#...i actually don't even know how to tag this

[carriesthewind]

WOW.

Okay, after a night's sleep, I have decided that yeah, there is value in responding to this absolutely steaming pile of ignorant, self-centered, self-important, anti-intellectual, b.s.

It looks like a number of people in the notes were swayed, at least to some degree, by this garbage, so I think it is worth trying to show why it is nonsense.

(Also it's possible I'm still spoiling for a fight after being denied an evidentiary hearing on Friday.)

I'm not reblogging the post because folks don't need a self-aggrandizing tantrum on their dash, but I do think it is worth taking a look for yourself, in order to practice your analytical skills. Some questions to consider as you read:

(1) What is OP saying in her original post? What claims is she making?

(2) How, if at all, does the poster respond to claims OP made? What claims is the poster saying that OP made? Do these match what OP actually said? If not, (a) what techniques does the poster use to transform what OP said into the claims the poster is claiming OP made? (b) What rhetorical purpose does it serve for the poster to warp OP's claims?

(3) What affirmative claims is the poster making? What evidence or arguments do they provide to support their claims? Do they explore any of the specifics or real world implications of their claims? If not, what real world implications of their claims can you think of?

(3) What other rhetorical techniques does the poster use to bolster their argument? Do these techniques actually enhance and support the substance of their argument?

(4) Relatedly, how does the poster play into the biases of their assumed audience (tumblr users with generally progressive policies). What claims do they make to play into those biases? What evidence or argument, if any, do they make to support those claims? Are these claims by the poster reasonably related to the claims made by OP?

Now, let's explore their response in detail!

(Also obviously don't harass the poster, and I would recommend not directly engaging with them at all. Harassment is vile and makes you far worse than them. And earnest engagement is unlikely to be productive - the OP tried to engage with them politely (and even offered to help) in the notes of poster's original post. In response, the poster (1) implied that OP is an obsessive rude busybody. (2) Told OP to "Shhhhh. Chill." (in response to (paraphrased), 'hey, the advice someone else gave you is probably a waste of time and effort'). (3) And finally, after condescendingly telling OP, "Breathe. Practice radical acceptance. Know that I am here on the other side of the internet, flagrantly wasting my effort and thinking of you every second of that time," proceeded to prove that they were, in fact, "thinking of [OP] every second of that time" by searching OP's blog to find this post by OP and dumping this Arrested-Development-level demand to be taken seriously in the reblogs.)

(All of which is to say: hi, poster who was "being vagueposted about." I assume you are reading this, because you demonstrably don't have the good sense to block and move on. I'm not going to block you in advance, because I think you have the right to make your own terrible decisions, and I suspect any response you make is going to be *very* funny. See you in the notes!)

So, let's go through the poster's response, paragraph by paragraph.

They begin by doubling down on the stance that, "any sufficiently deep enthusiasm is indistinguishable from academic rigor." This, they say, is their defense of that stance. Let's see how it goes - but first, I think it's worth remembering, OP's original post is literally a single sentence long.

OP's claim, paraphrased, that the claim that "any sufficiently deep enthusiasm is indistinguishable from academic rigor" is incorrect and anti-intellectual. If we read the OP's tags, she clarifies that enthusiasm is valuable, but different from expertise.

The poster starts their defense with a long...explanation that the structure of their claim was a reference to the Arthur C Clarke's third "law" (read: sci-fi fiction adage).

*deep breath*

Ok. I'm a big a fan of wordplay as the next person. And I know from personal experience that it can be really frustrating to do some fun wordplay to make a point, and then get misinterpreted here on tumblr.com.

But. The wordplay has to make a point for it to be relevant to your defense. OP's claim wasn't "this poster did a bad job with the linguistic structure of this sentence and is not familiar with classic sci-fi." How does the "rhetorical structure" of the poster's claim support the substance of their claim???

It doesn't, is the answer. The poster explicitly asks this question later down, but then they never actually answer it. Instead, the rhetorical effect of this whole digression is just to throw out surface level references to things (Arthur C Clarke! "AI"!) that might make the poster sound more thoughtful and knowledgeable. It also creates distance from OP's actual point - as the post continues, the poster has to remind us what they're talking about. This gives the poster more control over the narrative, over what claims are under discussion.

Which leads to the poster's next paragraph: the unanswered question of why the poster structured their claim to resemble a sci-fi author's famous quote, and a baseless attack on OP.

And I think it is worth really lingering on this attack on OP. The poster claims, OP perhaps is "misreading or misinterpreting" the poster's point. But what on earth is the poster talking about? OP literally just quoted the poster's exact words and then said that they think this is anti-intellectual. What "misreading or misinterpreting" is being done?

No. Instead, this attack rhetorically sets up the poster's next couple paragraphs: not actually defending their claim as OP originally quoted, but reinterpreting their own words, providing their own special unique meaning that they will then proceed to use for the rest of the post. They are redrawing the rhetorical bounds of the conversation. Rather than defending their stance, they are redefining their stance so that it matches the defense they now want to make.

(Which is still bad. It's a bad defense and it makes me very angry.)

The poster proceeds to define "academic rigor" in a way that just means, "enthusiasm." Notice how no part of their definition includes things like critical thinking skills, building up a knowledge base, testing ideas, receiving criticism (wow I wonder why), or any expertise or action to build up and test that expertise. It's just what a person "cares very much about," how much "curiosity" they have; some inherent quality someone who "NEEDS to know." (Also hit the bell for another surface level reference - this time to Herodotus - to make the poster sound more knowledgeable.) If you actually read the poster's definition, it is entirely "idk vibes i guess."

Now, having defined "academic rigor" as enthusiasm, they successfully declare that enthusiasm is a necessary precondition of enthusiasm.

