Tumgik
#cw: sex negativity
aro-culture-is · 10 months
Note
Alloaro culture is wanting a similar word to qpr for a committed partner you have sex with sometimes that is not romantic: qpr isn’t right because it has the word platonic in it.
hi! in a very gentle way, i am vibrating to let you know this is incorrect :)
from the POV of someone who's been around the aro community since ~2013-2014 on tumblr, the only time i've seen folks start to say that qprs couldn't include sexual components has been when
they've learned an incorrect definition of QPRs, or
in one particularly notable case, the individual proposing it turned out to be quite sex negative and upset at the mere thought that people could think that qprs could include sexual activity. this individual suggested an alternative term for individuals desiring sex in QPRs in a rather explicitly alloarophobic measure. when gently called out from what had seemed to be a genuine attempt at coining a new term, the above came to light. smaller cases of this pop up every once in a while, but this one got some notoriety.
queerplatonic was always meant to mean "queering the idea of a platonic relationship", "queering the idea of what a relationship means", and by explicit definition, has always been broadly and radically inclusive. any relationship, so long as the partners involved agree it is a queerplatonic one, is queerplatonic. no exceptions. this can mean it involves romance, sex, traditionally platonic elements, and anything and everything those involved desire out of it.
tldr; the word platonic is in queerplatonic to say it is counter to the idea of a restricted "platonic" relationship.
333 notes · View notes
unboundpower · 11 days
Text
op here ate with this post imo, and this is honestly pretty relevant to amita (and to myself) so i'm gonna post screencaps of it here-
Tumblr media Tumblr media
2 notes · View notes
kxllerblond · 4 months
Text
spends my last hour ranting about how the cod fandom replaces the only black dude on the team with some mULTIPLAYER CHARACTER not even in the main game. an hour well spent tbh
2 notes · View notes
storytellersumayyah · 8 months
Text
a softer shade of blue
cw: discussions surrounding gender identity, lightly implied homophobia, negative body image, sex, discomfort around gendered terms, reference to past dubious consent (not between main pairing), tristan fears that wanting "feminine" things will mean something he doesn't want it to mean
spoilers: tristan wants to wear lingerie. he doesn't want it to change anything about who he is, and struggles to reconcile the two wants with each other. it ends happily and doesn't need to mean anything more than what he wants it to mean (which is for him to look pretty.)
Tristan realises he liked to feel pretty at some point in his life he couldn’t quite pinpoint. He’d known he was handsome, but then he’d grown into his features, and he’d observed other people, and he had realised that he wanted to be pretty as well. Beautiful seemed like something out of his reach, and he wasn’t sure he wanted that, but prettiness was easily attainable for him.
But he doesn’t want anything else. He doesn’t want princess to be used as a way of referring to him. He doesn’t want to be someone’s girl, even if it was just a roleplay and nothing more. It made his skin feel tight and uncomfortable. It makes him feel like his body wasn’t his own, which was something he swore he will never feel again.
So he hides the things that made him feel pretty from people he didn’t think would handle the words with delicacy. Like the pearl necklace an ex-girlfriend had brought for him after he’d not stopped staring at the image on his phone. When he’d tried to deny wanting it, she’d frowned and said it was just a necklace. And it was.
He hides the shirts that were slightly too large, and the shorts that cut higher than most.
He hides the make-up.
And then Rafael rashes into his life. And for all the snarky remarks, and all the teasing comments, and all the bickering, they never once comment on his appearance, unless he looked hungover (he wasn’t, which was why it was annoying). Even when Tristan forgot to take his nail polish off before a tutorial, they didn’t say anything. They just looked down at his hands and back up, and then they smiled because he’d been panicking that this was going to go too far.
He thought things might change when they started dating. It was one thing for someone to exist as they were, but it was different when they were so close to you. Or at least, that was how his parents had always made him feel.
But they don’t.
