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bastardtetsu · 3 years

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congrats on 420!!!!!!!!!!! your theme is hella creative omgfjdjdjd could i get an edible (sativa) of suga x f!reader please? 🥺💚💚

@jeppiet i was thinking back on this crumb of brainrot i conjured a while ago & decided to make it a fic now that i actually write smut lmaosgkjgd this one goes out to @karasimpno & @heauxzenji too, my suga fucker babes <3

++warnings: smut (18+), intoxication, overstimulation, fingering, breath play (?), vibrator, “good girl,” suga is a soft but sadistic dom // wc: 529

“keep breathing in, angel. there you go.”

suga’s voice is calm and soothing in your ear as you take a shaky breath in. his chest supports your back as you melt into him, chin hooked over your shoulder & hazel eyes focused on your mouth inhaling the smoke from between his pretty fingers as he holds a blunt to your lips, his other hand busy as it fucks you through your nth orgasm of the night—you lost count after he added the third finger.

“atta girl,” he coos softly as you exhale tiny clouds, sputtering a bit as your body convulses with wave after never-ending wave of searing ecstasy.

your senses are muddled and fuzzy, yet powerfully heightened in your bleary haze. the caress of his digits against your pulsing walls blends with stings of pleasure as the heel of his hand massages your puffy clit, the sensations twisting and intensifying as your mind goes blank from overstimulation. the only thing keeping you tied to reality is sugawara’s whispered commands against your skin: breathe. inhale. cum. let it out.

“doing so well for me, sweetheart. my angel,” his silken voice lulls you further into your blissed-out state, sweet nothings dissolving into your ears like smoky wisps of spun sugar and saturating your brain in syrupy bliss.

“my good girl.”

those three syllables melt you into another orgasm, this one softer and gentler as it rolls through your body like a shallow wave. a weak groan leaves your throat, and suga hums into your neck as he feels your cunt clamping and gushing around his fingers once again.

“you liked that, huh?” you feel him grinning against your skin. “you like being my good girl?”

“mmhm,” you keen, barely able to form words, “wanna be good jus’ f’r you.”

the low hum that rumbles in the crook of your neck makes you shiver. your vision has gone blurry at this point, but you soon feel the papery wrap of the blunt being placed between your lips as suga shifts behind you.

“hold that for a minute, baby, m’kay?” his fingers are still sheathed inside you as you feel his warmth drift away from your back. smoke drifts into your lungs as you attempt to obey his request, and you stifle a cough.

through your fucked-out haze, you can make out the sound of his rummaging around before quickly returning to your side. hot breath fans your ear as he utters his next promise:

“if you don’t drop it, you can have my cock as a reward.”

if that sentence wasn’t enough to get you moaning, the sudden press of a buzzing vibrator against your clit definitely is. you cry out through tightened lips, desperate not to drop the burning blunt secured between them. puffs of smoke rise from the glowing tip and the corners of your mouth as you attempt to breathe through the new and overwhelming sensation, a tear rolling down your cheek only to be kissed away by suga’s gentle lips.

“good girl,” he purrs, voice dripping with honey as his fingers begin to move again, “you can give me one more now, can’t you?”

420 milestone(d) smoke sesh

#sugawara koshi #sugawara koshi x reader #sugawara koshi smut #haikyuu x reader #haikyuu smut #tw drugs #tw overstimulation #milestoned.420 #tw spicy #e writes #mdni

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putseraphinaonthaphone · 3 years

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Stop Fucking Running | 4/20 Sex

cw// cum so much cum, recreational drug use, high sex, overstimulation, dacryphilia, breeding kink, spanking, degradation, dumbification

excuse me while I make my own puthy throb writing this-

It was your explosion boy's birthday, so of course you had to go all out. He was gonna be a pain in the ass for weeks after how much you planned on spoiling him today but it was worth it. You loved him, so he was going to have the best damn birthday he ever had.

His competitiveness rubbed off on you during y'alls relationship, you admit it.

So he when woke up in the cabin you'd booked (in one of those swanky European snowy mountains, where your beloved demon could make you scream all he wanted), it was with his cock down your throat. You wore only your collar, one of his shirts, and a princess plug stretching out your ass.