And then, we get the best paragraph of this entire tantrum of a post: "Any sufficiently deep enthusiasm is indistinguishable from academic rigor. It's like a fractal -- the closer you look, the more complicated it gets." No only is this another attempted surface level reference, this time to fractals, but just. What is this supposed to mean. At a glance, it seems like it kind of follows from the last paragraph - maybe, the more an enthusiast looks at something, the more there is to know? But the closer you look at this sentence, the more nonsensical it gets. What does things getting more complicated the more you look at them have to do with academic rigor (either a real definition or the poster's enthusiasm-based definition)? More importantly, what does it have to do with proving the point - that enthusiasm is indistinguishable from academic rigor? (You might as well say, "the further you fall down the rabbit hole, the deeper you realize it goes," except then more people would realize you are expressing straight conspiracist reasoning oops.)

Now, several paragraphs in and having firmly taken control of the rhetorical boundaries of the argument, the poster finally decides to provide some context to the original statement (and needlessly insult OP for trying to be helpful again).

The poster correctly quotes relevant parts of the discussion (although mischaracterizes their own responses as "polite" instead of "incredibly condescending and rude"). However, the poster then immediately characterizes OP's response as "muddied." Because words have objective meanings, however, we do not need to accept this characterization. OP expressed her argument very clearly. Rather, it is the the poster who claimed that OP was making an argument that she was not, which we can paraphrase as, 'passion and capacity for learning are limited to formal education at academic institutions.' It would be convenient for the poster if OP was making this argument, because it could be easy to argue against. But since OP clearly stated that she does not believe this clearly incorrect thing that the poster made up in her head, the poster claims that her response was "muddied."

The poster emphasizes this false claim in the next few paragraphs. They say, "to me she seems to be arguing that one MUST (?) receive formal training at an academic institution ("academic training" "trained expertise") in order to achieve that level of rigor." But OP simply doesn't say that. You can look at the reply the poster quoted, it doesn't say what the poster says it does.

Now, this is speculation on my part, but I think the poster really believes that OP is saying 'passion and capacity for learning are limited to formal education at academic institutions.' I think they believe this because its how they feel when they hear the (correct) statement that enthusiasm does not equal expertise. The poster repeatedly says that they think that enthusiasm for learning is the same as expertise. They throw a tantrum after receiving the slightest, politest, disagreement. They think someone giving them advice that hey, maybe its a good idea to get a basic foundation of knowledge before cold-emailing experts is a busybody who is obsessed with lecturing them. The poster simply, demonstrably, doesn't believe expertise is real, and refuses to admit that someone else might know more or better than them. If they "care very much about getting it right," how dare you say they aren't as good as anyone with "academic training," fuck you very much you elitist jerk.

This sense is emphasized by their next paragraph. First, they shift the rhetoric framework of the conversation again. The actual claim the poster says they are defending is that "any sufficiently Deep Enthusiasm is indistinguishable from Academic Rigor" (emphasis added). Now, they are claiming that OP means that no one outside of an academic context "has the capacity to learn what rigor means in their field." These are very different claims, but the poster shits between them seamlessly.

Second, they just completely misunderstand what academic rigor is. I'm sorry, you can read every book and article and (*sigh* dear god) TED talk in the world, that doesn't make you an expert, and that's not academic rigor. A large part of academic rigor is in how you critically engage with what you read. Otherwise you just end up, at best, with a bunch of shallow facts that you can "whip out at dinner parties to impress [your] acquaintances" or sprinkle as references in arguments on tumblr to make you sound smarter.

But no, the poster confirms in the next paragraph, you don't need critical thinking or training or people who will tell you that you are wrong. All you need is the information. And if you disagree, you are arguing in favor of "the ivory tower." (Take a drink.)

In the next two paragraphs, the poster pays lip service to the idea that sure, it's easier to learn in academia. But even then, they imply that somehow that's the easy route, that good learning environments create weak men, that people who are self-taught are the ones who are actually building up the critical thinking skills because someone doesn't just "tell them the answer."

Then, before the readers have a chance to absorb, wait, did you really just say that academia is really just having someone either tell you the answer or where to look for the answer and therefore unsuitable for "sincerely love to learn," (because you are, in fact, anti-intellectual), the poster then throws in a bunch of shallow buzz phrases about how higher education isn't available to a lot of people.

And I say these are just shallow buzz phrases for two reasons. First, the poster never actually engages with this lack of access. It's just sprinkled in, like the references to Arthur C Clarke and Herodotus. (For example, no, actually, "any sufficiently MOTIVATED person" can't actually access all this information that is online. You need a stable internet connection, devices to allow you to make use of that connection, to speak or read the language those materials are published in, enough time and sleep and food and goddam shelter.)

Second, this doesn't actually have anything to do with the actual claim that the poster is supposedly defending. Remember that? Remember the position the poster is arguing for? "Any sufficiently deep enthusiasm is indistinguishable from academic rigor." How does, "some people can't go to college" support that claim, specifically?

It doesn't, which is why the poster's next paragraph instead claims that OP is arguing that "those people do not have the ability to hold themselves to a rigorous standard of learning."

Which just.

Fuck you?

Because yeah, that would be a shitty opinion to hold! And you are the only person raising it! You are explicitly making the claim - fuck, perpetrating the anti-intellectual worldview - that anyone who suggests "caring about something does not inherently equal subject matter expertise" is an elitist who thinks that everyone else, ordinary people, real Americans, are stupid.

I'm gong to be honest, this is the part of the poster's claims that made me mad enough to respond.The notes include people agreeing that academics and "experts" are actually pretty elitist, aren't they, and they deserve to be "taken down a few pegs," that suggesting that you need a baseline level of knowledge or vocabulary before you can engage deeply with a subject is "gatekeeping."

