I get a kick out of the nofap redditors I kind of do I shouldn't but I do I like to go on relapse report and just scroll and feel good that I'm human and beautiful and I like to see them flagellate and I like to watch like 300 more come out of the woodwork and pat eachother on the back and be like bro you got this bro you can totally do better next time bro and the op is like no I'll never ever ever ever get better I should JUST DIE ALREADY and its literally just because men are evil demons and nothing else so he saw a woman and jerked off because the deviantart indoctrination did not work and now men all across the country will see a girl who looks like overwatch and start cutting themselves and spraying blood all over da walls and licking it up it's just crazy I like to see it and trolling them doesnt work you have to like find one and earn their trust and then one day flash them with a girl who looks like overwatch because they went like 80 days without touching themself and now theyre in like super victorian ankle mode so a woman who has like breasts and 2 arms abd 2 legs wearing too much eyeliner is basically like if the sun were inches away from earth and they looked right at it
Just now, the thought returned to me- how long until you finally break? How much more tension can you take before something inside you snaps? And I realized, I have asked this same question for years. And I am still here, appearing intact. But rather than bring me any sense of comfort, Iâm afraid that the truth is this: there will be no singular breaking point. You will not collapse with such an intensity that it finally cannot be ignored, not by you nor by anyone else. Because that line of thinking brings with it a false hope- the idea that if you can just hold on until it all falls apart at once, someone will have to notice. They will have to save you.
It happens like this: you will not shatter in an instant, you will be eroded by time and by hurt and by the weight you refuse to let go of as you clamber to stay afoot on an uphill journey. The pieces will fall away slowly, subtle shifts until one day you try to catch a glimpse of your reflection and realize that there is nobody looking back at you. You will be unrecognizable to and absent from yourself. And you will wonder, âHow could I let this happen?â That is the creep of it. How it stalks behind with silent tread, taking flesh from flesh without repercussion.
The storm was raging outside the carâdeafeningly loud; each thunderclap shook the windows, rattling so much you thought they would break. You had just returned from a little excursion, thinking you could beat the storm, even taking an apparent shortcut to ensure your success.
How foolish you were to think you could beat a storm. The wind was violent, the rain harsh and unforgiving, blurring the sight of the roadsâa sort of punishment for your stupidity and impatience. It was a miracle that you hadnât crashed yet.
You were forced to take shelter in a nearby hotel in the middle of nowhere. It was an odd thingâno parked cars (besides your own), and no people to be seen or found. But you just assumed it was because no one was foolish enough to go driving in a storm.
A sort of heaviness loomed inside your lungs when you touched the handle, so cold and frigid. But with your clothes utterly drenched, body shivering from the cold, you knew you couldnât stay here or seek refuge in the car, hoping for the best.
Once you stepped foot inside the hotel, a sense of unease draped over you. An unbelievably cold, prickling sensation caressed your skin, and if you listened close enough, you could hear the haunting melody of laughter.
It was strangely empty, with no person in sight, staff or otherwise. Yet the lights were on, only flickering whenever lightning struck. For a moment, you think it's abandoned.
The silence was eerie, the haunting melody of laughter mixed in with the wind, so quiet, so indecipherable against the storm screaming just outside the building. You paid no mind to it, dismissing it to the rampage of the thunderstorm.
The lobby was empty, frightfully so. Yet the lights were on, only flickering whenever lightning struck. You were slow and careful in your steps as you approached the front, tense as if someone would pop out at any moment. The area was spacious, with warm lighting, doused in maroon and what appeared to be mahogany.
Much too expensive for you. Truly a wonder why there wasnât a single person in sight, staff or otherwise.
You walked up to the counter, a soft and cautious âhello?â leaving your lips, craning your neck to catch any sight of life, backpack heavy on your shoulders. A cold breeze, almost akin to a human breath, brushes against your cheek. You whip your head in that direction, expecting to find a person, but what you see instead is a key. Thereâs a number attached to it.
609
That wasnât there before.