At least, not when he wears jewellery. And then nothing changes when he wore one of his favourite shirts. The one that always slips off his shoulder if he didn’t adjust it constantly.
When he wears make-up, all Rafael does is compliment him.
“Thank you for trusting me with this,” they whisper under the cover of night a few days later.
Tristan frowns. “With what?”
“Your beauty.”
Rafael is so calm, and so relaxed about it, that Tristan almost believes it could be that simple. Almost, but not quite.
“It’s not- I don’t want to be anything but who I am.”
“Okay.”
“Don’t you think that’s strange? It’s just… something. It’s not really anything.”
“Tristan. It doesn’t have to mean anything. You like being pretty, and that’s all it has to be. If you want it to be something more in the future, that’s fine. And if you don’t, that’s also fine.”
“It meant something for you though.”
Rafael cradles Tristan’s hands in his own. Tristan always likes it when Rafael holds his hands. Theirs are bigger than his, and he likes how small he ends up feeling. Because he’s chosen that delicacy for himself. And if one day, he wanted to feel bigger, if he didn’t want Rafael to overwhelm him in all the best ways, they would step back.
“It did. But that’s because I’m me. You might be different. This isn’t a children’s puzzle where everything fits neatly into its slots.”
“I like the way you describe things,” Tristan confesses. It’s not the priority, but he needs to say it.
Despite the darkness, he sees Rafael’s smile.
“Do you know how to do eyeshadow?” Rafael asks suddenly. In all honesty, Tristan had assumed they’d fallen asleep given the slowness of their breathing.
It feels embarrassing to admit at the age of twenty-six but he shakes his head. “Was never patient enough.”
“I have a palette that will suit your undertones better than mine. I’ll do it for you.”
It is such a simple act, but it does so much for him. He grins and nods. “I’d like that a lot.”
Tristan tells himself that will be enough. To wear his make-up, and his jewellery, and the clothes. There is nothing else he wants, because Rafael always said he was pretty when he made the effort to be so. But they also always call him little prince, always say this is his future husband, and never question why Tristan wanted that and nothing else to be used.
And it is enough.
Until it isn’t.
He’s out shopping with one of his friends. She’d told him he could wait outside if he was uncomfortable going into the lingerie shop, but she needed to go because her anniversary was the next day and she wanted to surprise her girlfriend. He’d frowned and said he didn’t want to stand outside looking creepy, so he’d gone in with her.
She goes to try on a set, and he doesn’t want people to think he was in the queue, so he stays on the shop floor. The designs re stunning. They are meant to make people feel good. And pretty. Maybe, if the person was right, beautiful.
So before he knows what he’s doing, he is picking up a piece of blue lace, rubbing the material between his fingers. Despite its lacy appearance, it feels comfortable. He wonders what he would look like with it on. Probably ridiculous, but maybe not. Maybe he will look like one of the models. Maybe he will look perfect, as he is sure his friend will.
“They have a men’s range, to account for the differences,” she ays from behind him. The items she’d chosen are packed in a discreet bag. It shocks him, how lost in his mind he’s gotten.
“I’m not a girl,” he blurts out.
“I know.”
“I don’t want to be a girl,” he continues. He has no idea why. He just didn’t want her thinking it’s something it isn’t.
“I know.”
“If I’m not a girl, and if I don’t want to be a girl, if I still want to be Tristan who gets referred to as little prince and boyfriend and your favourite brother even though you’ve got two, then I shouldn’t want it. I can’t want it. I’m not allowed to want it. It’s different to everything else. It’s more. It’s not- it’s not for me. It’s- I’d be taking it away from someone who had to struggle with all those big feelings and-“
“Shh, shh. Let’s go and sit down somewhere,” she says.
He nods, allowing her to guide him to somewhere quiet.
“Why aren’t you allowed to want it?”
“Because-“ he suddenly pauses. He doesn’t have a reason. “I don’t know.”
“Exactly. When you picked it up, how did you feel? I don’t want to know how you ended up feeling, or how you think you were supposed to feel. I want to know how you felt in those initial moments.”