The U.S.'s institutions are crumbling as they are dismantled by people that are making these exact same arguments. There is no meaningful difference in the reasoning of the poster's argument here, and the argument that "alternative medicine" hacks who never completed their medical training have sufficient credentials to run goverment agencies, and that if you bring up their lack of credentials, well, that just proves what an elitist you are.

The "worldview" the poster does not accept - is telling you not to accept - is the idea that expertise exists at all.

And because that is an incorrect and harmful worldview, the poster has to use a bunch of rhetorical tricks to hide what they are doing. And then to sell it, they throw in a bunch of words to stir up the audience's preconceptions and biases. OP's claim (again, that enthusiasm and academic rigor are not equivalent) is "racist and imperialist." Why? Don't worry about it. Something something college is expensive and inaccessible to a lot of people. All you need to remember is that these ivory-tower academics are The Bad Thing.

*deep breath*

Anyway, knowing we need a laugh to bring the mood back up, the poster then says someone on reddit criticizing your argument is an "informal version[] of the peer-review process." Besides betraying a deep ignorance of the nature of peer-review (I guess even knowing how academic processes work is also elitist?), I think this means that the poster has to be cool with my post here, right? Because I'm just doing peer review? (Because also, just to be clear: "the academic structure of the peer review is a formalized process of the very human impulse to gleefully tell other humans when they’ve stuck their foot in their mouth." No. This is just. No.)

Next, more misstating OP's original claim. The poster says, "An institution of formal learning is not a prerequisite to pursue and absorb information," which OP already agreed with in the comments of the poster's original post.

In support of this claim that no one is arguing with, the poster than makes up a "guy at the model airplane shop who seems to know absolutely everything that has ever been known about WWII planes," and asks, "why don’t we acknowledge him as a legitimate expert?" The poster implies that this is because this guy is autistic and OP is a bigot.

But the real answer is simpler:

Unless you are referring to something you chose not to link for some reason, he's made up. He's a made up guy in your brain. And OP never said anything about him, so it's really weird for you to criticize OP for not sufficiently praising him as an expert. Fanfic isn't reality.

To the extent we are talking about real phenomenons - who do you mean by "we" and what do you mean by "acknowledge him as a legitimate expert"? There are lots of people with legitimate expertise, and in my experience, they often are recognized as such. And I don't know where you live, but outside of revenge-fantasies of conservative pundits and the people who are mislead by them, most academic experts aren't exactly exhausted and prestige and praise.

'Knowing a lot about a subject' is not the same as academic rigor. This isn't a criticism or insult to people who know a lot of things, despite your weird, self-centered hang-ups. Let me be clear here, actually: I am not an academic. I am a lawyer. I know a lot about the law in the areas I practice in. I do not practice the law "with academic rigor" because that's not really meaningful. I also like to constantly learn more about the law, including in many areas I don't practice in. I am not an expert in those areas. Just as an academic who studies the law and legal practice would not necessarily be good at actually practicing the law, my enthusiasm does not mean I have academic expertise (and my academic training is rather rusty, this many years out). This is normal? My ego is not threatened by acknowledging different kinds of expertise and knowledge exist?

And perhaps most to the point - "seems to know absolutely everything that has ever been known about WWII planes." "Seems to." An important part of academia - part of what makes it rigorous, if you will - is that you actually have to prove your expertise to other experts. They are then "recognized" as experts because there is a process the public can usually trust that they don't just "seem to" know what they are talking about. If you are talking to an amateur enthusiast - how do you know you they actually have the expertise they claim to have? Because I know of some guys who are really enthusiastic about the, claim to be experts, and have a lot of strong opinions about how they have reclaimed their Sovereign Identity by not capitalizing the letters in their name.

I agree with the poster's final paragraph. I love learning. But I can't see this as anything other than a manipulative postscript, a rhetorical trick of ending on a point of agreement and mutual enthusiasm. By a person - and I can't emphasize this enough - who refused assistance in learning and threw an enormous tantrum because someone suggested hey, maybe its a good idea to get a basic foundation of knowledge before cold-emailing experts.

[rcmclachlan]

tease tidbit tuesday

Tagged by @firehose118, @devirnis, and @ambernotember. Thanks, y'all 😘

Here's some more from the s3 alternate meeting au I'm working on.

+

Buck squints, because, "Wait, don't I know you?"

The guy, who looks like he competes in Steinstossen on the weekends, gives Buck a familiar smile—the same one he gave Buck a few years ago.

A four-alarm grease fire had consumed half an apartment building after someone supposedly tried to put it out by throwing a pot of water on it, and at least four stations showed up to beat it into submission. This guy had been climbing down one of the ladders with what must have been twenty kids on his back, and as he passed the window of the room Buck was in the middle of clearing, he smiled and waved at Buck through the glass like it was just another day at the beach.

"Hey, Buckley! How's the leg treating you, man? We were gonna send you flowers, but your buddy Chimney said you were a real weirdo so we sent that big box of whack-ass candy instead."

Amongst the explosion of flowers and wreathes and cards he'd gotten from people whose names he didn't know, there'd been a big box full of the strangest candy he'd ever seen: lollipops with ants frozen in the center, mints that tasted like roadkill, Carolina Reaper cotton candy, mac and cheese gummies, and chocolates shaped like dicks. He, Chim, Eddie, and Hen had laughed themselves to tears trying all of them one afternoon. Even Bobby couldn't deny the cactus candy was interesting.

Tied to one of the chocolate dicks—"cocklates," Chim cackled—had been a short note.

The bacon and cheddar cricket crunchies will get you back on your feet in no time. Get well soon! — Station 217

Buck bursts out laughing. "'Whack-ass' is right. Hey, Meyers, it's been ages. I-I didn't realize all of you were LAFD."