Despite the alarming sense of danger ringing in your mind, you took it. Your clothes stuck to your skin, water dripping off of you, and you were freezing. You couldnât wait this out in your car, and with luck, perhaps there was hot water here. A hot shower sounds fantastic right now. You repeated reassurances in your mind, breathing in deep before approaching the elevator.
The room was nice. Wonderful. Spacious. A very nice queen-sized bed with matching nightstands, draped in the same colors as the lobby. Warm light caressed the room, and a secluded yet comfortable atmosphere emanated from it. Oddly, no windows in here or anywhere on this floor, just mirrors and antique-looking objects.
The bathroom was also a bit odd, mirrors upon mirrors, your form accounted for from every angle. An interesting design choice, but you couldnât complain.
The room was great, but the bath? Even better. After scrubbing away everything that made you feel filthy, you set up a nice, relaxing hot bath. You could feel your stress melting away; the exhaustion crept into your eyes as you sank deep into a sense of comfort and tranquility. It wasnât long before you slipped into unconsciousness, surrounded by warmth.
You âdreamâ of cold hands touching youâgroping you, running their hands all over your naked body. Youâre shrouded in darkness, yet you feel everything. They fondle your breasts with a rough sort of desperation, pinching and tweaking your nipple while the others pawed and grabbed at your ass and thighs.
Their freezing hands were a stark contrast to the warmth of the water, and you shuddered from the sensation. Your clit practically begged for attention as the ghostly hands danced around it, so you did, caressing it gently.
The phantom hands moved to hook your legs over the edge of the tub, spreading you open before parting your lips and sliding two thick fingers into your aching cunt. You moaned at the feeling of their rough fingers stretching you open, slowly pumping in and out of you as they continued to squeeze and grab your breasts.
You gripped the edge of the bathtub as you rubbed your clit faster, they moving in tandem, matching your pace. You could also feel a sense of amusement from the phantoms of your dreamâamusement in your reactions. You chased your peak to get that delicious bliss of pure ecstasy.
You could feel itâfeel it in the trembling of your legs and the pounding of your heart, pleasure rising. Close, closer, untilâ
You wake up with a start, water swishing as you sit up, panting. The phantom hands disappear along with your dream, leaving your pussy aching, throbbing. Youâre confused, mind muddled, heart still pounding, blood buzzing underneath your skin.
It was odd enough that you were having a wet dream in a place like this, but stranger still, how vivid it was. You still feel the tingle of where they touched you, the sense of loss from their fingers inside you, and the frustration of a failed orgasm. It was jarring.
You try to shake it off, getting out of the tub and wrapping a towel around you. You reach for the clothes you left by the sink, but theyâre not there. You mustâve left them on the bed. The mirrors are foggy; it takes you a minute to realize something is in the condensation.
H E L L O
With a multitude of handprints smeared on the surface. Your heart drops.
You feel something prod at your slit, still hot and pulsing from your supposed dream. You jolt, looking around frantically, clutching your towel, only to be met with nothing. The air shifts, and the fog on the mirror clears up from the sudden drop in temperature.
You feel phantom hands caressing your cunt, rubbing your sensitive bud with its rough fingers. You take a step back, trying to comprehend what was happening, yet all you feel is the throbbing of your swollen clit as it continues to stroke and caress your cunt.
Haze clouds your mind; your skin burns, and you canât even move. Next thing you know, youâre being lifted in the air, hands holding the back of your thighs before plunging its cock into your dripping pussy, a choked gasp falling from your lips. Your shocked eyes meet yours in the mirror, a haze of lust in the depths.
You donât get time to process seeing yourself lifted off the ground, floating, nor the sensation of its cock filling your cunt. It starts rutting up into you, slamming you down on its fat cock with vigor. Your hands grip its invisible shoulders to keep you steady, helpless in its grasp as fucks you, cock so deep inside you it has you already shaking from pleasure.
The mirrors capture every angle of your pussy getting ruthlessly fucked, invisible cock splitting and stretching you open. Wet sounds fill the bathroom, and your moans get louder as you near the ecstasy you tried to reach earlier. Your walls flutter around it as youâ
Its seed spurts inside you before you reach it.