"Fuck, that's it. Be good to me doll." He was always such a fucking sap in the morning, but you obeyed his soft sleepy command anyway. Cupping his heavy balls just like you knew he liked, taking his heavy cock deep into your throat, allowing yourself to choke and whine because he was still too big for you to take easy- even a year into your relationship.

And when he finally blew his load down your throat because he caught sight of your tear stained but determined face as you choked yourself on his dick, you swallowed every drop- showing him your empty mouth for inspection as you panted and tried to catch your breath.

He sat up on one elbow and reached down to press his thumb against your tongue firmly, meeting your gaze intensely. If you didn't know him as well as you did you'd think he was glaring at you with the utmost contempt. But you knew him. And you knew he was aroused to the point of doing some truly filthy things to you.

"Is this what I get for my birthday, baby? Your fuckable little body.. whenever I want, however I want?" Yeah, he was on the same sus but erotic wavelength you were on.

You nodded as much as you could with his iron grip on your jaw, and after a tense moment he let you go so he haul you up his body and crash his lips against yours. Possessive, almost angry, dominating.

Unsurprisingly this set the tone for the rest of the day, and in between smoking him out with the best weed you could buy (his favorite strand of sativa called strawberry tart and one of your favorite indica strands called sunrise OG) and watching all his favorite movies, cooking all his favorite meals- he was fucking your throat, your pussy, your ass, your thighs, your tits... you get the idea.

The large master bed with the soft sheets and the glass skylight keeping you in plenty of light with no where to hide from your boyfriend's gaze became the easiest place to stay. So when you couldn't hold yourself up anymore when he was on his third round between your thick thighs, fucking your tight little pussy full of his cum (again), you could just collapse onto the mattress.

But when he started rutting against you again after another too-short break, you couldn't help whining and trying to move away. Your pussy was sore. Probably red and swollen (you knew this because he'd fucked you in front of a mirror and made you look at how 'pretty' your pussy got when he fucked it raw), but he just smacked your hands away and grabbed your hips with an iron grip.

"Stop fucking running and take this fucking dick. I'm not done yet."

And it was as simple as that, the sativa pumping through him and you made everything feel more intense- addictingly so to Bakugou. So he wanted to lose himself in the pleasure of stuffing you full of cum until you were pregnant with his brat.

"Katsu! 's too much, plea- ah!" Just one shift in the angle of his hips had him reaching deep enough to slam the head of his cock against your cervix. You could see his feral snarl through the tears welling in your eyes as he pressed your thighs to your chest, letting your legs rest on his broad shoulders as he took full advantage of the way your eyes crossed when he fucked you deep enough.

"Shut. The fuck. Up. And get. Pregnant."

His large hot hand smacked your ass with just a few pops of his quirk, and he grabbed your ass cheek harder so he could open you up further for his cock.

You were screaming, sobbing, crying, babbling like the dumb slut he always- always fucked you into.

He loved it. The way you drooled all over your pretty fucking tits, the way your vocabulary got stripped down to combinations of his nicknames, pleas, and his favorite- unfiltered slutty thoughts straight from your soaking wet pussy.

"Fuck my pussy till it breaks please please please-"

"I'll be good and give you a baby-"

"I'll make you a daddy Kat, fuck!"

You were crying and whenever he looked down at your beautiful fucking pussy, swollen and raw he saw it leaking his cum every time he bottomed out inside you; and still you begged him for more.

"Greedy fucking slut, you always run at first but you just need someone who knows how to fuck your resistance away."

The gushing of your pussy only confirmed his words, and your were so pliant and open beneath him that he was sure this time would do it.

This time it would take.

#bakugou #bakugou x reader #happy birthday bakugou #tw: dubcon #tw: duboius consent #tw: dark content #tw: kink

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stonerbughead · 5 years

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~Exhale Chapter 10 preview~

bc i feel bad this chapter is taking me so long, here’s a lil something to hold y’all over. i’ve been hard at work on ch 10 this weekend and am hoping it’ll be up sometime this week! (it’s gonna be a long one.) enjoy! xoxo maria

exhale (a bughead college stoner au) ~ chapter 10 preview

The apartment was quiet. “Is Cheryl here?” he asked, trying to sound casual as they paused in the hallway.

Betty shook her head. “I asked her to clear out, so she went to pregame for Sunday night drinks over at the Pussycats’. I figured we could use some privacy.”