He thinks about it. “I felt like I would be pretty. Maybe ridiculous, but maybe pretty.”
“What’s wrong with wanting that?”
“Nothing. I just- it’s not a thing.”
“It doesn’t have to be a thing. You know that.”
He can’t find the words, and it’s frustrating him. She is just trying to help. It isn’t on her to try and read his mind.
“Is it because this is clothes? Specifically aimed at women?” She asks, gentle and non-judgmental.
He freezes. “I’m not a misogynist.”
Even though she tries her best not to, she starts laughing. “I know.”
But she’s right. Even though the make-up was always advertised on female models, even though the jewellery sometimes came from the women’s section of the shop, it is different. feels felt different to him, even though it’s probably the same to everyone else. The shirts he brought to feel pretty have always come from the men’s section.
“I think it is. Because it’s clothes. Aimed at women,” he says, feeling pathetic.
“You don’t have to do it. But you should not do it because you don’t want to. Not because you’re punishing yourself for wanting it. There’s no heroicness in suffering. There’s just suffering.”
Hearing her say that makes him realise his other fear.
“I don’t want Rafael to look at me differently.”
“But are you doing this for them or for you?”
It is an easy answer. “Both of us. I want to feel pretty in something that’s almost a secret. People can tell when I’m wearing make-up or jewellery. They wouldn’t know if it’s that. But I want him to think I’m beautiful. He’s never called me that before, and that’s because I haven’t wanted him to because it feels too close to something. But I want him to call me beautiful and have it not be anything more than that. And I don’t know if he will.”
Rafael will. Rafael will never go further than Tristan wants. Even if he doesn’t understand why something was so important, he will accept it without question and only ask if he’s unsure. Tristan knows he deserves more credit, but it is the age-old anxiety.
“Then you need to tell him that. Tristan, there’s no deadline on this. You can do as much or as little as you want, and you only need to do it when you’re ready. It will always be there waiting for you.”
He smiles. “I know. Thank you.”
“Of course. Now let’s go get some lunch, yeah?”
He nods, stomach rumbling as if on cue.
She sends him a link that evening.
For whenever you’re ready.
He opens it on his phone. It is designed like the average clothing website, which he appreciates. He still only gets through two rows of three designs before he closes the tab, suddenly too overwhelmed to do any more than that.
If Rafael is aware of his inner turmoil he doesn’t comment. Tristan appreciates the space because it comes from a good place.
Eventually he grows tired of his hesitancy. Rachel, his best and only friend from college, always said she responded to situations that terrified her with five seconds of bravery. Five seconds is nothing, but it is enough to start. And once she started, things weren’t scary anymore. They were just something she was doing.
So he waits till Rafael goes out and he filters by his size and the colour blue. White feels like too much, and he knows how good blue looked on him. Some of the items are still too far out of his comfort zone, so he filters those out as well, in order to make sure he actually places the order.
Confirming the purchase doesn’t make him feel sick as he thought it might have. If anything, it makes him feel relieved. He could want something, and take it, and the world wouldn’t end.
When the parcel arrives, he puts it inside his bed drawer. He isn’t ready to wear it yet, but he doesn’t feel guilty about that.
Sometimes he takes it out and looks at it. Once, when he feels especially brave, he holds it up against himself. But then he sees his reflection in the mirror and he has to put it down. Has to put it away in his drawer, underneath the rest of his clothes. Which are all meant to be worn by him.
Holding it up, he looks stupid. He looks like he is playing dress-up. He isn’t delicate or soft enough. He isn’t Rachel, or his friend. He is calloused hands and hard lines and roughness. He isn’t pretty enough, and he never will be, no matter how badly he wants it.
Rafael inds him sitting on the bedroom floor, tears flowing from his eyes.
“My little prince. Mi corazón. Come back to me whenever you’re ready. Come back, and we’ll make it all better. I swear.”