"Oh shit," one of them—a woman with broad shoulders and the most incredible mop of spiral curls he's ever seen—gasps. "You're the bomb guy! The one the engine fell on! I heard you were caught down the pier when the tsunami hit, too. I can't believe you're even walking around after all that. Don't even tell me you're back to work already."

"Y-Yeah," Buck says, eyes glued to a patch of the table top where the sealant is chipping away. "It's been an, uh, interesting year."

Tommy nudges one of his teammates further down the booth and then steps back so Buck can slide in. It takes every ounce of energy to actually do it, because even though he knows this woman means well, it feels like she's standing before a jury of his peers and listing all the reasons why he shouldn't don his turnouts again.

In all honesty, he should just call Chase and tell him to withdraw the suit wholesale. If a complete stranger thinks Buck shouldn't be back, then Bobby's definitely never going to budge on it. Eddie's never going to return his calls. Hen's never going to look him in the eye again. The days of daring Chimney to try a bacon and cheddar cricket are over. The 118's bay doors will never open to let him in again.

Thankfully, the din of the bar is so loud that no one can hear him sniffle as he glances toward the bar. Maybe they're hiring.

"Dude," one of the others chimes in. "I heard you were suing the department. I didn't know you could even do that. Maybe I can sue Cap for banning Mittens from the station, because that's just cruel and unusual. She gets lonely when I'm on shift."

"You bring your fucking snake to the hangar one more time, Nico, and I'll garrote you with it," the curly-haired woman snaps, then turns interested eyes on Buck. "But, are you? Taking the department to court, I mean."

Before Buck can excuse himself to the bathroom where he can have a good cry and then drown himself in a toilet, Tommy slides into the booth next to him.

"Actually, Jacinda, I can answer that one: none of your damn business," Tommy says sunnily. Without missing a beat, he reaches across the table to smack the guy with the snake upside the head when he opens his mouth. "Besides, I've got a better question: what's the deal with your kid, Benowitz? Did he finally ask what's-her-name to prom or what?"

Benowitz sighs, takes a long-suffering sip of his beer, and begins what sounds like a new chapter in an ongoing saga of his son Steven, who's been working on the world's greatest-slash-worst promposal for the last two months with no end in sight. Apparently trained doves are involved, and so is spcaLA.

Swallowing hard around the burr in his throat, Buck nudges Tommy's foot in gratitude.

Tommy nods at whatever Benowitz is saying, then nudges back.

+

No pressure tags: everyone who tagged me, plus @screamlet, @setmeatopthepyre, @beanarie, @geddyqueer, @freneticfloetry, @apollabarnes, @station18908, and @leashybebes

[thethreeeyed-raven]

I saw you were taking requests, and I was wondering if you could write fluffy dating headcanons of the Saja Boys? Thank you for your time!

+

dating/courting hc's

navigation | a/n : i’m not very good at headcanons (or happiness) so i’m sorry if this doesn’t live up to your imagination, i decided to put the two reqs together because it was just easier, the cat pics definitely convinced me😭| tags : @lost-in-fiction-like-ur-mom , @knight-of-flowerss

Jinu

i personally think that he would be scared to approach you directly, so i think he would follow you around for a bit and try to get to know you from a distance so he doesn't mess anything up.

the first time he actually does approach you he would be sweating with nerves.

he really wants you to like him.

he would try to play off the sweating and blame it on the heat but it's quite obvious that that's not the reason.

he would try to hide his demon side from you as to not scare you off.

once you start dating he might reveal little bits of his demon side and eventually tell you his story.

if you are a demon hunter he would be even more cautious with revealing himself and hopes that you would accept him.

Abby

i don't think he's the type to court tbh, i think if he liked you he would just straight up tell you.

however this boy has no shame in trying to get you to like him back.

he would flex his muscles even harder when you are around, maybe going as far as to not even wear a shirt.

and if you're anything like me and would shamelessly ogle at him, he would absolutely eat that shit up.

he would LOVE the fact that you're affected by his abs.

he would probably try to get you to touch them at some point tbh.

when you're dating he's even worse this boy would be flexing at any time trying to get you flustered.

Romance

omg he's literally SHAMELESS.

would definitely try to serenade you.

i think he would be someone who feels emotions deeply, so if he liked you it would definitely feel intense.

would definitely write love letters and poems and send you roses nearly every day.

would also definitely write songs about you and force the boys to perform them with him.

if you’re shy he would so eat that up and purposely do things to fluster you.

would probably be the secret admirer type if you were someone he found intimidating, if not he has no shame in showing that he’s interested in you.

Mystery

he’s very reserved so if he liked you i don’t think it would be obvious at all.

he’d probably share things with you to show that he likes you.

the rest of the boys would catch on after a while, not noticing his subtle change in behaviour around you.

would glare at the boys if they get too close to you, and would be even worse once you start dating.

he likes to nibble at your cheeks or any part of your skin that’s visible, it’s how he shows his affection.

i think not showing his face is a choice tbh but i think he would occasionally show his full face in private.

Baby

he’s so nonchalant it’s unreal.

probably acts like he hates you in front of the boys but still has an arm around your shoulder or is touching you in some way.

i don’t think he’s into pda that much so the most he would do is hold your hand or bump knees if you’re sat down.

would definitely write raps about you in a secret notebook that he makes sure is VERY hidden.

he’s not much of a kisser (in front of people anyway) but steals one every once in awhile.

would definitely make you try spicy food with him and laugh if you can’t handle it. (if you get mad he does make it up to you after and acts like he has to when he just wants to see you happy.)

