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#explore kinks
intrlewd · 7 months
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lancabbage · 4 months
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Some idiots on Reddit...
"MXTX isn't very good at writing sex scenes"
"Why did WXs first time have to be in the dirt, in a bush"
"why couldn't they have found a nice inn instead"
Seriously? Are they stupid?
Firstly, I commend MXTX for writing more realistic (bar WWXs self-lubricating asshole) sex scenes. Especially first times, which can be messy and a fumble! Personally, I enjoyed the sex scenes in MDZS, they were important to the plot and even had bits of information and revelations peppered in them!
Secondly, it wasn't "in the dirt" you illiterate moron. MXTX actually set the scene beautifully with the morning dew perfusing in the air around them, the soft grass underneath them and everything. It was actually rather romantic in my opinion. MXTX had them do it there for two very important reasons, that should be obvious to anyone with half a brain cell.
They were so fucking turned on by each other, they simply couldn't wait. That's hot, that's sexy, that's romantic. They've had feelings for each other for years, both wanting the other's attention and affection. Finally, finally everything is cleared up and they know how in love they truly are. They can't wait a second longer. And why the fuck should they? Just because some idiot wanted cliché candles and a bed in an inn.
It wasn't feasible to have them do it in an inn either way. The amount of noise and egging on WWX spouted as they discovered their shared kinks! It had to be somewhere far away from people, otherwise it wouldn't have happened because WWX would have held himself back and so would have LWJ. MXTX set the scene for this perfectly.
And finally, the other reason MXTX has them get busy in the bushes... To clear up the final misunderstanding, the blindfolded kiss. The fact they were in the woods, with the scent of dewy grass was all part of her setting the scene to jog WWX memory and remind him of that time. Of that non-con kiss that contributed in giving him a bit of a sexual awakening (alongside seeing a hot and bothered LWJ) and a nod towards the CNC kink he had and obviously enjoyed!
We get to see just how turned on WWX is by LWJ being so forceful. How delighted he is that his first kiss was taken by the only person he ever had feelings for. He loves how crazy he drives LWJ, how unrestrained he can make him, and how much LWJ wants him. That's the whole god damn point of this scene! To show their kinks and have them explore them freely.
So, sorry it wasn't in some shitty inn... But MXTX wanted to actually further the plot and give WX so much more than just sex. Why don't you go read some fluffy, cliché porn without plot stories on AO3 instead of shitting on a masterpiece that clearly went above your head.
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tearsofastraeax · 4 months
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Ghost would be the kind of guy that is so into the free use fantasy, his dick aches when he just thinks about it. A thick bulge growing in his pants every time he thinks of you sitting on the couch, just reading your book as he whips out his cock and shoves it down your throat. You try to continue reading as he fucks your mouth relentlessly. He leaves behind thick spurts of cum on your face and you don't even mind.
He would be on a mission and think of you cooking him dinner in summer. Your little dress hugging your body in just the right places. Ghost would come up behind you and rip it off, just tear it apart. He'd grow hard at the thought of you not even wearing anything underneath, knowing that he could fuck you anytime he wanted to.
Or he would grab you while you're on the phone, talking to your friend, and just bend you over. Ripping your little shorts apart, and sinking his cock into you. You'd try your best to ignore him, to sound normal on the phone. But he fucks you so rough and slaps your ass so hard, that you have to hang up. Moans escaping you unwillingly. And a broad grin gracing his lips when he knows that he got you.
He'd love nothing more than to tease you and fuck you till you finally react to him, moaning and screaming as his fat cock splits you apart.
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cannibalhol0caust · 9 months
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Haven’t posted in a while love y’all:333
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sherifftillman · 11 months
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okay but steve harrington, notorious playboy has been around the houses so often because it's just the norm, right? he's practically the town bike amongst certain cliques in hawkins; nay, a rite of passage. you've just gotta fuck him before you go to college.
yet nobody sticks around. the sex is fine and good, sure, but it's just the same foreplay and the same three positions, every time. once he's exhausted everything with one person, they've ditched him, and then it's onto the next.
until you come along. he expects the usual, you go out to dinner, then a secondary location, and then back to his, where he'll have to go easy on you to make sure he fits because guaran-fucking-teed based on his history, you're either a virgin or you've never been with someone as big as him. it's always the same. except you tell him to drop you back at your place. you give him a kiss on the cheek, tell him to call you tomorrow from 7, once you're home from work, and you get out of the car. you go on another date, and another, before finally he's worked enough to get you.
and of course, he's a little bummed after it finally happens. because now it's a ticking time bomb, right? except it's you, so it's not. the next time you're both in his bedroom, you ask him what he wants. you ask him what feels good. and he's dumbfounded. he's never had the chance to explore what he's into. usually just going through the motions is good enough. usually he's just a tool to get other people off, that's all sex is for him these days. but without that, who is he? he hasn't had to think about that until he met you.