It stays settled inside you for a moment, then slips out, green goo covered its cock, the same goo leaking out of your hole. The sight turns you on more than youâd like to admit, pussy clenching around nothing as your body begs more and more.
You feel yourself getting transferred to, what you can only assume is, another phantomâhands replacing the other, indents in your skin as it spreads you a little wider, something blunt prodding at you once more.
Perhaps you should be a little more opposed to what is happening, but when you feel hands spread your cheeks and another cock prodding at your ass, all you do is buzz in anticipation.
Itâs not long before they both sink into you from both ends, cock slipping into your cunt easily, while the other takes more time to work you open. They both seem to fall into a rhythm, pumping in and out of you with an increasingly brutish pace, whimpers and moans falling out from your lips.
You feel stretched to the brim, your gaze falling to the reflections in the mirrors, watching as your holes get fucked open over and over again, pussy drooling around its girthy cock.
They fuck you so deeply, hitting all the right spots as they continue to ram into you roughly. The pleasure is almost overwhelming as you feel the heat building again, begging for your invisible assailants to finally let you cum.
Itâs not long before you fall over, cumming hard with a scream, whole body shaking from the pleasure. Their movements turn wild, phantom hands digging into your skin as they thrust into you more fiercely, more deeply before cumming inside you.
You pant, still shaking from the aftershocks of bliss, as the haze slowly lifts from your mind. The phantoms drop you carelessly, and you harshly hit the ground. Your skin stings, yes, but you focus more on the green goo dribbling out of your cunt.
You touch it; itâs warm in contrast to their cold presence. Sticky. It clings to your fingers. It tastes sour.
The storm had calmed; you donât know how much, considering there were no windows on this floor, but from what you were able to hear, perhaps you could leave. Though you would be walking out of here with a limp.
You keep thinking back to the feeling of getting fucked by those two ghosts, momentarily thinking you imagined it, but that feeling of overwhelming pleasure (and the sting it left you with after) proved to you it was pretty real. Deep in your mind, you wanted it to happen againâwanted to be used as a toy for their pleasure, the very thought had you pressing your thighs together.
You pushed those thoughts aside, trying to brush them off (although it was proving difficult to do so).
The elevator, like everything in this hotel, was spacious and dressed in the same colors as your room. The elevator ride wasnât long, or it wasnât supposed to be. Coming up, it was quite short; however, going down, it seemed pretty long. The air had grown a little chillier, goose bumps rising on your skin.
The elevator finally stopped, and the doors opened to reveal⊠the wrong floor. You scrunched your brows in confusion, a soft âwhat theâŠâ leaving your lips. Maybe this was to be expected, considering this hotel was haunted (with strangely horny ghosts).
The thought had your heart beat picking up, silently hoping the ghost would pay you another mind-bending visit. The doors shortly closed on their own, continuing its path to the lobby. You hesitantly shrugged it off, hoping the ride would be over soon.
The familiar feeling of cold hands brushes against your breasts, almost tentative. It squeezes your breasts, pinching and pulling, and you see the imprints of its hands through your shirt. The elevator dings once more, and another pair of hands joins in, stroking your already wet cunt, playing with your clit, teasingly slow. You rock your hips for more, growing desperate for some friction.
The elevator continues down, doors opening at every floor and letting more in. You feel a stiffening cock grining against your ass, and you let it. Soon, they have you on all fours, hands grabbing everywhere as they shove their cock into your drooling pussy, pounding into you almost immediately.
Something blunt presses at your lips, and you open wide for it, welcoming it into your mouth. You waste no time, swirling your tongue at its tip and sucking.
The phantoms are pretty eager to thrust their cocks into you, stuffing you full from all sides as another fills your ass. They fuck you with no care, nor remorse, using you as their fleshlight as if they hadnât had something pretty to stuff their cocks into in weeks.