[therobotmonster]

Saw some of your posts about AI recently, but don't really know very much about you. I have two questions:

1. Are you an actual artist, or do you just do genAI?

2. If you are an actual artist, why do you use/support AI?

We're going to get into this in a minute, but yes, by what you'd likely use as a definition of 'actual artist', I am. I have a BFA in graphic design, a minor in art history, I've been working as a freelance artist either on the side or as my main hustle since 2001, and I've been making art since I was five. Multimedia, 3d modelling and sculpting, photography (in a darkroom type and digital), acrylic painting, illustration, writing, puppetsmithing, I'm a jack of many, many trades.

Because it's a potent force multiplier that lets me do things that I could not previous (as well as helping compensate for my increasingly arthritic joints) and because it's entirely keeping with the copyleft principles I've had since the 1990s. It's just plain interesting and fun. And I had my fill of moral panics in the 1980s.

This is gonna be a long one, enjoy a song while you read.

I've gone over all this many times before, (for full reading, here's the #AI Discourse tag on my AI blog) but the short version is that I agree with the Electronic Frontier Foundation's position on AI art.

To demonstrate, we've got some of my non-AI photobash work, and some of my AI-work of the same type. Both were made using many, many public domain images broken down to B&W lines, scaled, reinked, normalized and colored.

On the left, is a comic made with specific panels from comics that have had their copyrights expire (back when that could happen), on the right, a comic made with about 35 individual dall-E 3 gens. The techniques are the same, the only difference is the source of the pubic domain images.

No one debates whether what I've done on the left is art, yet somehow the one on the right is a problem for some people. Yet I have vastly more control over the latter than the former.

And it's hard to get more transformative than 'broke down into math and blended with literally millions of other math formulas in order to make a completely new image" Replace 'math' with 'memory' and you have how all human creativity works.

Moving to covers, one of my parody deepdream-adjusted comics, and a reinked-recolored AI one on the right. The one on the left no one had a single problem with, but Bruce Wayne and Jessica Fletcher are screencaps, the Specter is a sales photo of a statue with a copy of 1989 Ted Dansen's face, and I'm using direct DC trade dress. Crickets.

On the right, no actual images by humans are used (outside the barcode, comics code authority emblem, and the 30 cent mark.) Same techniques, same situation. Very different reaction.

I also was a young artist in the 90s when Disney and the RIAA bribed and lied their way into extending copyright to its current ridiculous 120 year term, and I recognize what's happening with the anti-AI movement.

The exact same fear-mongering was used to get small artists to rally their congressmen against their own self-interest, and that's what the Copyright alliance is doing now.

Copyright does not help the small artist. It's also a relatively new invention, one that would be baffling to humans through most of history. You can't own art. Not even the people who make it. You can own a canvass or a carved rock or a book, but you don't own the art itself because you can't own feelings or ideas.

Copyright is a limited patent on specific expressions intended (supposedly) to encourage production, a limitation on the business use of art. The arguments levied against AI would kill fanfic, fanart, pastiche, collage, and more.

This isn't a bug, it's a feature, because...

The anti-AI side isn't actually anti-AI, they're pro-regulatory-capture-of-AI-by-Megacorporations. The copyright anti-AI argument conveniently leaves it open for Disney, Warner Bros, Nintendo, Sony, the RIAA, all to make their own AI systems to lower their production costs, because they own more than enough material to make powerful datasets.

They get it, you don't, worst of all possible worlds.

Now, at the start I mentioned that we'd get into the "actual artist" situation. All those people making bog standard waifu-pics with AI? They're also making art. Kids using a spirograph make art. Duchamp's fountain is art. And people who make art are artists.

But more than that "if you're an actual artist why do you use AI?" is an interesting question, because if more people actually used the tech and saw how it works, you'd see a lot less people against it. Most of the anti-AI talking points are just factually incorrect or greatly misrepresent the situation, but nobody is gonna learn that if even using it is treated as a transgress worthy of 'fair game' treatment.

Funny how that works out.

To close out, enjoy one of my music videos, made from dozens of clips made using reference images made with dozens of heavily modified gens that I totally could have made the hard way, except for the lack of 5 million dollars and access to Geena Davis and Ron Ely circa 1982:

[romanofftherealest]

𝔑𝔬𝔱𝔥𝔦𝔫𝔤 𝔅𝔲𝔯𝔫𝔰 𝔏𝔦𝔨𝔢 𝔗𝔥𝔢 ℭ𝔬𝔩𝔡

Chapter 2: Wrong Move | 5.2k

Summary: Once you were given a chance by the Ice Queen, you must not fuck it up because once you made a wrong move, you'll get killed—figuratively and literally.

Pairing: Mob boss Natasha Romanoff x Mob boss Female Reader

Tags | Warnings: +18 bickering, sexual tension, smut, switch reader & Natasha, fingering & strap-on (r), death threat, frustrated murder lol

Author's Note: 👋

⧗

"Ice Queen."

"Black Widow."

Insufferable–it had been insufferable between you two since your meeting with Dr. Bruce. Since he'd made his little comment.

"Please don't fuck in my office."

Natasha had taken the comment in stride, though she was unable to shake off the feeling of embarrassment entirely. But she couldn't afford to be flustered—she had an image to uphold.

You, on the other hand, maintained composed throughout the rest of that meeting, keeping your expression impassive and unreadable. Your gaze never averted from the path ahead, and you avoided even a single glance in her direction—the walk out of the office and the wait for your respective escorts.

The Black Widow hadn't seen you since then until today.

"You have always been ruining my time."

"I had an emergency."

You huff, "Again?"

"I'm sorry." Now, that was shocking coming from her, you didn't realize someone in your line of work is actually capable of apologizing. "How's business?" she now inquired, her voice steady despite the tension in the air. She sat across from you, hoping that her attempt at nonchalance was convincing.

"Steady." You answer shortly.

Natasha resisted the urge to tug at her tie as she leaned forward to sign some of the papers you presented her.