It is an impossible promise, but he managed to breathe.
“My good boy. He’s so brave,” Rafael says.
Tristan smiles. “Raf.”
“My little prince.”
“You’re perfect.”
“I’m not. Do you want to talk about it?”
He shakes his head immediately. “But I want to take care of you. You’ve been running yourself ragged and I need a distraction.”
Rafael has learnt to trust that Tristan will be honest. So they nod, smiling as Tristan leads them to the bathroom and runs them a bath, complete with a hair wash and snacks. And then Rafael looks up at him with loving eyes and a perfect mouth and asks to take him to bed. Tristan nods, needing to feel close.
“You’re so pretty,” he whispers against Tristan’s stomach.
Tristan whimpers. He isn’t wearing make-up. He’s taken his jewellery off. His clothes have been discarded somewhere- probably in the bathroom. He is sitting in Rafael’s lap, legs trembling and completely overwhelmed. And yet, Rafael thinks he is pretty.
“Was that okay?” They ask, suddenly remembering that they hadn’t really discussed this.
Tristan nods. “Perfect. It was- you were- you can say that. Even now. Promise.”
Rafael nods with a smile, ducking their head slightly to press light kisses to his skin.
Tristan takes the items out of the drawer the day after.
He repeats that for another month.
And then he decides to be brave for another five seconds.
He changes, but he doesn’t look in the mirror. He isn’t ready for that yet.
“Tristan, I’m back!” Rafael yells.
Tristan swallows. Then he covers himself with the blanket, making sure none of what he is wearing was visible. “I’m in the bedroom.”
Rafael immediately enters, sleeves rolled up to his forearms and feet bare. “Well hello there handsome.”
Tristan can’t help but laugh. “I have a surprise. And you can use feminine descriptors, but no feminine nicknames okay? And you can’t laugh. If you don’t like it, you can tell me, but don’t laugh. And it doesn’t mean anything. It’s just a thing. It’s not something.”
“I would never laugh at you. I think I might know what you mean, which is why I’m asking this. Do you feel good?”
Tristan thinks about it. He’d been stressed about accidentally seeing his reflection, and what he would do if Rafael decided this was too much, and that had left him with very little time to consider how he was actually feeling.
“I think I do. Yes.”
Rafael nods. “Then that’s all that matters, mi corazón.”
Tristan has heard the words so many times that they were finally starting to sink in. So he takes a deep breath, and he tells himself to be brave. Just for a few seconds. And he unravels the blanket, leaving him in the items that had come so long ago.
Rafael’s breath catches in their throat. “My god, Tristan.”
He blinks, not expecting him to be so enthusiastic. “Do you like it?”
Rafael steps forward, then hesitates. “Of course I love it. You look- you look beautiful. Stunning. Tristan. You’re a piece of art.”
Tristan feels the heat rise to his cheeks. “Do you really mean it?”
“My little prince. When have I ever lied to you?”
Prince. Because that’s what he is. “Never.”
“Exactly. Can I- can I touch you?”
“Please,” Tristan begs. Rafael’s gaze is an overpowering thing. He needs more.
As though he’s been released from chains, Rafael surges forward. But then he kneels down in front of the bed, looking up at Tristan as he lifts a stocking-clad leg to balance on his shoulder, pressing gentle kisses from his ankle upwards. Tristan exhales shakily. Even though it is through the fabric, it is setting his skin on fire.
“You look so delicate. So fragile. I almost- I’m scared I’m going to break you,” Rafael whispers.
He whines. “You won’t. You won’t- you know you won’t so just-“
Rafael shushes him gently. “I know, my little prince. You’re the strongest person I know. But I still want to be careful with you. You’ll give me that won’t you?”
Tristan can never deny Rafael anything. He nods. “Always.”
“Thank you, my beautiful boy,” they say, pressing several kisses to his inner thighs. Tristan squirms, but Rafael places his hands on his hips and pushes down, trapping him against the mattress.
