is delicious and his digits fill you so much better than your small ones ever could.

"Want me to fuck you?" Sukuna purrs and you desperately nod in response making him chuckle. "Look at you, of course you do."

[shouyuus]

doctor, doctor

zayne; 3,377; fluff and smut, no "y/n", knowing use of sex drugs, handjob, oral (f!receiving), face riding, shockingly soft intermission, missionary, internal creampies, banter (it's zayne duh), needy!zayne

summary: zayne volunteers as a guinea pig to test out an antidote to a new love drug. spoiler alert: the antidote sucks.

a/n: phew! i haven't written this much porn in... /checks watch/ well ever really. but im not that mad about it! it's a genre i've always felt a bit weak in so im glad to get some practice :) pls enjoy!

aphrodite made me!! masterlist

─── 黎深 YOU KNOW SOMETHING’S WRONG the second he gets home. There’s a bright flush to his cheeks, a glassy look to his eyes, and he reaches out to brace himself against the counter almost as soon as he’s through the door, sucking in a deep breath.

“Z-Zayne? What’s wrong?” you rush up to him, reaching out to press a palm to his cheek, lashes fluttering as you pull it away, startled. “Oh my god, you’re burning up!”

“No — it’s fine. I’m fine.” He tries to push you away, but can’t help the soft groan that leaves his lips as he nuzzles into your touch. You frown, letting him press into the palm of your hand before he turns to drop a kiss to your skin, looking down at you with hooded eyes. “It’s… not what you think.”

“Not what I…” you blink up at him, worry slowly being eclipsed by a trembling uncertainty.

Something’s not right, you think, but judging by the way he’s still able to hold himself steady, he’s not that sick. So then —

“Ah… fuck —” he curses, leaning forward to bury his nose into your shoulder, tugging you to him in a sudden embrace that has you squeaking, startled by the strength of his hold. And you’re not imagining it; up this close, you can feel his thready heartbeat reverberating through his chest to yours, and his arms around you — is he… trembling?

“Zayne?”

It’s so rare that he curses so easily, so openly. Usually, this kind of language is reserved for the bedroom but —

You go still in his arms, heat washing up the back of your neck into your cheeks as you feel the unmistakable hardness against your hip. Your mind grinds to a startling halt as you try to reconcile these two pieces of strange, incompatible information.

He’s sick… but he’s hard?

“Sorry — I just —” he tries to pull away, shaking his head as if to clear it but his eyes are still glazed when he stumbles back and lets himself sag against the closed front door. You let your eyes take stock of him — his ruddy cheeks and fluttering lashes, the shiver in his limbs, the clench in his jaw as he looks anywhere but at you.

“Zayne. What’ going on?”

He almost hisses at the sharp edge to your tone.

“There’s a new drug out on the market,” he says, his voice thin even as he cards a hand through his hair and tries to take a steadying breath. “It’s… being sold underground, and it’s a potent —” he swallows, tugging at his collar, and it’s only then that you notice the thin sheen of sweat glistening over his skin, “— a potent love drug.”

Your eyebrows skyrocket as you blink up at him.

“A… love drug?”

Zayne sighs, frowning slightly as he jerks at his tie, pulling the knot loose to let it hang around his neck as he thumbs at the top button of his shirt. His fingers, usually so quick and nimble, seem strangely uncoordinated. And after a second, you reach out to gently swat his hand away, popping the top button for him, blushing as he hisses out a breath and lets his head thump back against the door.

“Yes,” he answers, his voice clipped as he tries to look anywhere but at your face. “Our R&D department has been developing a cure and —”

“And?” you ask, letting your finger trace down the thin band of his exposed chest to catch on the next button of his shirt.

“And…” he swallows, his adam’s apple bobbing up and down as he purses his lips, “they needed willing participants to —”

Understanding floods through you like a wash of cold water. You let out a disbelieving laugh.

“You volunteered to test the antidote,” you say, staring up at his flushed face, his sweat-slick skin, the unfocused fracture to his eyes, the way his pupils are blown so wide they look almost entirely black.

You lick your lips, feeling another wave of heat crest through you as tingles shoot down your spine at the thought.

