Mhm

Please the way you fed me with that Eremin ask I'm so full!!!! Ugh, I love jealous bratty Armin and dom Eren so much. If you do end up writing more I always have room for dessert 👀

I just came from a great chair class and I'm feeling good so let's go—

happy eating, anon @ringpop-poppy @johnsrevelation

Eren means it when he says he loves both of his babies equally. He loves the punishing pucker of his baby boy's ass and he loves the warm, sucking silk of his honey's pussy. So Eren absolutely means it when he looks down at his baby girl, who's sobbing hysterically from the overstimulation, and the feral bare of Aremin's teeth, and says that he doesn't know who looks better. Fuck, he's sure that this is will seared in his memory permanently. The drooly gape of your mouth, Armin's urgent grunting, and the damp slap of skin almost seems to be happening in slow motion, with Eren's cock thrusting up into Armin as the impetus of it all.

"Doesn't our honey's pussy feel good, baby boy?" Eren growls into Armin's ear, eyeing the way your arousal has slicked all the way Armin's nipples. "Doesn't it make you wanna lose your mind?"

"Yeah," Armin grits out, thumbing your nipples and grinning at the way you twitch and gasp helplessly. "Ugh, yeah, fuck this pussy, Daddy, fuck our pussies."

Eren swears, and snaps his teeth against Armin's shoulder. "Squeeze baby girl's throat, choke this bitch out."

Your eyes fly open as Armin fists the base of your throat hard, and your pussy squeezes so naughty and nasty that Armin sucks in a breath like he's been the one choked out and jerks his cock back. It still doesn't matter—you're outright drooling and crying as you cum for the umpteenth time, and Armin finally, finally blows his load, babbling a garbled chant of "fuck, fuck, fuck, oh daddy, pussy, pussy, pussy so nasty, fuckkk—"

Eren's ass flexes five, six, seven more times before he shoves hard at Armin's back, cumming in him with a victorious hiss. "See? Always listen to Daddy."

God, I’m so weak for big dilf!Kirishima

Dilf!Kirishima who is so in love with his sweet lil cry baby girlfriend. Sweet lil girlfriend who bawls her eyes out at the sad parts of movies and animes and who always makes a soft little sad noise before hiding in Daddy’s lap and wetting his shirt with her tears. Who is absolutely livid whenever anyone dares to bash her big lover. Who absolutely hates it when she and Kirishima argue, and who will cry if Kirishima decides to sleep on the couch (he never does this, he’ll always sneak back in after making a fuss because he hates going to sleep with her and he can’t bear the thought of her in so much distress). Who cries her eyes out of Kirishima gets hurt while working, and will fight anyone who tired to make her leave his hospital room. She totally makes him cry when she earnestly promises to take care of him and protect him from anything bad, because she’s so small and gentle and caring and he’s scared about how everyone will see him as a creepy old man and how physically battered his body will be after years of throwing himself in front of civilians and fires. Who makes him feel like such a big man and also like he’s a horny teenager all over again when they’re in bed together. Dreams of having chubby and happy babies with her, with hearts as beautiful as their Mama’s.

sob. :((( crying ‘cause he sleeps on the couch is what got me :(((

Never related more to a tweet

There's nothing hotter than when a man puts his weight on you. Fucking into you from behind but you're pinned to the bed and his chest is on your back. Fucking into you in missionary and his chest is on yours. There's something so intimate about it. Being pinned by his weight while he ruts into you... completely enclosed by him

meet ugly with iwaizumi hajime athletic trainer where you’re catering the dessert table at the Olympic Training Center's End of Year Celebration. You’re covered up to your elbows in swiss meringue buttercream, iwaizumi is wrangling two drunk volleyball players about to vomit all over him, and there’s only one available bathroom left to use.

your eyes and his meet from either end of the hallway - he can clearly see you're covered in buttercream and you can clearly see two gigantic men being wrangled like puppies by the backs of their shirts, both slurring happily about how much they love volleyball and how much they love each other, bro.

in the center of the hallway, equidistant from either one of you, is the door to the only unoccupied sink on the first floor of the building.

of all the men in the world you would normally be willing to pick a fight with, a surly looking athletic trained with flexing biceps is not the first one you would choose to tangle with. but between your mixer dying on you, the two previous batches of buttercream that split on you, and the gigantic celebration cakes for the team, staff and the social media team still waiting to be frosted, you're willing to take your chances.