Jughead smiled, relief flooding his mind. That explained why Toni hadn’t been home to pepper him with intrusive questions when he’d briefly returned to change out of his work clothes.

He reached forward for Betty, placing his hands firmly on her shoulders as he gave her a light, quick kiss. “Thank you,” he said as her eyes fluttered open. He nudged his temple against hers. “This all means a lot to me.”

“It means a lot to me too,” she said, an earnest look reflected in her eyes. “That you would trust me to show this to you.”

He nodded, realizing that Betty was clearly just as nervous as he was, just as committed to ensuring this night went off without a hitch.

Betty was the first to pull back from their embrace. “Come see what I have waiting for you,” she said, a nervous smile flitting across her face.

Jughead finally took in the sight of the living room and realized that, in true Betty Cooper fashion, she had vastly overprepared.

Laid out across the coffee table was an assortment of glass pieces: Cheryl’s larger living room bong, Betty’s mini royal blue bong, Betty’s little spoon bowl, a wax pen, and a rolled joint. Three mason jars of weed, each with a different label in Betty’s neat handwriting, shared the space with the glass smoking accessories. He spotted at least three different colored lighters littered across the table and two ashtrays, including the cracked weed leaf tray from her work’s damages that had since found a permanent home on the back porch.

It was the sight of the damaged ashtray that made Jughead grin wide. He finally turned to look at Betty, who was watching him with a look of nervous anticipation. “You really pulled out all the stops, Betts.”

“You need all of the options available to you!” she insisted, walking over to the coffee table and fingering the label on one of the mason jars. “Girl Scout Cookies,” it read, in Betty’s looping cursive.

“Sit down,” she said and Jughead raised his eyebrows suggestively but obeyed, getting comfortable on the couch.

“Okay, so this is Sour Diesel, a sativa,” she said, handing him one of the jars. He turned it over in his hands and looked at the green buds inside, not sure what he was really looking at. “Sativas are better for giving you energy, more of a daytime high,” Betty explained as she watched him inspect the weed.

He looked up and nodded at her, a nervous smile covering his face. “So not the sleeping potion you essentially described some other strains to be?”

Betty nodded and replaced the jar in his hand with one labeled “Grandaddy Purp.”

Jughead laughed as he took the jar and read the label up close. “’Grand-daddy Purp?’” he asked incredulously, sounding out the ridiculous name and shaking his head. “Is that really, seriously, what it’s called?”

Betty giggled. “Really, seriously! Strain names are fun!”

Jughead shook his head. “Okay, you’re right. Very serious, I’m sorry. Continue.”

“That’s an indica,” she said, nodding toward the jar Jughead was now turning around in his hands. “Aka, sleeping potion,” Betty added, laughing. “The first time Kevin and I ever passed out together smoking, we were smoking that strain. So when I saw it at the dispensary, I had to pick it up for you. A good luck charm.”

Jughead smiled at the memory Betty had shared as his fingers grazed the smooth glass of the jar. “Where did you guys pass out?” Jughead asked, handing it back and meeting Betty’s eyes. Betty was relieved to see a hint of playfulness in his gaze as he asked the question.

Betty smiled too. “On one of the couches in Kevin’s freshman dorm room,” she said, laughing. “Some of his extremely straight roommates held out hope Kevin was at the very least bi and would talk girls with them after finding us passed out together, but no such luck.”

Jughead laughed heartily, unable to imagine Kevin being attracted to women from just the short time he’d spent with the very out gay man. “Too good,” he said.

“Right?” Betty said, picking up the original jar, the “Girl Scout Cookies.” “Now, this is a hybrid,” Betty said, presenting it to him. “I think this is where we should start.”

Catch up on Exhale chs 1-9. Chapter 10 coming soon!