“Yes,” he answers again, sounding aggrieved and relieved both that you’ve finally understood.

“But…” you let your words trail off, letting your eyes rake down his trembling body and back up again.

Zayne sighs, shaking his head, “Well, it’s a work in progress.”

“Mm,” you hum, biting back a laugh that you know wouldn’t be entirely appropriate, given the desperate look on his face. Still, that forbidden knot had started to twist in your gut as you assess the situation.

It’s not every day that chance delivers your boyfriend so pliant and willing to your literal shared front door. And you’ve never been one to look a gift horse in the mouth.

“So?” you say, taking half a step back and folding your arms, reveling in the way he tips forward immediately to chase your warmth. “How do we —” you wave a hand towards him, feeling a strange, impossible fit of giggles threatening to spill from you at the sheer absurdity of the situation.

Zayne slates you a rueful look before leaning back to pinch at his nose bridge.

“T-the researchers say that the effects —” he pauses to take another deep breath. You can’t help noticing the increasingly obvious bulge in his work slacks and you feel your own thighs tense as the knot in your stomach twists just a tad tighter. “The effects should wear off on their own in a few hours but…”

“But?” you prompt, lacing your hands behind your back as you teeter on the balls of your feet, feeling an ever-familiar tingle race from the nape of your neck to the tips of your toes.

“But… there’s nothing much to do except to —” Zayne’s fingers twitch as he forces himself to open his eyes and stare at a nondescript point over your shoulder, “to ride it out, as they say.”

At this, you break — you fall into a fit of giggles that has Zayne sighing again as he pushes himself off the door and making his unsteady way to the bedroom.

“W-wait! Where’re you going?” you ask, tugging at his arm.

He twists to stare at you, “I — to bed. Or I can sleep on the couch tonight if it’ll make you more —”

You roll your eyes and yank him down for a kiss. He can’t even pretend to protest as he moans and melts into the heat of your mouth. You thread your fingers through his hair and feel his palms gripping at your waist, tight, and then tighter.

“Y’know… for a smart guy… you’re really kind of clueless sometimes.”

“Y-yeah?” Zayne asks, his breath hot against your lips. You nod, letting him tug you both back towards the bedroom, him nearly stumbling in his haste, you biting back another fit of giggles as he sits down hard on the edge of the bed and slots you between his legs, running his hands up and down the backs of your legs, fingers dancing towards the lace trimming of your panties.

“Did you really think that I wasn’t going to help you?” you ask, your voice low.

He lets out another thick groan as you cup his cheeks and tilt his head back to look at you.

“I — I don’t — I thought that maybe —” he stutters, but you shake your head.

“C’mon doc,” you say, grinning as his eyes narrow. You give his chest a light push and watch, satisfied, as he allows himself topple back onto the mattress. “Tell me where it hurts.”

He sucks in a breath between his teeth, staring at you with a look of such unadulterated love that you find yourself almost getting shy. Almost. You crawl onto the bed, nudging apart his legs, walking your fingers up this thighs as he jerks, head falling back into the pillows.

“Please…” the plea leaves his lips parted, and you feel the heat pulse between your own legs, feel your mouth water as you look down at the pliant, panting form of Zayne’s body, spread out on the bed, his chest rising and falling at quick intervals as he watches you from beneath hooded eyes.

Briefly, you consider teasing him, but disregard the thought after realizing that he’d probably driven home feeling much like this. And you reach up to tug loose the belt, making quick work of his trousers, pulling down his boxers to reveal his cock — thick and leaking so much precum that your hands come away sticky.

“A-ah — fuck.” Again, he swears, as you tentatively wrap your fingers around his girth, and it’s not the first time you’ve done this, nor will it be the last, but it never fails to surprise you (just a little) how thick he is in your hands — how your fingers don’t reach all the way around.

You give him a few solid pumps, feeling the angry veins pulse beneath your palms as you try to work up a tempo, his hips jumping as he lets out a string of deep, throaty moans that have you clenching around nothing.