"How's Red Room?" you now asked, in return of respect.

This was all feeling a little too familiar—de javu. The redhead gulped, glancing up. It proved to be a mistake, she realized as you tucked your hair behind your ear that exposed a hint of your cleavage, the soft fabric of your dress gently pressed against the edge of the desk. Your movements were deliberate as you signed the document. You two had a business to sign together after Bruce had set you up, but if you actually weren't in that room together that time, and he did not make that comment of his, there is no business to sign right now. And you wouldn't take the blame being in the room with her, she was the one stealing your time of appointment.

Natasha finally gave her tie just a little tug. "Quiet."

As she took the paper from you, you couldn't help but notice her usual rolled-up sleeves, revealing the ink-adorned sleeves on her arms. But something was different today—the tie. Normally, her top was slightly unbuttoned, highlighting the intricate designs that crept up towards her shoulder. Today, however, the top few buttons remained firmly done up, leaving you wondering how extensive her tattoos were, and how much of it was simply golden skin.

Despite your attempt to be subtle, your eyes remained fixed on her. Natasha could feel your gaze, a heavy weight on her skin. But she made no comment about it, instead choosing to remain silent. Perhaps she was trying to be a gentlewoman, although knowing that being a gentlewoman hadn't worked out so well for her the last time around.

Natasha has the kind of sculpted physique that came from countless hours of training, complemented by the intricate ink that adorned her flesh. And her face? It is capable of morphing from a radiant smile to a deadly glare in a mere second.

While you possessed your own distinct image, a counterpoint to her rough edges. With your carefully crafted lace, the shimmering satin clothing that hugged your form, and the cold, stoic demeanor you projected, you cut a striking figure of elegance.

Then there was the ever-present knife strapped to your thigh.

Natasha's gaze followed your every move as you adjusted your shawl, her eyes tracing its soft trail as it covered your delicate skin. She found herself missing the bare sight of your skin, the way the white fabric clung to your form. She tugged her tie again.

"What are you wearing that for?"

"What?" you rolled her eyes. You weren't one for unnecessary words, let alone small talk. But you just wanted to know, so you had asked. "I have never seen you wear a tie in all the years you've been in town."

"I've worn ties before."

"Not unless it's to conduct business." You scoffed at her quick retort.

"This is business."

"I am not a mark." You narrowed your eyes at her like a cat watching its prey. "There is no need for formality."

She huffed through her nose, and you looked just as affronted as she felt. She gripped the knot, "I'll take it off then, Ice."

"I didn't say you had to take it off."

"Then why'd you bring it up?"

"All I did was ask." You huffed and stood from your chair, uncrossing your legs and resettling your shawl again.

Natasha finished her last signature in a rush, tugging her tie looser and looser. What was with her? "There."

"Pleasure doing business," you offered the typical and polite placation at the end of any business dealing in your line of work.

You walked over to her, your lace around your shoulders, caressing its way down your arms and then just brushing your hips on its way down. It was like an embrace around you, teasing and beckoning all at once. Your dress had a slit to allow the room to cross your legs when sitting. It revealed a slim, pale calf and killer stiletto heel.

Natasha managed to drag her eyes back up the leg and to her offered hand somehow. She grasped it in her, always making sure to be soft with it. She knew that you wouldn't like knowing she was trying to be careful with you, but…she couldn't help it. Your hand was so small—so light—whenever she got to hold it in you.

Not that she looked forward to it or anything.

"Pleasure."

You averted your gaze as Natasha raised your hand, her lips gently planting a kiss to your fourth knuckle. You knew she was intentionally skipping over your rings, choosing to kiss your bare skin. You made sure at your best efforts to conceal the shiver that occasionally ran down your spine whenever she did this, not wanting her to know how it affects you.

"Pleasure indeed."

Fuck. You were aware of your own allure and sexiness, it's something that was impossible to ignore. You know that you are driving her crazy—you just had to.

Natasha tugged at her suit jacket and her tie, attempting to distract herself from the effect of the woman in front of her. The same woman who can kill her with just a slip of a knife, she had to remind herself.

"Well," Natasha managed to snap herself out of her trance-like state, clearing her throat. She was unable to resist the urge to continue tugging at her tie, untying it completely and letting it hang loose around her neck. She looked at you, her gaze lingering for a moment before she spoke again. "Until next time, I guess."

"Leave the tie at home."

"Okay," she snorted in response, still keeping the tie barely on and popped open the stiflingly tight collar. She turned to you with a confused frustrated glare, a hint of curiosity in her eyes. "What's your problem?"

"My problem?" you growled right back at her.

She let out a smirk, that familiar smirk that always seemed to get under your skin, like when she called you, Printsessa. "Flustered?"

"Why would I be?" Cold as ice.

"It was your fault, you know, Banner's little comment."

"My fault?!" Oh, there it was–the Ice Queen's temper. All the frostiness is gone and is now replaced with a fuel raging fire. "You were the one trying to kiss me!"

"Okay, fine," she shrugged, and you froze back up again. That easy? She would concede that easily? You didn't expect that from the Black Widow at all. For all her reputation, the one and only bounty hunter conceded herself to the Ice Queen. You were expecting her to argue that it was you trying to kiss her, but she didn't really care who was trying to kiss whom. It was you who'd gotten pretty close all on your own as you'd stormed over to her, she just moved a little closer that time—not even an inch. "So?"

"So?" your jaw tightens as you shake your head, trying to keep your composure in front of her. You were caught off guard by her sudden surrender, let alone for it to be about that.

You couldn't stop replaying that incident in your mind, over and over again—each time so that you'd be able to defend your innocence to the end, adamant that you didn't initiate the kiss. You didn't lean in, you didn't reach out to pull her closer, you didn't allow her intoxicating scent to cloud your judgment and all your reservations and up until you get home.