#bughead fanfiction #bughead au #bughead fanfic #bughead college au #bughead #exhale #mine

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fhfhwithwealth · 3 years

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YEAH HONESTLY I’M IN A VERY A-LIST AND BIG BUDGET HOLLYWOOD STATE OF BEING RIGHT NOW WHICH SEEM’S FRAGILE SO NOW MOST PEOPLE NEED TO START OBEYING ME AS A RECLUSE EVEN MORE WHETHER THEY LIKE IT OR NOT,PLEASE,I KNOW HOW TO HANDLE A-LIST BIG BUDGET HOLLYWOOD POETICALLY AND STYLISHLY ARTISTICALLY BECAUSE 1ST OF ALL IT’S KIND OF ON THE “HOW DARE IT” SIDE,IT’S KIND OF ANNOYING,I AM COMPLETELY SOBER EXCEPT FOR WHEN I SMOKE SATIVA GANJA I SMOKE IN BLUNTS,I SMOKE BLUNTS,PEOPLE BETTER TRUST ME AND NOT INSULT ME WITH BEING AFRAID OF ME PROBABLY BREAKING SOMETHING HIGH END AND EXPENSIVE,THAT OFFEND’S ME.

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memorypalisades-blog · 7 years

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“Adrenaline Junkie” by Kathryn Ashcroft, contemporary artist, Utah (http://kathyashcroft.weebly.com/current-paintings.html) Slightly stoned, I followed a friend into a gallery on Saturday amid a flurry of townies and curious rural residents who endeavored to parallel park dirty diesel rigs so that they could participate in the monthly art walk in the downtown corridor. I showed up with a singular, self-serving intention that evening, and that was to go get lost.

In 2014 I took a class called “Coffee & Cigarettes” at the University of Washington, an English lit course that examined various French new wave work like that of Sarte and Camus. Those books taught me about dadaists, and how they practiced art by living artfully, often wondering around town aimlessly, on purpose. This practice of deliberately getting lost is known as “somnambulism.”

I “turned on” as cult-writer Tom Robbins calls it, imbibing on a bit of sativa and deep breaths of brisk autumnal air before joining the downtown calamity. I had plans to meet up with a friend but explained my desire to wander aimlessly, guided only by chance and whimsy. They were down to accompany.

Kathryn Ashcroft’s painting “Adrenaline Junkie” picked me out of a packed gallery, beckoning me closer, to examine its obscure mixture of soft and sharp brush strokes. It demanded that I ardently observe, and so I obeyed like a diligent argonaut does. I first noticed the overall dichotomy of the piece before moving on to the subject, or primary character, or whatever you call the focal piece within a painting. It was a mountain goat, which didn’t mean much to me at the time; then I began to wonder whether the goat or the cliff’s edge was the painting’s primary subject.

The artist was standing in the gallery, appearing comfortably lost in thought as about three dozen individuals sipped wine and gasped out loud at her paintings, a ring-around-the-rosie of grape elated flattery. They didn’t seem to notice that the lapidary who created a wall’s worth of stunning gems was among them, they didn’t care. They didn’t really like fine art, it was mostly an excuse for couples to hire a babysitter, or for older couples to stretch their legs and probably also get as high as I was while holding their partner’s hand and saying things like, “Isn’t this lovely?” And then their partner would concede, “Oh, so lovely.” I decided to introduce myself to the artist, to Kathryn Ashcroft, and tell her which painting picked me.

“That one has only picked about a handful of people,” she responded, as if we both agreed before speaking that that’s what paintings do—pick people. “It’s the only one without a tag, I apologize,” she continued, “I call it my transition piece.”

It felt odd to continue talking to the painting’s creator. “This is what the God of that world sounds like,” I thought to myself. I’m somewhat relieved that that God’s voice was feminine and pleasant. “Here is the God of this painting, here I am in the middle of this room, here I am in the middle of enormous transition,” I thought to myself.

I’ve dedicated over an hour of every week to deep self-examination for two years now. Some call it “therapy,” but I truly consider it to be more like a hierophantic soul search. Sometimes it’s terribly annoying, most of the time I become suspicious that I’m turning into some sort of self-worshipping egoic freak, but every time I leave feeling a little bit taller. I’m keen to the fact the last ten years of my life have been an exploration of my own edge and what lies at the bottom of it. Through destruction and creation, loss and gain, I’ve hit rock bottom, I’ve tumbled over and over again. Funny, though, it was only until I saw this painting that the falling and the hurt and the pain and the big bad unknown below has only made me into a more polished and more precious gem.