“Wait — wait —” he reaches for you, his thighs jumping slightly as your rhythm slows, and he hisses out a long breath, his brows furrowed as you tease your thumb around the underside of his cock hood, allowing yourself a tiny, devious grin as he whimpers high in the back of his throat.

“Yes, doc? Did you have any… complaints?” you drag your tongue across your lips before leaning down and letting your hot breath fan over his purpling head, feeling the heat between your own legs spread through you as thick beads of precum ooze from his slit.

“Come — come here —” he motions up the bed and you cock your head, glancing back down at what you’re certain is quite the painful erection.

“You don’t want…” you tighten your hold around his shaft as he catches his lips in his teeth and groans.

“I — I do. But I want —” he swallows, his eyes squeezing shut for a brief second, “I want to taste you.”

Desire curls solid at the base of your spine as you feel yourself throbbing at the thought. Zayne’s never been anything but a devout lover, and you’d often reflected that it really does pay to have a boyfriend who has a truly occupational knowledge of human anatomy.

“Yeah?” you ask, your own voice going breathy as you inch up the mattress, his hands settling so easily on the plush of your thighs, his eyes flitting up and down your body almost as if he doesn’t quite know where to look. You lift up your skirt and tug off your panties, with the full intention of lowering yourself slowly, but with a wretched moan, Zayne pulls you down over his face hard enough for you to gasp, your weight tipping forward so hard that you have to brace your hands on the backboard to stop yourself from toppling right over.

You feel his tongue lick a long strip along the seam of your cunt, the sting of his fingers digging into your thighs as he holds you over his mouth, groaning into the sopping heat of you, his tongue already pushing into you as he gives your clit a hard suck that has your mind fizzing out into tv static.

“Z-Zayne — oh fuck —!”

He strains against you, pressing his face so far into you you’re almost afraid he’s going to suffocate, but he only holds you tighter when you try to pull away, his mouth chasing your puffy lips. You grind yourself against his face, feeling his nose nudge at your clit as he sinks his tongue ever deeper into you, fucking it into you with a perverse need.

And it doesn't take long like this, not when he's so intimately aware of all your softest parts, all your most sensitive places.

“I — ah — ah — I’m s-so —” you stutter, as you feel the familiar tightening in your belly, the coil twisting as thin tendrils of heat start to skitter up through your limbs and you feel your orgasm building inside you.

Zayne lets out a debauched moan, letting it rumble from his mouth straight into your cunt and it’s enough to have your eyes fluttering shut as you break over his mouth, whimpering, hips stuttering as the white-hot fire chases washes through you in a great wave, leaving you feeling boneless and slightly winded.

Zayne pulls away panting, licking his lips, his eyes dark as an oil spill, completely devoid of light as he stares up at you, his gaze more licentious than you’ve ever seen it before. Even in the champagne-bubble weightlessness of your post-orgasmic haze, you recognize the crystalizing need in his movements as he releases your thighs, his handprints inked into your skin, red and fresh — you’re sure they’ll still be there tomorrow.

“H-how do you want me?” you ask, your voice a little slurred as he reaches up to wipe a thumb along his bottom lip, collecting the remnants of your slick there, only to lean in and press his mouth to yours. You groan against him, the messy tang of your own juices sharp on your tongue as he kisses you, pressing you back into the mattress till you’re pinned beneath him.

“Just like this…” he whispers, and you marvel at the restraint still in his actions, even as he quickly sheds the rest of his clothing, tossing them off into the careless dark of the room.

There’s a moment, caught in-between one kiss and the next, where he pulls back and looks at you, his eyes so soft, his expression unguarded, where you wonder if you’ll ever be able to see yourself through his eyes, and a tender warmth spreads through you as you realize that this is what love has always meant to feel like. There have been fireworks, yes, and whirlwinds. There’ve been storms and sunny days. But there will always be moments like this, caught in the almost light of a moonless night, when you are so much more than the sum of your parts, added together.

When your bodies are more breath than air, skin and share, and all the parts of you that you might’ve wanted to hide from the world are here, collected in the negative space between your bodies, held and loved like buried treasure.

“I love you,” he says, quietly, simply.