Your needy whines and moans are muffled by the one stuffing your mouth, hand gripping your hair as you gag around it, spit dribbling down your chin. The elevator keeps moving, ghosts trading places once they finish inside you, having you cumming over and over on their cocks, swallowing down every drop of their seed as another fucks your mouth.
Your invisible assailants pass you around, mind fizzling from the amount of pleasure youâre experiencing as they continue to plunge their cocks in your ass and cunt over and over again, abusing your poor holes until youâre reduced into nothing but a fucked out mess.
You donât notice when the elevator opens its door to the lobby, only to shut it closed again, going even farther down. Youâre too busy piecing yourself back together once they finish with youâlimbs weak and trembling, panting and exhausted, their cum leaking out your holes, absolutely filled to the brim.
Your consciousness wanes and fizzles before you slump to the ground, passed out.
When you awaken, the first thing you notice is⊠you. Your reflection gazing back at you. More mirrors? Youâre lying in an unfamiliar bed, hands cuffed and tied to the ends. A faint giggle echoes around the room, your eyes flit about looking for the source, but itâs too dark to see anything.
Your head is still fuzzy, and your limbs feel heavy; you canât even struggle against the restraints. Goosebumps rise on your skin from the cold; your nipples perk in the air. Itâs only then that you realize that youâre naked, clothes nowhere to be found. You expected to feel gross, to see crusted ghostly cum all over you, but it seemed almost as if you were wiped clean.
How long were you out?
You hear soft murmurs in the dark, making you feel fuzzy and dazed as if something was luring you under a spell. Soft hands caress your supple flesh, grabbing at the fat of your stomach, grabbing at the fat of your hips, as more joined. Hands, hands, handsâalways touching, playing with you, dragging around your body. As if trained, your body canât help but want more.
They play with the heat between your thighs, these touches much more gentle than the ones youâve come to know. You hear voicesâsoft, sultry voicesâpromise to be gentle, promise to be better than âthose brutesâ from before.
Youâre legs are already spread wide apart, cuffs tight on your ankles, keeping you unable to resist even if you wanted to. But with the sweet whispers in the dark along with the delicious sensations their hands bring, you donât think you mind much.
Something warm and wet trails across your breasts, sucking and swirling around your nipples, drawing delicate and hushed moans from your throat. Another finds its way to your clit, lapping and working its mouth on your pussy, making you pliant and needy.
Itâs slow and sensual, bucking your hips as each drag of their tongue whining for more, just a bit. They lap at your cunt, savoring the juices before sinking two fingers into you. They take their time bringing you to the edge, making sure you feel pleasure in slow, steady pumpsâa stark contrast to the previous ghosts, who were quick and harsh, eager.
Plush lips meet your own, fitting against yours easily, and you make no move to reject them. Perhaps a bit too eager to reciprocate, to keep your mouth busy as you rise to the edge. With a particularly hard suck on your clit, you fall over, crumbling in the ghostâs mouth with a wanton cry.
The phantoms coo at your reaction, praising you for being such a âgood girlâ. The ghosts pull away for a moment before theyâre on you again. Loosening a restraint to lift your leg, grinding your cunt against theirs, clits bumping and rubbing together, desperation has you moving your hips in tandem. The friction as you arch your back, small stars popping behind your eyes.
Another has occupied your mouth, sitting on your face as you eat her out, straining against the cuffs as she rocks her hips, moaning into them. Their juices cover the lower half of your face as you try to drink it all up, sliding your tongue between the phantomâs folds as you tremble from the pleasure the other brings you.
You suck and you lick, desperate to feel their release on your tongue, possibly feel it shoot into your mouth. Their motions get a bit rougher, faster as you whimper and moan underneath them, pulling at your hair, nails digging into skin. Youâre practically suffocating, but you donât mind, feeling yourself teetering on the edge once more.
A hand strikes against your ass, it stings, but it just turns you on more. Another smack as you burst, cumming hard with a muffled scream, legs trembling as they fuck you through it. Juices flood your tongue as you do your best to swallow every drop, eyes threatening to roll in the back of your head.