“It’s so soft,” they whisper, in reference to the fabric covering him. It is slightly stained, but Tristan doesn’t want to take it off. Not just yet. It’s why he makes a sound of protest when Rafael goes to tug it down his legs. They immediately let go.
“Don’t stop. Just don’t take it off yet. I don’t mind the feeling,” he says.
Rafael nods, pressing one final kiss to his hip before moving up to kiss his mouth, deep and slow and perfect.
“Did you tie this yourself?” He asks, placing his hand on Tristan’s back, right over the corset ties, in order to raise him slightly.
Tristan nods. “Want you to do it next time.” It’s nice to say there will be a next time. Every other item had felt overwhelming, or too much, but the corset had felt right. And tying it had felt nice, even if it was just so the ribbons weren’t just hanging loose.
“I’d be honoured. Do you want to leave it on?”
He shakes his head. “Want you to take me apart. Feel ready now.”
“Mi corazón. My little prince. My beautiful, beautiful boy. Thank you. For this. For trusting me, always. For everything.”
Rafael undoes the corset ties with such care, and with kisses to every part of exposed skin that Tristan can’t do anything more than close his eyes and let the sensations overwhelm him, in the best way possible.
“You’ve never looked more beautiful than when you’ve been spread out underneath me, unable to hide how good I’m making you feel,” Rafael says. And it should’ve been awful, should’ve killed the mood or sounded like a terrible pick-up line, but it doesn’t. It sounds good and honest and true. All the things that Rafael is.
The word beautiful penetrates the haze that Tristan’s mind had become. He goes lax in Rafael’s hold.
He feels good.
He feels the way he had been craving for so long.
And it isn’t because Rafael is encompassing him from every angle, so gentle, like he really does think Tristan is something that could break.
It is because he feels comfortable in his skin. He feels pretty, but he still like himself. He can have what he wants, he can have it mean as much as he wants it to, and he can be happy. He can wear lingerie and still be Rafael’s boyfriend.
But more than that, he can be beautiful. And nothing will change.
It is like Rafael read his mind. “Tristan,” they exhale. “My beautiful, little prince.”
He goes tumbling over the edge, safer than ever before as Rafael never lets go of him.
When he comes around, Rafael is wiping him down, pyjamas already on the bed.
“You scared me a little,” he says.
Tristan rubs his eyes a little. “Sorry.”
Rafael shakes his head. “It’s okay. Wasn’t too much, was it?”
Tristan considers. “Liked it. And it wasn’t. Was good. Thank you. For always being good to me.”
Rafael shifts so he can kiss Tristan’s forehead. It is that, over everything else, that makes Tristan melt into him. “I don’t know how to be anything else.”
Tristan smiles, bringing his arms up to wrap around their back. “I love you.”
“I love you too, my little prince.”
And in that moment, Tristan knows that nothing he does will ever change that.
buy me a ko-fi! | read my novel!
4 notes · View notes
opabinia-777 · 1 year
Text
ok so since some fool decided to reblog one of my posts whinimg about how “porn rots men’s brains” let me make it absolutely clear I will not tolerate
sex negative and/or radfem rhetoric on my blog and that will get you blocked on sight like that did with that person who apparently thought they could get away with spouting Sex negative radfem rhetoric on *my* blog
2 notes · View notes
lepetitcomte · 2 years
Note
Hope you're still a captive prince Laurent anti cuz I tried re reading that series recently and realised all the hate for those racist books was VERY LEGITIMATE
Absolutely, 100% don't you worry about that Anon. The books were bad enough but the way the rabid fans lashed out and twisted themselves in knots trying to defend any of the valid criticisms people had of the series and author ensured that I—a certified Petty Ass Bitch™—will go to my grave trashing that shit to anyone who brings it up. Peace and love to you though 😘✌️
10 notes · View notes
dnfaltstream · 2 years
Text
how do you know it’s “fucking stupid” if you don’t know what happened
6 notes · View notes
aro-culture-is · 10 months
Note
Aroallo culture is constantly feeling like a degenerate
I have... more than a few things to say on this topic, but I will restrain myself to the two major points that have caused me to delay posting this.