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ghouljams · 2 months
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Me and my girlfriend actually talked about this! It is indeed the safety and security that fanfiction brings. In fanfiction I can live a life of this 6'10 Austrian man being obsessed and possessive of me. But in real life? If a 6'10 Austrian man approached me and acted this way? I'm changing my name, throwing away my phone, using only cash and getting a flight to the nearest least populated island known to man kind.
Exactly! Real life König is very scary do not approach me please sir. Fantasy in my head König so good please keep doing your weird shit.
That's the beauty of fanfiction.
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Feeling sappy today so I wanted to say that I am so grateful for this community, for the friends and acquaintances I’ve made, and the in-depth and nuanced discussions I’ve been able to have with people about body politics, fat liberation, sexuality, gender, among others. I can’t imagine where I’d be mentally or emotionally without an outlet and accepting community of my kinks and sexuality (most likely still deeply shameful of my body/preferences and still invested in diet culture, ew.) I have learned so much from everyone here and this community means more than just a silly horny time in my eyes.
So - thank you. Y’all are amazing and I love you.
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nor-every · 8 days
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Come see me take a shower
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genderkoolaid · 10 days
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has anyone else watched the regime on hbo. im personally in love. these people are so profoundly fucked up. I need more weird gay people's opinion on this show stat
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intrlewd · 7 months
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heavy 4 yew 😵‍💫
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cagetheskyy · 3 months
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every so often i'm reminded of the sqq-washerwoman comparisons and.
man. i'm so glad freud (or a genre-suitable equivalent) doesn't exist in pidw because he would LOVE luo binghe.
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this may be controversial but maybe the "astarion and halsin are SO sexually traumatised that you should literally cut your own dick off before thinking abt them romantically you disgusting freaks" goon squad should consider the ramifications of essentially insisting assault survivors be permanently excluded from any kind of sex and romance bc they are too broken and stupid to be trusted to know their own desires and boundaries or have the capacity to want to explore/push them.
you know real survivors (not pixel men but real ppl like me!) can read that shit? do you think pushing the lie that encountering one (1) Genital Wielded With Intent will invariably cause us to crumble to a miserably weepy heap of dust and blow away in the breeze is appreciated or helpful? or implying the people that love or desire us are selfish at best and outright predators at worst?
i'm begging ppl to just be 2% normal about abuse survivors PLEASE. the characters aren't real but the attitude you drag from fandom back into the real world are.
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cannibalhol0caust · 10 months
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an-albino-pinetree · 2 months
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Warnings: Suggestive- PFFT noo no no- that’s- there’s absolutely nothing to glean from this doodle, sus? What does that even mean- there’s absolutely nothing untoward about this very normal drawing, and I took that sentence the way it was supposed to be taken-
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erisenyo · 4 days
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I'd say we can blame the Zukka server for this one except it's been kicking around for a while all on it's own
NSFW ahead - Zutara, bloodbending, humiliation kink, D/s vibess, conensual but not sane or safe, I think we can see where this is going
The first time she has him on his knees it’s an accident—almost.
Katara grunts as Appa takes off, instinctively shifting her weight to counterbalance the heave of take-off, the rush of bloodbending still in her ears. It’s a sharp, jagged thing, sticky in the way it clings to her bending, tugging her awareness away from the rolling ocean and toward the smallest rush instead, looking to grab and hold and crush the water to her will and she knows it’s not water but it’s close enough and she’s just doing what she has to do, what Zuko came with her to do, so for him to turn away like he’s horrified by her, like she’s the monster when he—
“What was that?” Katara snarls, the words bursting out of her, her bending thrumming like she can feel the pulse of every venule in her fingertips.