They wait as you come down, twitching every so often until your mind finally clears. For a moment, you think thatâs the end of it. You thought wrong; they let you recover just to start it all over again. Fucking you with their fingers, eating you out, gagging you as they play with your pretty cunt. Their demeaning yet sweet giggles and words echo in your ears as they bring you to new heights over and over again.
You donât know how many days passed until they finally let you go. You stumble out of the hotel doors, with weak legs, thinking, perhaps, you should come again sometime soon.
âsummary: The summer heat has you slipping between sleep and reality. Something not-so corporeal helps you cool off.
âwarnings: ghost x human, monsterfucking, piv sex, mirror sex (technically), creampie, dubcon/somnophilia.
âword count: 1,3k
âa/n: no thoughts just horny. also on AO3
The best thing about living alone, youâve come to realize, is the privacy. Youâre free to do whatever: take your time in the bathroom in the morning or whenever you want, spend an eternity soaking in the claw-footed tub this house came with, walk around your home in the skimpiest clothing imaginable (not only does it help to beat the summer heat, it also (technically) leaves you less laundry to do), splay out on your king-sized bed in a starfish position, limbs akimbo, drag the full-length mirror in your bedroom in front of your bed and stare at the way any dildos you own get swallowed up by your greedy cunt.
No point in wondering why the last owner was in such a rush to get rid of it; so much so that he accepted well below market price for a freshly renovated, fully-furnished house with a moderate backyard in a relatively safe neighborhood.
The longer this heatwave lasts, the skimpier your clothes get. Thereâs barely any fabric to cling to your constantly sweat-slick skin by this point, just a tiny skirt hiked so far up your bare skin touches the wooden chairs when you sit and a shirt thatâs more spaghetti straps than torso. The huge, double-door fridge is a reprieve, cool air billowing out and caressing your heated skin. It almost feels like a genuine caress, like someoneâs cool hands sliding down your body.
Seriously, you need to get out of the house and meet people instead of fantasizing about the cool touch of your fridge. But the outside is infinitely hotter than the inside.
You kick the bedsheet away from your body, grumbling at the lingering day heat. Youâd stripped the sheet from the duvet the moment spring chill had plunged into summer heat and stuffed the latter into the closet until fall. Even then, you tend to wake up without the sheet in the morning, finding it crumbled on the floor. Yesterday was another sweltering day. It has left the air stuffy and the fans only push the warm, stale heat around without providing any relief. You unplug them in a fit of frustration and cringe at the feeling of moisture when you lay against your pillow again.
Sleep doesnât completely evade you but youâre not fully asleep, either. You think so, at least. There are moments of brief blackouts, where you open your eyes and turn to look at the time only to find not even an hour has passed. Your eyelids feel heavy.
Then, there are the hands on your body. Caressing, petting, groping. Theyâve been there for some time now, just touching, feeling. Theyâre not cold, just cool enough to feel pleasant against your heated skin and inject some relief into your sluggish thoughts of sun and heat. A sigh escapes your lips at the sensation. Fingertips trance the expanse of your skin, draw constellations between your moles and freckles. The other hand moves to rest on your breast. It kneads the soft flesh, gently pinches your nipple between its fingers, runs a thumb over it.
You inhale sharply, heart thrumming in your chest, pressing your thighs together. It does little to quell the desire for friction, or touch. The hand tracing its fingertips down your body reaches your hip, then skirts across your flesh to rest on the inside of your thigh. You blink languidly; the heat is stifling, your head feels thick.
Cool fingers dip between your legs, press against your clit like â like theyâre what? Testing the waters. You stifle the half-baked moan in the back of your throat.
The hands leave you all at once and you croak out a sound that doesnât even sound like you, desperate and needy. Theyâre back not even a moment later, though, heavy on your hips as if theyâre trying to guide you. You reach for a pillow and prop it under yourself. Itâs a nice dream, you donât need it to end because it forces you into an uncomfortable position that drives home the realization that itâs a dream. Because then youâll wake up, alone again.