For one: Internalized sex negativity ahoy!
In all honesty? I genuinely do not understand how sexual attraction without romantic attraction (or any other form of attraction, really) is supposed to be bad. I genuinely cannot tell you how wild it is to think that sexual attraction, one of the instincts that has generally been selected for among all sexual species similar to us, is somehow... morally incorrect? How much must we hate ourselves, see ourselves as the monster in a bedtime story, for the invisible Thought Crime of feeling like another person is attractive? It's okay. Literally the only "bad" is if your actions in response to a feeling are performed in malice or cause harm, and even then there's nuance that requires thought and communication, not mind-reading and assuming others will be disgusted.
Sincerely, please please please look into sex positivity. Read about it. Follow sex positive accounts, movements, and people. Let yourself feel in response, and ask yourself what does and does not speak with you. Engage in the topic. You don't have to believe it right away, but I promise you, it is well worth your time to expose yourself to resources that teach you another perspective that does not demonize the vast majority of the world in some strange and non-productive way, producing shame and little to show for it.
Secondly... degeneracy.
What a very, very loaded word. To summarize some points from Wikipedia, in terms of fact: the concept of degeneracy in this usage originates from the 19th century theory of social degeneration. The concept of heredity had yet to be fully understood in social degeneration's 18th century development, and this movement largely believed that habits of parents changed their child's biology. This, in turn, was used to explain a perceived decline in civilization. It took little time for the theory to appear in medical and zoological works, with the intent to explain why different ethnic groups exist. You may recognize this concept by a directly related one: eugenics.
The theory of degeneracy first grew fame when used to explain racial differences, and quickly spread from the medical field to psychiatry (ie, mentally ill individuals will produce more severely mentally ill children, and therefore should not continue their lineage) and criminology (particularly when combined with phrenology). It was associated with authoritarian political attitudes such as militarism, scientific racism, and support for eugenics. The development of degenerate theory both partially predates and partially follows the works of Gregor Mendel in describing the theory of evolution, and frankly, largely based its so-called scientific backing on incorrect understandings of evolution and poor science, using such understandings to prop up eugenicist beliefs.
Why do I say all this? I think it is very, very important to recognize the sociopolitical bullshit that props up the absolute pseudoscience that social degeneracy revolves around, and to state that anyone who truly believes in degeneracy does not actually have the best interest of other's in mind or heart except that of the current in-groups. if people in your life are using these theories and words, I want to empower you with knowledge that they are, scientifically and historically, very much in the wrong. I want you to be able to look at their words, and understand the context behind their beliefs, even if they themselves do not.
also, real talk: if you can, form other social networks. join a club, play social games, go to community events, anything it takes to experience people outside of those who give you this message. it'll do wonders for you to build social circles outside of that stuff.
tl;dr:
the origins of the theory behind the word "degenerate", as used today, are scientifically bullshit, politically and socially motivated, and largely were used to justify eugenics. i would recommend not trusting people who genuinely believe in degeneracy to have anyone's best interest at heart but their own, and that you are perfectly normal and fine as you are.
154 notes · View notes
pvremichigan · 2 years
Text
Tumblr media
“I will never understand how every fucking sunday, the same people have more shit to expose themselves with. Every Sunday humanity and most existences never cease to disappoint me and disgust me.”
“Every week. It’s like a fuckin’ ritual. Just relax for once. Go outside. Go for a jog. Shut the fuck up. Get a coffee.”
“Thank god I don’t have anyone over. Jesus...”