“What?” Zuko says after a pause, delayed and not looking at her, acting like there’s anything at all to see except ocean over the side of Appa’s saddle, when the only thing around to look at is—
“Back there,” Katara snaps, bending throbbing along with the words and her pulse, high and wild and looking for something to grab onto and that’s the hardest part of bloodbending, the way it wants to be used once it’s been called, a rising flood pressing against the dam of her control. “On that ship, when you—”
“My information was out of date,” Zuko has the gall to shrug, even stiffer than usual about it and nearly entirely turned away, like she’s too disgusting to even look, at the edge of the saddle like he’d be leaping out of it if he had anywhere to go. “But it’s fine, we got his location, we just have to go to—”
“I’m not talking about information,” Katara spits, “I’m talking about you.”
A jerk, his voice coming high and thin. “I—me?”
“You think you’re better than me?” Katara hisses, wishing she could revel in that fear except all she wants his for him to snap and snarl back so that she’d have the excuse to— “Like you’ve never done what you had to do? I don’t need your judgment, Prince Zuko.”
“What?” he says, almost turning toward her before he catches himself. “No, I—” Like he has any ground to try to deflect when he’s acting like she’s something too shameful to even acknowledge. “You just—”
“Shut! Up!” The bending lashes out with the force of it, whipping and rolling right at the object of her rage and freezing his jaw if not his throat.
So when he moans in the sudden silence, they both hear it, clear and lingering even in the rush of wind and waves.
“What—” Katara pulls back, her shock quickly twisting into ready anger as he gasps and whirls fully away like she’s— “Are you mocking me? You think this is a joke?” she snarls as he just shakes his head, mute.
“No, no,” he says, the words tripping out of him, “I don’t, I don’t, I—"
“This isn’t some trick—”
“—I know, I know, you’re—"
“—that you can just laugh at,” she shouts, the bending lashing out of her mid-word, snapping his jaw shut and wrapping into his veins and arteries and forcing him to turn and face her.
It’s a rush of adrenaline-fueled rage and she’s braced to counterbalance his resistance, so she overspins when he goes limp into it instead. She stumbles, instinctively yanking him down as she finds her balance and the way he folds right to his knees, not even fighting.
Katara only half-releases him in surprise this time, but it’s enough for his whimper to go from strangled to loud and clear halfway through, the sound loud and clear, fear and—and making fun of her, when they’re—when this whole thing was his—when they wouldn’t even be here if not for—
“Stop mocking me,” Katara screams, her hands clawing the air as she purposefully reaches out this time, gripping him tight and making him feel her, making sure he feels her bending everywhere.
“I’m—not—a—joke,” she snarls, setting her feet and shoving away the part of her that wonders what Aang would think of her using all their time practicing bending in the air for this and focusing on the wild feeling of exactly what she could do to him instead.
She lifts Zuko bodily into the air until he’s barely supporting his own weight, back arched and arms splayed wide and knees just graving the saddle, making sure he feels her power down to his fucking toes. She strangles any more sounds as she flattens his tongue to the roof of his mouth, his head kicking back, and she can feel the way his pulses pounds, feel the flush of fear in him, the blood rushing to his cheeks and extremities and his—
Zuko lets out a sound that any other time would be protest as she releases him so abruptly he collapses down onto the saddle. But she knows its just gasping for breath and the shock of regaining control of himself after—after straining, ice replacing the rolling fury in her veins as she stares at Zuko fumbling up onto his knees and back, scooting away, his knees drawn up like—like protection. Like he needs protection from her. His chest heaving and mouth wide and face turn away so she can only see his scar and just a sliver of skin, usually pale but still flushed red with—
Katara whirls away, fists clenched at her side as she tries to will away the voice too like Aang’s in the back of her head murmuring ‘two-headed rat viper,’ sadly and quietly and understandingly, like there’s anything here to—
“Get us to Yon Rha,” Katara grits out, the words rough in her throat like she was the one fighting to scream, and Zuko just gasps behind her, breaths harsh, and Katara decides that that is answer enough.
--
The second time she has him on his knees, it’s on purpose. Mostly.
Because the problem is she can’t stop thinking about it, that—that sound. About that sound, and about the way he’d looked at her.
So in snatches and glances and sidelong looks, through the rest of the night and into the morning she watches him. Through the trek across the nondescript, nothing island to the nondescript, nothing village to the nondescript, nothing man who killed her mother, she keeps him in the corner of her eye.