Something thick and heavy rests on your pelvis. Maybe this makes you a bad sex partner in this brief dream but you donât want to reach out and touch it, guide it. If itâs your dream, your partner should know the where and how. The cool hands planted firmly on your hips pull you forward just slightly and the weight from your pelvis disappears. It rests against your entrance, but doesnât push forward just yet. One hand leaves you and the tip of its cock drags through your slick folds, bumps against your clit.
âPlease,â you croak, staring at the ceiling. Your throat is dry.
The strangerâs cock angles itself against your entrance and pushes in carefully. You take a slow, deep breath in, try to relax around the pleasant intrusion. The hands â under your knees now, guiding your legs apart. A body presses against your thighs. Whoever it is, stops, pauses for a moment. You clench around the cock buried in your cunt. A cold, shuddering breath hits you. Goosebumps rise on your skin. The hands push your knees further apart until thereâs an ache in your muscles, and then they depart, one finding a spot on your waist, the other your breast.
It moves, then. The cock nestled deep within you sharply pulls back and thrusts in again. You scramble for anchor, to grab onto something but all you come up with is sheet that tugs loose. Their pace is dizzying, thighs slapping against yours, cock plunging into your wet cunt. The sound is so wet and lewd and goddamned loud in the still silence of your home. You go to stifle the half-moan half-groan in your throat butâ wait, itâs your house, your dream, who gives a fuck about the neighbors? The cock in your cunt pulls nearly all the way out and thrusts in again and hits that spot, so good, dragging against your slick walls and you swear you feel every groove and dip, every goddamn vein. Your moan slips out involuntarily, and whoever it is here with you, seems invigorated.
The hand on your breast leaves, a forearm rests around your thigh, pulling it up and â fuck, their cock drives in so incredibly deep you nearly choke on your own spit. You scramble upwards, resting your weight on your elbows to look at your partner â
Thereâs no one there. Your bedroom is empty. But thereâs a hand on your torso, cool fingers digging into your flesh and a forearm supporting your thigh and the shape of someoneâs shoulder against your Achillesâ tendon. Thereâs a cock plunging into your cunt and you hear someoneâs labored breathing.
The full-length mirror skids across the laminated floor and stops in front of your bed. Something invisible is thrusting into your pussy, gaping back at you in the reflection. Your face burns â your whole body burns. You canât look away from the debauchery staring back at you. Whoever â whatever â it is, thrusts harshly, cold hands pulling you against their body. Your thighs are wet and sticky, slamming against theirs, your hole gaping back at you, being abused by something you canât see. It sends you hurtling over the edge.
You come around the phantom cock with something reminiscent of a shriek and a moan and terror and pleasure all combined. Your cunt clenches around the thing your muscles sore and sweat beading on your skin. The cock plunges into you again and again and again and you blink back the tears and the fear and the overwhelming pleasure. The fingers on your body dig into your flesh and the cock nestled in you buries deep, thighs pressing against your own, and spills. Itâs so warm, so pleasant. The mirror skids closer, right until it touches the edge of the bed.
Your cunt is forced wide open. Stuffed. The pearlescent cum coats your walls, oozes out from inside you, dribbles onto your bedsheets. The cock in you stays there but the body moves.
A small fogged patch, like warm breath, appears on the mirror, and then, letters.
There's a certain type of guilt that comes along with being a child in a house filled with people whose problems are so much bigger than your own. You learn quickly that your good behavior is not only rewarded, but relied upon to maintain some sense of cohesion among those around you. You have to be the glue to hold everything together- if it falls apart, there will be no doubt as to who is to blame.
Take, for example, the sick parent. Every day you see them trudge through the pain, the drudgery, the never ending onslaught of new medications and treatments and specialist appointments, and it all takes up more and more space until there's no room for you anymore. And as soon as you have this thought, then comes the shame. Because now you're making it about yourself, and what greater insult to the person who gave you your life than to wallow in self-pity because their illness inconveniences your fragile sense of self.