3 notes · View notes
shmpxx · 6 months
Text
CURSED SPIRIT — y.o
Tumblr media Tumblr media
⛤ curse! yuuta okkotsu x fem! reader
yuuta okkotsu being your one and only curse.
cw. smut. unprotected sex. creampies. multiple orgasms. groping. dry humping. public sex-ish. fingering. slight oral (f. receiving). overstimulation. thigh fucking. somnophilia. possessiveness. yandere tendencies. mentions of violence. +18!
wc: 1.2k
a/n: inspired by @deviants-forest work! etc. (go check it out) also happy kinktober! :)
Tumblr media
Curse!yuuta who creeps up your back, his hands finding your waist and his lips tickle your ear as he’s whispering how much he needs you on a subway train to home. “Not now…” you whisper over your shoulder to him trying not to be noticeable by others who crowded you and payed no mind, too busy on their phones. You bit your bottom lip when he presses himself against your ass in one movement already having your blood rush like crazy. You try to keep your composure like nothings bothering you but yuuta’s hard on humping into you desperately, whining in your ear and his cold hands reaching under your shirt to grope your boob. “need you ‘s bad” he was always touchy, could never keep his hands off you.
Curse!yuuta who doesn’t mind your sorcerer friends as long as they don’t get too close. Your friends can sense the heavy weight of cursed energy from you, even if they got close it was too much to bare sense yuuta was around, the air would fill thick and negative. You could barely go out with them to eat without his fingers buried in your cunt and playing your clit. They would ask you if you were okay when your head is down on the table but you just excuse it as you were not feeling well for a second but yuuta is grinning ear to ear, amused how your well your taking his slender fingers, curling them inside and you can’t help but squirm in your seat acting like your stomach is just hurting though you were about to orgasm. “Please yuuta..” you whisper to him “Come on you can cum on my fingers..” his raspy tone sending you shivers down your back.
Curse!yuuta who watches an “old friend” hug you, his hands in places that shouldn’t be. After you would praise yuuta for staying calm but yuuta would give shake his head only because you would be upset if he did anything and simply gave you a warning “Next time I’ll break his arm” “You can’t be serious” you sigh, you always knew he was.
Curse!yuuta who clenches his fist watching some prick try to flirt with you in front of him knowing he can’t be seen. Even the second time you reject him you can feel yuuta’s anger grow by the second that in any moment he would take action. “I-i have a boyfriend-“ praying yuuta doesn’t get violent “I don’t see him?” His hand coming up to touch your shoulder now he’s on the floor shouting in pain, blood from his broken nose all over his hands, shaken up that he didn’t see anyone hit him? Was he going crazy? “Pathetic” Yuuta mutters luckily he held back a lot, he could do so much worse and this wasn’t the first time.
Curse!yuuta who gets anxious that you might hate him when you get into arguments. He feels like he can’t exist without you, he’s nothing without you and the thought of you hating him makes his heart sink and scared that he’ll be all alone. He didn’t care about anyone else he just needed you. The amount of times you got tired of telling him not to hurt people and you could handle the situation yourself. He’ll plead you not to hate him and apologized excessively. “We can talk about this tomorrow” his stomach sinking by the tone of your voice that it will all end up to you hating him. He couldn’t stand the feeling.
Curse!yuuta who wants to let you know how much he loves you and how much he needs you, praying you don’t leave him or hate him. He glares at you in your sleeping state though he can’t wait til tomorrow he needed you to know now. “Please don’t hate me” “i love you so much” as he’s softly kissing your neck on each side, peeling your panties off. The cold air makes your cunt clench at his sight. He’s kissing the inner of your thighs sweetly and his lips makes contact with your pussy and a small whimper emits from your mouth. “Yuuta” you utter half sleep thinking it was only a sex dream, you were a heavy sleeper at that. he’s burying his lips between your folds trying to get more like he was so starved. If he can just make you feel good you won’t be mad at him and you can forgive him.