You gasp as you feel him pushing into you, his cock stretching you till you’re nearly breathless.

“I — I love you too.”

Zayne nods, fucks into you till he’s bottomed out, and though you can feel his arms trembling with the effort, he holds still to let you adjust. And it’s not till you give him a tiny nod that he puffs out a held breath and pulls back to fuck right back into you again. You keen, head tossing back into the mess of sheets, feeling every vein and ridge of his cock as it drags along your clenching walls.

“I don’t — I won’t be able to —” he can’t make out a full sentence, but you don’t care, just the size and weight of him are enough to make your vision blinker out at the edges.

“Mm — h-harder — please Zayne —” and its his name more than anything that proves his undoing. He lets out a clipped grunt before straightening and pulling your legs up, shifting your hips till you’re flush against him.

“Y-yeah — I’ve got you —” he gives you calf a quick kiss before rucking his hips down, his cock ramming into your g-spot hard enough for you to see stars. And then hammering into you with a desperate speed, chasing his own pleasure and it’s all you can do to keep from being tossed over the edge, too far, too fast.

“Yes — yes — yes!” you’re babbling something, nails scrabbling at his arms, his chest, his back, at anything you can reach as he pummels your abused hole, bullying his cock deeper and deeper into you till you clench around him, your orgasm blazing through you even as he shows no signs of slowing down.

“It’s — you feel — so — tight —” his pace stutters, his voice breaking over your name as he hoists one of your legs over his hips, “I’m —”

You nod, reaching up to tug a strand of hair away from his sweat-slicked forehead.

“I-inside — you can — want you to fill me up —”

Zayne keens, thrusting forward one last time before you feel him pulsing inside you, the warm spill of his cum stuffing you full till you can feel the remnants leaking down the curve of your ass. You bite your lips, swallowing hard as Zayne jerks into you a few more times till he finally stills, the pair of you both panting, your bodies sticky now with too many bodily fluids to count.

You let out a breathy laugh as he hisses, casting you a reproachful look.

“Y-you’re still hard…”

He sighs, nodding, “Yes… it’s one of the… more tedious side effects of the drug.”

He makes to pull out but you stop him, tugging him into your chest and running a hand through his sweat-soaked hair.

“You need to tell your R&D department that their antidote is very ineffective.”

Zayne chuckles, rolling onto his side and pulling you with him, the pair of you now curled into each other, his arms around you, his twitching cock still pressed inside you.

“Yes, I’ll be sure to send them a memo.”

You nuzzle further into his chest but your eyes catch on the clock hanging on the opposite wall and you frown.

“It’s only been… 43 minutes?”

Zayne glances at the clock as well before turning his gaze back towards you.

“Seems so.”

You lick your lips, feeling your mouth go dry as you feel him throb once more inside you.

“How long… did you say the effects last for again?”

Zayne heaves a very serious-sounding sigh even as you adjust yourself to be sitting over his hips, his cock sheathed inside you as you plant your hands on his chest.

“The R&D department said anywhere from a few hours to…” he lets his words trail off, a devious glint flashing behind his eyes, “in the worst cases, a few days.”

You shiver as he casually settles his palms on your hips, rocking you forward and back. You let out a hitched moan as your over-sensitive clit drags along the skin of his lower abdomen and his cock jerks inside you.

“D-days?” you echo, swirling your hips around in a soft figure 8 that has him sucking in a harsh breath, his brows furrowing with pleasure.

“Y-yeah… I’m assuming your offer of help still s-stands?” he does his level best to keep his voice dry, but his breath hitches as you pull yourself up the length of his cock before slamming back down. And already, there’s that self-same hunger eclipsing the light in his eyes as he stares down at the place where a thick ring of white has formed around the base of his cock, more liquid seeping out of you with every moment you make.

“Mm — maybe I’ll need a f-few breaks but —” you whimper as he thrust up into you, his thighs clenching beneath you, “like you said w-we just n-need to ride it out, right?”

Zayne purses his lips in concentration as he roots his feet into the bed before fucking up into you once, twice, three times, bouncing you on his cock with the sheer strength of his legs and thighs.

“Right.”

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