And you definitely didn't think about fucking her in someone else's office, you didn't. Not at all.

Natasha let out a soft moan when you firmly gripped what was left of her tie and pulled her in closer. She had been yearning for this moment, her mind consumed by the thought of her lips meeting yours. She even started keeping tulips on her desk at her office, their sweet scent reminding her of you. No one dared to ask her about the change, and she would have been too embarrassed to confess that they were there simply to bring back memories of the Ice Queen's fragrance.

You couldn't help but gasp as Natasha moved swiftly, her tongue lightly tracing your lip in a silent request for more. In that moment, your defenses crumbled and you granted it, perhaps a bit too early, eagerly and willingly. But there was no room for overthinking or analysis now, because it was already happening. She was a damn good kisser, and you found yourself lost in the intensity of the moment.

You tossed her tie aside, your fingers deftly unbuttoning her shirt as if you were on a mission. Natasha refused to be outdone—didn't want to be found lacking. Her hands moved with grace and gentleness as she eased the delicate lace fabric away from your skin. She wound it around her hand, only to release it, replacing its tender touch on your skin.

As her hands glided over your frame, tracing a path from your shoulders to your arms and finally coming to rest on your waist, you found yourself involuntarily gasping her name.

"N-Natasha…" without any visible effort, she effortlessly hoisted you into the air. Your arms instinctively wrapped around her neck, seeking support. Despite the considerable size of your hands, they couldn't find a firm grip on her muscular shoulders. She has incredible strength, like a wall of muscle against which you feel both secured and at her mercy.

A moan of pleasure escaped Natasha's lips as your tongue tangled with hers. She spun you around with effortless strength and lowered you onto the edge of your desk, her focus now on your exposed neck.

Your breathing grew heavy as Natasha continued her ministries, successfully banishing any coherent thoughts from your mind. Her mouth relentlessly explored the sensitive skin of your neck, while her hands began to delicately loosen the straps of your dress, letting the fabric slide down your shoulders. At the same time, her fingertips traced a teasing path down your spine, gradually heading south.

Natasha's voice was a low, possessive growl as she pressed her lips to the flat plane of your stomach, her hands hurriedly tugging and rearranging the shimmering fabric of your dress, exposing your thigh holster in the process. Her touch was firm but gentle as her fingertips skimmed over your inner thigh, tracing an intimate path that sent shivers down your spine—and you cannot hide that shiver this time. She lifts her gaze to meet you, her eyes filled with admiration and something deeper.

"Do you have any idea...how beautiful you are?"

Despite the rush of sensations coursing through you, you resisted the urge to let out a gasp as Natasha released your holster, letting it fall to the floor. Unexpectedly, her fingertips were incredibly soft and tender when she gently massaged the area where the holster's clip had left marks on your skin, soothing the redness. The contrast between her touch and the ruthless image of the Black Widow intrigued you. It awakened an unexpected fondness within you, something you couldn't help but find charming about her that is entirely against your will.

"No."

"No?" Natasha chuckled softly, not condescendingly. Her head dipping lower to press a gentle kiss against the sensitive skin of your knee. She knelt down at your feet, her gaze locked on yours, her eyebrow arched in an amused manner. "Shall I show you then? My Queen?"

Your face flushed with a combination of desire and irritation, and you avoided her gaze, pressing your heel against her shoulder in a subtle attempt to maintain some control. You refused to give in to her attempts to fluster you, but God she did, and you think she already knows that.

"Ah, ah," Natasha issued a reprimanding retort, catching your heel between her fingers before you could even touch it. She delicately and teasingly unfastened the strap, using her teeth to extract it from its securing position. Glancing back up at you, "let me work, your Highness."

Pleasure coursed through you as Natasha's tongue followed an intimate path up your ankle, lavishing kisses on the back of your calf. She left a lingering lick on your knee before continuing and you felt yourself becoming increasingly disoriented, the papers beneath your fingers crumpling due to your trembling grip.

She gripped your hips firmly, helping to ease you as she pressed soft kisses to the mark where your holster had been placed. Her fingers trailed up along the seam of your dress slit, running them along the sheer edge between your legs, her touch light yet deliberate.

As you bit your lip again, trying desperately to hold back a whimper, Natasha's fingers slipped beneath the fabric of your panties. She rubbed slow circles over your clit through the thin material, feeling how wet you were already. You tried pushing her by the shoulders again when she soothed her fingers up and down where you needed the most, but at the same time you were more ready to wrap your legs around her and lock her in place until you were good and finished.

"More."

What the Queen wants, the Queen gets.

She was the commoner, worshipping at the altar of your body, her Queen. Each moan and whimper from your lips was like a royal decree, commanding her to continue serving your pleasure.

Without hesitation, Natasha pushed your panties to the side and her tongue quickly delved between your folds, pressing flat and firm against your clit just as she had promised. Your hips lifted off the desk involuntarily as she held you steady with one strong arm wrapped around your thighs, keeping them spread wide open for her mouth's access.

"Fuck!" your screams turned into incoherent pleas as she pushed you right to the edge of pleasure. Natasha doubled her efforts, adding two fingers to the mix while her tongue continued its relentless assault on your clit. She curled those fingers just right, hitting that magical spot inside you over and over.

She closely observed your responses, attuned to every subtle movement and reaction your body betrayed. Her grip on your thighs was firm but tender, so that it would keep them from crushing her head completely. Not that she really minds you wanting and needing to crush her head because that is some way to die and she would thank you, the Queen, after it with what remains in her dying breath.

"Natasha…" your whimpers and pleas grow louder and more desperate. She loved the sound of her name on your lips, loved how your voice cracked and broke as she pushed you higher and higher. "Please, oh-yes!"