And with the shame comingles the fear, maybe better described as dread. Always waiting for the other shoe to drop, for the day that bad turns to worse and never gets better again. You live like like a jack-in-the-box that's been wound up as tightly as it will go, ready to burst as soon as your hand tires too much to keep its grip on the handle.
When you live like this, your actions are not really your own to decide upon and to judge. Every step is measured by how it will effect the one who you must take care never to hurt. There can be nothing worse than to compound the misery of the one whose suffering is already great.
Yet still, I find myself dreaming: "What if it didn't have to be like this?"
Maybe if I had been allowed to exist as I am, to live in a sovereign body, I could have allowed myself enough separation to feel more sympathy than shame, to be more caring than cold. Maybe I would not feel her suffering as if it were my own if I had ever been allowed to be anything other than an extension of herself. Every reprimand for each minor deviation still stings in my memory as a reminder of how it must seem to tear away pieces from her when I move toward who I need to be.
i see a lot of people talking about having no plan in their 20's and feeling lost because of it, but I really feel like a plan doesn't help all that much. Even with a Plan you start to doubt the plan and the cycle of being lost continues. The ennui, the existential dread, the doubt-- these are all somehow inherent to this period of life, especially with the uncertainty of the world around us.
I say this because I am one of those people with somewhat of a Plan and a Trajectory and plenty of support (in certain areas) to help me achieve those things. I know approximately what the next 5-10 years of my life will look like according to my Plan, and yet no single plan adequately addresses every aspect of life that happens in the meantime. And so I live with so much fear and doubt every day, about whether I will live and thrive or be doomed to stagnate and become everything I never wished to be.
I don't know if this is a pessimistic take but rest assured, if you feel left behind in your 20's because you don't have a degree or a career path or major life goals, the people who do have one or more of those things probably aren't feeling that much more grounded or secure.
truly, where would i be without my internet smut. from low-budget pirated yaoi manga to 600k word vampire smut fic on ao3 to patreon fanart of blorbo twinks getting obliterated. The world is a blessed place
Human bodies are not nearly freaky enough. We don't even get a little tail to twitch in anticipation or coil around our lover? No claws or fangs, having to gingerly avoid piercing flesh as you try not to lose restraint in the heat of the moment? Not even a pair of lush, feathered wings to be stroked and preened as you shiver in relief... life's a fucking joke man
human bodies are pretty freaky, youâre just used to it. If any of those were actually on humans youâd be complaining we donât have something else. You can be freaky now
I swear to jesus christ when will you people read the tags đ do you think a post with a dozen monsterfucker related tags WOULDN'T focus on fetishizing inhuman characteristics? Y'all do whatever you want with your human bodies, I'll still be writing about fantasy creatures in my little fantasy land. It's never that serious
Human bodies are not nearly freaky enough. We don't even get a little tail to twitch in anticipation or coil around our lover? No claws or fangs, having to gingerly avoid piercing flesh as you try not to lose restraint in the heat of the moment? Not even a pair of lush, feathered wings to be stroked and preened as you shiver in relief... life's a fucking joke man
human bodies are pretty freaky, youâre just used to it. If any of those were actually on humans youâd be complaining we donât have something else. You can be freaky now
I swear to jesus christ when will you people read the tags đ do you think a post with a dozen monsterfucker related tags WOULDN'T focus on fetishizing inhuman characteristics? Y'all do whatever you want with your human bodies, I'll still be writing about fantasy creatures in my little fantasy land. It's never that serious
Human bodies are not nearly freaky enough. We don't even get a little tail to twitch in anticipation or coil around our lover? No claws or fangs, having to gingerly avoid piercing flesh as you try not to lose restraint in the heat of the moment? Not even a pair of lush, feathered wings to be stroked and preened as you shiver in relief... life's a fucking joke man
human bodies are pretty freaky, youâre just used to it. If any of those were actually on humans youâd be complaining we donât have something else. You can be freaky now
"And Cain says, âWhen you split me and my brother in the womb, you did not divide us evenly. He got kindness, and I got longing. He got complacence, and I got ambition. I want to kill him sometimes. I think sometimes he wants to die.â