"hey!" he barks in shock, as soon as he realizes you're booking it to the door. Atsumu and Bokuto make alarmingly queasy sounds when he starts running in earnest to get to the door before you. "hey, stop! seriously?"

bokuto squawks, when Iwaizumi bodily swings his limp body across the threshold of the door, eyes narrowed at your buttercreamed hand just beginning to pull the door handle.

"pardon me," he says, low and deadly serious. "but i have two sick idiots about to blow chunks all over the walls."

"i have buttercream in my hair," you huff, eyes narrowed. "and three unfinished cakes waiting for me. i get you're in some sucky shit, but work trumps pukey people."

"urgh, iwa-san," atsumu mutters, strained, his forehead beading with sweat. "i think i'm gonna be sick."

"hold it in, you little bastard!" iwazumi barks, before turning back to you. "come on, can't you just wait 10 minutes?"

"i'm already running behind on my cooling and setting schedule," you snap back. "and i'll literally be done within in, like, two minutes!"

bokuto groans, hands coming up to hold his belly. "oh, man. i don't think i can wait two."

iwaizumi gives you a sharp look. "you want shit and puke on the carpets?"

"you want to fuck with my job?"

"i don't give a damn if your cakes come out late!" he snarls. "frankly, it sounds like you have bad time management skills."

"and you sound like you can eat my ass!"

at that moment, atsumu lurches forward, hand slapping over his face as he shoves past the two of you and steps over bokuto. before the door even closes, you can already the retching sounds of him vomiting into a toilet.

"oh shit, i'm gonna shit myself," bokuto mutters, pushing up onto his hands and knees, drunkenly crawling on all fours as he pushes open the door.

"oi! bokuto, at least stand up!" iwaizumi shouts, only to get a vaguely panicked "no way, man, it's about to come out!"

Iwaizumi gives up, rubbing his forehead and counting slow breaths, almost as if he's completely dismissed the fact that you're even there.

spite is like acid on the back of your tongue.

fine. fine. you're not unwilling to recognize when you've been defeated. but this is not how you go out against this guy.

"Kenma."

The game buzzes on, the battle music intensifying. The thing his character is facing has changed, taking on its second form as Kenma's character rolls and swings its sword. The man himself is curled into his knees, chest tucked forward in anticipation, like he's about to hop out of his chair.

"Ke-"

"In a second," he cuts you off. His unblinking eyes never leave the screen, peering through his blonde bangs. "I just have to beat this boss."

With a huff, you sink back into your chair.

"Last time you said 'just a second' it took you two days to beat the damn thing," you remind him. "I'm not immortal-- I don't have time to sit around for you."

Frankly, you often forget Kenma is immortal until moments like that. You had always thought that vampires would be menacing or carry some sort of grandeur, but everyone you've met has been so spectacularly normal. Kenma, for instance, seems like every other guy your age: aloof and obsessed with video games.

"Get bitten then," he shrugs. "Kuroo would be happy to."

Your spine trills at the thought of it. When you first met Kuroo, you thought her was odd in the most normal way possible. He was practically nocturnal because he claimed to work remotely overseas, but he still went to bars and played indoor volleyball: average activities for an average man-

Or, that's what you thought, until you learned about the whole vampire thing.

Honestly, it's only made you more attracted to him. The mystery, the danger-- what's not to love? You'd be lying if you said you had never thought of his teeth on you, his hands on your body-

"That's what I wanted to talk about."

Kenma's head whips around. This game doesn't pause; the monster smacks his avatar across the screen.

"You're turning?" His voice is either bright with surprise or shock. You've known Kenma for a while now and you still can't seem to read his motivations. You're not sure why Kuroo incorporated you into the fold of his undead friend group, but here you are, sitting in their living room.

"No, uh-" What you're about to ask suddenly feels silly. "I wanted to... Can I see your teeth?"

Kenma's expression settles and he picks up the controller that you hadn't realized he dropped.

"I died for that?" He flicks the game off. "You could have waited for that. I'll still have teeth in a week."

You have to bit your tongue to stop yourself from losing your mind. Kenma just goes back to gaming, eyes narrowing with effort.

"I could be dead in a week."

"You won't be."

"I could be," you say. "I could have a stroke at any moment."

"You won't." He mashes the buttons extra hard, so hard the plastic creaks. "And if you did, we'd know before you did."

The character dies much earlier than it usually does.

"How would you know if I had a stroke before I did?"

"It smells sour when..." His eyes finally turn your way again. "Whatever. It's fine."

"Fine to touch?" you say.