It was about a month ago that I began to feel emboldened by a specific pursuit of precisely what I want. I started speaking out, speaking louder, and asking for things that I want, whether that was information or more batteries or help. Asking for help is sometimes the hardest thing I do in a day. But I’ve been doing that more, telling my truth more, and as a result I feel less afraid of my edge. Lately, I picture my edge as a trust fall. I see each of their faces staring up at me with arms outstretched, each person who has asked me whether or not I’ve yet to hear some “good news” in the past two weeks. They’re encouraging me, saying my name out loud, reminding me that they’ve got my back. They’re empowering me to explore my edge by significantly decreasing the likelihood of peril, danger, or death. “They’ve got my back, they’ve got my back, they’ve got my back” is what I remember telling myself before stepping off a 30-foot boardwalk, backwards, falling perfectly (as instructed) into the arms of two dozen other thirteen year olds at summer camp in Yellowstone National Park. Here I am over ten years later, a resident of Yellowstone County, living a somnambulists daydream wherein every day is kind of like that one day I was encouraged to climb high and “trust fall” 30-feet through the air into the arms of a bunch of newly teen-aged girls, and they caught me, they didn’t let me die.

"Adrenaline Junkie” could very well be a thought piece about the unknown, the stuff that’s out of focus, like our futures and sometimes, if repressed, our pasts. It could also be a statement piece about perception, an invitation to visualize a variety of possibility. The sure-footed, hard headed ungulate depicted in the painting appears to already know, and maybe that’s the point. We all know deep down that to fall and to fail is also to trust that we are strong and smart enough to climb up high in the first place, to make small strides each day toward precisely what we want. That sure-footed adrenaline junkie in the sub-alpine greenery, unafraid, perpetually positing an invitation to either imagine an incredible fall, or imagine turning our backs on the edge so that we may continue to get higher, to turn on, to ascend.

#Kathryn Ashcroft

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bastardtetsu · 3 years

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hiii it’s me again hehe, for your event may i request an edible hehe; iwa + sativa for f!reader pleaseeeee, thank you <333

eeeee thank u nona babe <33 & special thanks to @strawberryakaashi for helping me brainstorm <3

++ warnings: smut (18+), intoxication, a tiny bit of choking without verbal consent + a splash of fear play if u squint // wc: 441

it had started out innocent enough. you spotted a hot guy rolling a blunt at a party, so you sat down next to him—who wouldn’t have, with arms like that bulging out of his shirtsleeves? and with the way he eyed you as you as you plopped onto the couch beside him, keenly observing the handiwork of his roll with a saccharine smile and a sideways glance towards his face, you could tell you had made the right move.

“ladies first,” he said as he placed the finished blunt between your lips, lighting it with a flick of his thumb. iwaizumi is a gentleman, after all, and he knows how to treat a woman—he knows how to make you blush with his words, how to make your heart swim in your chest as he beckons you close, parting his lips and shotgunning his hit to you. best of all, he knows how to steal you away to an empty bedroom upstairs and have you crying underneath him within minutes, fucking you deeper and deeper into the mattress as the lewd smack of his hips against yours echoes in your ears.

lust-blown eyes stare down at you, drunk on your fucked-out expression and the clench of your plush walls as he drives in and out of your sloppy cunt. even in the dim lighting, iwa can see how red your eyes are past your drooping lashes, lips parted in ecstasy while airy moans drip from them like honey. the sight of having you so blissed-out & high on both his weed and his cock is nearly enough to drive him crazy, speeding up his pace and eliciting even more delicious sounds from your pretty mouth.

as the pressure in your center builds to a peak, you find yourself lost in a fog of delirious pleasure and heightened sensations through which the only thing you can think, feel, see, hear, taste, or smell is iwa, iwa, iwa, iwa, iwa, iwa. before you realize it, his name is falling from your lips like a prayer, shockwaves of pleasure coursing through your body with each precise thrust of his cock against your g-spot.

“yeah, baby? gonna cum for me?” his voice is nearly a growl, sending a shiver down your spine that makes your pussy flutter around him.

a strong hand suddenly encircles your throat, holding you in place, and the fear that fills your eyes as his fingers tighten around your windpipe is iwaizumi’s favorite sight yet. the hunger in his stare shouts an unspoken command that leaves you no choice but to obey:

‘keep your eyes on me.’

420 milestone(d) smoke sesh

#iwaizumi hajime #iwaizumi hajime x reader #iwaizumi hajime smut #haikyuu x reader #haikyuu smut #milestoned.420 #e writes #tw spicy #nona !#mdni

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