Curse!yuuta who can’t wait any longer, his dick pulsating through his pants even how much he gets drunk off your pussy, he loves the taste of it every time but he’s rutting against the mattress. Brings your thighs together to slip his cock between, throwing his head back letting out quiet moans as his cock is rubbing against your clit between your thighs. Your eyelids almost twitching open. He spreads your legs apart and sinks his dick into you watching your pretty lashes flutter at the sudden pleasure of you being spread apart. “Yu..?” You begin to stir awake, he kisses your lips before you start to fully take consciousness. “I don’t want you to hate me” “forgive me please” as he’s thrusting harsh inside you and swallowing your lips. By the time your walls were the shape of him every time he used you so it was easy for him to slide right in, you were made for him and he was made for you was the thought that brought him comfort. His fingers entwines with yours, his cock continuously rubbing hard in your insides. “Yuuta!” You moaned beautifully in his ear, your hand clawing at his back, yuuta loved it, it didn’t hurt him because you could never hurt him he didn’t mind it.
Curse!yuuta not wanting to stop, he’ll never get tired of cumming and filling up your pussy. You’ll be overstimulated begging him to stop it was awfully much to handle, you couldn’t cum anymore but you did as he’s plunging his cock in your abused cunt. The choke sobs and sounds of squelching filled the room “Need you-need you tell me you love me…please f-forgive me..ah!” Rubbing your clit increasing more nerves. “I-i love you yuuta! Ah-I really do! I could never be mad at you” Your words lifting weight off his chest still pounding into you. Holding you in a warm embrace to finish inside you. When he did filling up your womb one last time with his string of cum, your nails dig into his back letting your last orgasms crash into you. You let out a cry into his shoulder, your body trembles.
Curse!yuuta who needs constant reassurance you’ll never leave him, placing gentle kisses on each part of his face. Even though he’s nothing but a curse to you, being invisible to the outside world, Has a hard time showing remorse it’s just what he does to protect you, he somewhat doesn’t know that but knows he can be a bit possessive he just can’t help the urges of anyone getting close to you or worse even laying a finger.
Curse!yuuta bending you over the counter in the morning as you were trying to make yourself breakfast, last night was rough you were a bit sore but yuuta still misses your pussy. “Just a quick one I promise! I miss you so much! I’m just displaying my love for you—“ he pushes himself inside your worn out cunt from last night once again, you whimper at the feeling each time he rolls his hips when his balls slap against you. His hands reaching to your tit, massaging it in his palms. You don’t think you could ever break the curse from yuuta okkotsu.
8K notes · View notes
memetheon · 8 months
Text
0 notes
maipareshaan · 1 year
Text
They aired this on bbc bill cosby documentary???? Wild lmao.
Ms Rashatwar told the programme: ‘If we actually grappled with the fact that sex negativity is what causes this type of behaviour, then we could create a world, where in an idyllically sex positive world, someone is able to pay conscious women to come and be drugged so that I can get my kink out, my fetish on having sex with unconscious people. There’s a consensual way to do that.’
I mean its a take. I can respect having it out in a different viewpoints way.
1 note · View note
fairyysoup · 1 month
Text
his hands
Tumblr media
pairing(s): hairdresser!eddie munson x fem!reader
summary: How do you make getting a haircut an erotic experience? You have Eddie Munson as your hairdresser, of course.
cw: explicit, smut, unprotected piv sex, mirror sex, workplace sex, hand kink, choking, dumbification, dom!eddie, touch-starved!reader, semi-sort-of subspace happenings, referring to genitals with gendered pronouns, slight body worship, getting weirdly horny over a head massage, sexual tension, negative self talk, hair cut/style mentioned but no description of hair color/type, the aftercare is the haircut lol, implied 90s au, eddie's like 30, reader's age unspecified, eddie is employee of the month in my heart, not proofread, no beta we die like men
a/n: this is weird. and came from an interesting experience i had at the hair salon. and yes that is corpse's hand in that pic i didn't want to spend all day looking for a header pic shut up shut up shut up
ALL MY WORKS ARE 18+ MINORS DNI
Tumblr media
read here
2K notes · View notes