He beckons you over with a nod of his chin. "Yeah."

Pushing off from your seat, you walk over to where he's sitting. Kenma doesn't bother to stand. He tilts his head back, looking up at you with a slight smile.

Already, you can see them. The sharp, vivid white teeth behind his pale lips. They have the usual shape, but anything uncanny edge makes your skin crawl. It's something you can't quite place, maybe something not there at all.

To get closer, you slide a leg onto his chair, angling yourself over him the best that you can. You're surprised when his hand rests on your thigh for support.

"Don't look so scared," Kenma says, a bit too coy for your liking.

You hadn't realized you'd been making a face at all.

"Just don't bite me."

Kenma opens his mouth and his teeth catch the dim light, strange for how dry his mouth seems to be. His canines are slightly elongated, just a hair more than a usual human. Gingerly, you run your fingers across the front of his teeth, then down to their edges. There's almost a razors edge to them, enough that you can feel the ridges of your fingerprint catching.

"Sharp," you quip. You leave a pause for Kenma to respond, but then you realize he can't, not with his mouth open for you. He just watches you, eyes flickering from one of your eyes to the other.

This isn't intimate, you remind yourself. It's scientific curiosity.

It can't be intimate, because you like Kuroo. Not Kenma. No, you don't like it at all that his hands are around your waist and you're cupping his cheek with your free hand, that his breath somehow smells soothing-

His canines seem longer now. More jagged, sharp. You press the pad of your thumb against it and watch how your skin easily skins in, no resistenxe whatsoever. Then, you pull away. A drop of blood wells up at the spot; there's no pain whatsoever, but the thumb tingles, like menthol and cocaine, riveting and calming all at once.

Kenma leans into the palm of your hand, then cranes his neck ever so slightly to envelop your finger in his lips. It's the most delicate of touches, a ghost of a memory of a kiss, but when he pulls away, crimson has settled into the cracks of his lips.

"Your heart's beating-" his tongue runs over his lower lip. "Really fast."

Kenma pulls you closer, arms now tight around your waist. You don't know when you got so close, when your bodies suddenly were pushed together, but now they are--

and now your finger is in his mouth. The gentle, crushing pressure of suction surprises you, but not more than the desperate whine he makes when blood hits his tongue.

That buzzing had spread up your arm and you can suddenly feel it, feel how your heart runs heavy and fast for him. Kenma's eyes are so lidded, barely open, heavy with want, that you can barely make out how his pupils have narrowed into cat scratch slits.

"Oh," you babble. "Oh, it's--"

"Feels good?" Kenma isn't speaking, but you can hear his voice.

"Y-yeah."

"I can make you feel good." There can't be that much blood from that tiny spot, but Kenma swallows deep as if there is. "Anytime you want."

The plush of his tongue swipes up your digit. Oh, maybe you are bleeding out. Maybe he's killing you. You're hot and cold and weak and strong and, and, and--

"You never have to ask Kuroo for-"

The front door of the apartment slams closed. A familiar set of boisterous laughter echoes through the halls-- Bokuto and Kuroo are hone. When you pull away, Kenma gives no resistance, his eyes still fixated on you.

An unjust guilt rises in your throat. You examine your hand, expecting a torrent of blood, only to be greeted with the smallest blossom on your finger tip.

"Were we supposed to do that?" you whisper.

"It's fine." Kenma adjusts himself in his chair, pulling at his pant legs. "They'll scold me, not you."

That doesn't make you feel better.

"Thanks," you say, awkwardly heading for the door. "For the-- thanks."

"Hey," he's using his real voice this time. You pause, turning back to him to catch his wide, Cheshire grin. "Thanks for the snack."

i’ve been doing my homework on how to break into a writing career and honestly. there’s a Lot that i didn’t know about thats critical to a writing career in this day and age, and on the one hand, its understandable because we’re experiencing a massive cultural shift, but on the other hand, writers who do not have formal training in school or don’t have the connections to learn more via social osmosis end up extremely out of loop and working at a disadvantage. 

kita would probably throw a hydrocolloid patch on it 🥺

i have this giant ass pimple right under my lip from both stress for packing for school and my goddamn period, and i just know kita would have a home remedy to make it better. that, or scold me every time he walks past me picking it, and distract my hands by jerking himself off with them <3

-🍌

and he'd make you sit on the counter, stands between your legs, and dabs the balm on your giant ass pimple with all his giant ass love for you <3

oh god his hands would be so rough

My piece for the MSBY: Game changer zine 💕