And she knows that he can tell she’s watching, she can see it in the way he holds himself and the angle of his head and in the mortified redness that never truly leaves his face. In the stiffness of his body when she makes the rain fall like daggers around them. And in the look in his eye when he snatches furtive looks back, too, even though she doesn’t know how she knows it, something in his gaze she can’t place except that it makes her think again of that sound, and what it felt like to have him helpless in her hold, and he way he’d curled his legs up in front of himself after…
“Why didn’t you fight me,” Katara demands later as they pause by a stream, Zuko crouching down to wipe the sweat from his face and neck, his hands, cupping water into his mouth and the power of the moon is still lingering in her chi and for a while moment she imagines she could cup that water in her bending, too, cup it and follow it past his lip and—
“You didn’t even try,” she snaps when he just avoids her gaze, temper scraped raw by the idea of being denied this on top of being denied the struggle, on top of all the righteous fury crested inside her with nowhere to go. “You always—you fight why wouldn’t you—”
She breaks off, clenching her hands into fists against the jagged surge in the midst of the rolling ocean of her bending, Zuko hunching forward even more and still not answering, hunching over himself just like before, which means this is the same, which means—
Which means not what she thinks its means. Which means she was wrong then, and she’s wrong now, and he’s just mocking her again, mocking her like—
“It’s like you want to be on your knees,” she accuses, remembering the way he—blurting the words before she even fully thinks them, bravado over uncertainty and then when he just looks away, doesn’t even have the nerve to make a sound, “Or like you want me to put you there.”
Zuko just swallows hard, a flush crawling up his face, and Katara feels like her own face is flushing, barely-banked adrenaline surging back to life and her bending along with it.
“Toph told me how to spot a liar, you know,” she says, watching his lips part as he gasps and she has no idea where the threats are coming from. “I can feel hearts beating and pulses pounding just as well as her.” The quick flash of his tongue, like his lips are suddenly dry. “Would you be lying now if I checked you?”
Katara doesn’t know why she holds her breath, jagged anticipation in her throat, but it’s the only reason she hears the whimper that slips past his bitten lip over the sound of the stream, the noise that’s fear but also—it’s also—
“Should I check?” she says, the words coming out taunting, challenging, her bending shivering with readiness, her awareness sharpening from the heavy rush of the stream to the tight-quick-fast pulse on front of her as Zuko pants a moment, still half-folded forward.
Then, unsteady and low, gold eyes suddenly peaking through his lashes and the fall of his hair, “If it would make you feel better.”
Katara bloodbends him. Not like before, not with that sharp urge to wrench, but shoving into every bit of him hard enough to make him gasp, to make his whole body jerk with it and then go still, caught as she holds, flexing against every bit of him and—
“You like this,” she accuses as she quickly releases him, like that does anything to erase the bright feel of the pathways and pools of his blood from her mind.
And Zuko shakes his head, chest heaving and gasping and that’s familiar to her, too familiar, but the flutter of his lashes along with it—
“Are you lying?” she challenges, and she wonders if he can feel the potential of her bending pulling at his blood as he pants, open-mouthed a moment, body going tight.
Then, “You could check,” he rasps, and it’s such an open invitation that even half-expecting it, Katara still stares a moment before grabbing hold again, pushing to the liquid core of him but leaving his throat free because the way he keens, like he wants it, like she doesn’t even need to check his throbbing pulses to know—
Zuko is still folded half over himself, so she makes him straighten to sit back on his heels, first. Then she makes him drag up his head to look at her, makes him keep his eyes open until they bead and water and she’d do something about that except for the way the strain against her grip is like he’s trying to tilt back into it. And then she forces his knees to spread, wide enough to draw out a panting whimper and further than she expected and more than enough to see the bulge in his pants.
“You like it,” Katara says, her mouth suddenly dry—adrenal response, a voice like Yugoda’s says in the back of her head—as she stares at the dark fabric straining against the length of him, the way she can see his shape so clearly, see him press flat by the fabric against his own leg and it can’t be comfortable and—
 Katara gives him enough play to talk, to argue, to say its stress or adrenaline or just the natural responses of a teenage male body experiencing hormonal surges. But he just groans, letting out a low, pleading sound of denial and she can feel the way he strains to close his thighs but she still has him in her hold and she’s attuned to his blood, she can feel the way he’s reacting, she has felt it, and even if she couldn’t she can see.
“You like it,” she says again, more to herself except she can see the way he bites his lip against it even as she can feel the rush of his blood, can feel exactly where it’s pooling and even if he doesn’t like it, his body undeniably does.
Except Katara thinks he might like that, too. Because his invitation is still hanging in the air and she can’t fight the urge to figure this out, figure him out, arching his back—he likes that—and flexing his fingers—he’s indifferent, or what baselines as indifference for him in the current situation—and closing his lips—oh, he really like that, that gives her a new baseline. And she can see the hardness between his legs, the one she isn’t causing, at least not with bending—at least not directly with bending. And she can see the way he gasps and pants as much as she’ll allow it, hear the half-pleading groans that don’t entirely muffle against his sealed lips.
And the way she can feel the strain of his body, what he fights and what he tries to sink into, the shivers and tremors and Tui and La the jerks of his hips that she presses instinctively to stillness, and then again because the way it makes him moan—she shoves with her bending, gripping and pushes and finally following the flow of blood as much as controlling it, making her presence known beneath his skin, deliberately pressing it through him inch by inch and feeling heady with the precision of it, with that she can make his body do, what she can make it feel.
There’s the increased blood pressure throbbing against her pending, the quickened pulse, the blood rushing away from the heart, so like fear except for the way the blood is also flushing up his abdomen and Katara is fascinated by the way she can feel the steady spread of it before she ever sees the wash of red reach his neck and face.
There’s the blood stiffening his nipples, erectile tissue going hard just like his already-full penis, Yugoda’s voice again brisk and papery in the back of Katara’s mind, talking about arteriolar dilation and increased blood flow, about supraspinal centers and spinal reflex mechanisms and Katara wonders wildly which one is, wonders when exactly he got hard, and why, and how and—
Zuko’s blood throbs against her bending like it’s in her own veins and Yugoda’s clinical vice in memory talks through the stages of male arousal, Katara noting each one, wondering what this would feel like with her healer’s sense instead of the jagged sharpness of bloodbending but it’s impossible to do both with Zuko gasping and straining and throbbing this way, with the way she can feel his flush rising even hotter, blood rushing even lower, feel he way he swells even further, so much it has to hurt and the sound he makes says maybe it does but that he doesn’t mind, his muscles straining against her hold, a textbook case of male arousal and on a woman she’d feel—
Katara yank her bending so hard back to herself that Zuko cries out with it, his entire body arching against the hold that’s no longer there. His hips jerk against nothing, a wordless protest breaking past his lips, then another as he falls forward to catch himself on hands and knees, head bowed and body visibly clenching still, gasping almost like sobs with every breath, fingers digging into the dirt.  
“You like it,” Katara finally says, low, watching the flex of his fingers into the dirt, the humiliated hunch of his shoulders and flex of his hips. “You like not liking it,” she realizes, staring another moment and feeling the echo of his throbbing blood before suddenly whirling to stomp back to the path and the beach and Appa, trying not to listen for how long it takes Zuko to follow and forcibly shoving away the awareness of her own pulsing blood.
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craycraybluejay · 3 months
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wanna get cute scaredy boy super high and touch him while he struggles and trips over his tongue trying to say no. while his body betrays him and reacts due to the aphrodisic properties of the strain and all the while he can barely if at all move on his own. feeling his heavy, flushed hot form, practically limp, leaning back against my own. feeling his dick twitch and drool onto my hand as he pants and cries. firmly gripping his throat and watching his face get even more impossibly flushed. pressing my knuckles deep into his abdomen and telling him just how good he would look if i really punched him there; over and over again. hearing that little sqeak as i first penetrate him with my finger, the surprise and helplessness of it all, the inevitability. fingering him open as he weakly tries to get away. it doesn't even take force to stay him; just a gentle hand on his arm, wrapped around his chest. i feel it on my fingers and in my body, the moment he completely melts into me and allows it to happen. the way all his weight in its entirety lays into my elastic flesh, the way he begins to really open for me like a blooming midnight flower. when i take him, i feel no fear. he won't dare to talk, he may not even remember it. definitely not clearly as I will. even the leftover ache from the stretch when finally, finally, i get inside him; will not properly jog the memory. who ever claimed weed wasn't fun? for thee, but not for me. you can have my entire stash so long as you let me touch you.
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