And finally, you reached the high of your throne. And Natasha held your trembling legs with a gentleness and possessiveness, feeling like the most fortunate commoner in the kingdom. The Queen had given her the chance to taste her sweet nectar, and Natasha was drinking it up greedily, savoring each drop as you shook and moaned on the desk.

Natasha moved slowly, savoring the taste of your pleasure still on her lips as she carefully put your legs down. "You good?"

Oh, you were so much more than good, that word is a freaking understatement. But she could never ever know that, ever! You nodded, not trusting your high self to speak just yet. It was bad enough that you were going to have that glow after not having a release like that in God knows how long and Natasha could ever know that one either.

Natasha, from what you've heard, is ruthless in business and deadly in combat. But she is a good lover, that was for sure…and you didn't hear that one…

You experienced it first hand.

Natasha carried you effortlessly to the plush couch in your office, ignoring your half-hearted resistance to being held close. She sat down first, then pulled you onto her lap so your head rested naturally against her chest. Her fingers carded through your hair absently as she let you catch your breath.

Her breath hitched slightly as she felt your fingers deftly working at her shirt buttons. She had to admit, your sleight of hand was as impressive as it was seductive as she even realized you'd started until her shirt was half-unbuttoned and slipping from her trousers.

"Ready for more?"

"I don't leave debts unpaid."

"I don't—!" Natasha gasped as you suddenly sank your teeth into her earlobe, biting down with a playful intensity that made her arch against you. The immediate soothing lick and gentle kisses down her neck had her melting into your touch, realizing you were mirroring her earlier actions. Fuck.

"Sh," you breathed against her skin, letting her sweet time get nice and riled up. If she has turned you into an absolute mess, then you are going to melt her into a puddle of desire. Completely wrecked in your hands.

"Y-you." Natasha's voice came out as a guttural moan, her hips rising instinctively to meet your touch. She was utterly at your mercy now, every fiber of her being focused on the exquisite sensations you were creating.

The Black Widow, the deadly assassin, was now reduced to a whimpering mess beneath you.

"Let me," you whispered against her skin, your lips brushing against her collarbone as you traced the intricate patterns of her tattoos. Your hands unbuckled her binder revealing more colors of tattoos on her breasts, you pinched and swirled your tongue on her nipples before you moved down and down and down…until you felt an unexpected bulge.

"The Black Widow indeed," you purred into her ear, your voice low and sultry, as you watched the flush of red spread from the base of her neck up to her cheeks. It was a heady sight, knowing you had reduced the formidable Black Widow to this state of arousal. Her eyes fluttered closed as you unbuttoned and slipped your hands inside her pants, finding the strap-on she had been wearing. "Do you want this?"

"Yes," she choked. Her hands immediately returned to your hips, gripping them tightly as she guided you closer. The heat between your legs was unbearable now, the tip of strap-on pressing insistently against your core.

You leaned in, kissing along her jawline until your lips found hers again. Your eyes locked onto hers as you played teasingly with the tip of her strap-on, rubbing it with your entrance just enough to make her shudder.

"Do you want me?" you asked with your hooded lustful eyes.

"Yes." Her whisper came out breathless, needy—a sound far removed from the ruthless mob boss she usually played. Her hands moved with purpose, pulling you close as she arched up to meet you. The strap-on pressed firmly against you now, and she could barely control herself.

"Y/N."

Natasha gasped your name, the sound escaped her lips in a beautiful, almost reverent tone. But you yearned to hear her stripped of words, reduced to nothing but breathless moans. You wanted to see her utterly undone, rendered incapable of forming a single syllable, let alone your name. So you began to move in her lap, your hands roaming over her back and your lips finding their way over her cheeks and down to her neck, Natasha's body responded beneath you. You could feel the firm muscles of her pecs tensing and flexing with each of your movements, the contact between you growing increasingly delicious.

"Fuck, you," she panted, enjoying herself entirely as you moved on bounced of her.

"Tell me how much you wanted me."

"So bad," Natasha panted in response, her lips eager to find the little spot between your jaw and neck again. "Fuck, so bad. Y/N, please…so bad."

You gasped, your nails digging into her shoulders. "Tell me you want me now."

"More than anything," she growled, her hands snaked over your back for the purpose of supporting you but then, she finally—finally! found the hidden zip of the dress and she immediately pulled it down. "I want you, I need you."

Your eyes flew open as Natasha swiftly dragged the zipper of your dress down, tearing the fabric literally and letting it fall to the floor in a heap. You pulled away from her lips, a low growl escaping your own as you watched the remnants of your dress being discarded without a hint of remorse.

"You—!"

Natasha withdrew, you gasped, caught between the conflicting emotions. She swiftly lifted you off her lap, effortlessly flipping your position so you now lay across her on the expansive sofa. "I'll buy you a new one."

"That's not the point!" you barked at her. You weren't angry about your dress being torn apart and discarded. You were frustrated about the way she'd stopped fucking you just to manhandle you, flipping you over just to change position. And you were deeply irritated with the way she had sat up and away from you just to stare. "What?!"

Natasha ignored you, running a hand through her hair as she took a few breaths, both of you in your naked glory under your office light. She ignored you, taking a moment to run a hand through her tousled hair as she caught her breath. The soft glow of the office light casts shadows across your naked bodies.

Fuck, she is beautiful. You watched as her chest rose and fell with each breath, the light accented the shadows and angles of her muscles, and all of the human curves in between.

"Do you always stop in the middle of fucking just to catch your breath."

She looked down at you like a wife who was nagging her about something. So she kissed you like she was trying to prove a point—that she could still dominate you even when you were being mouthy. Her fingers tangled in your hair, pulling and pushing it around as she liked, just like how you pulled her by the tie.

"No, but I do want to savor every minute of making love to you."

God, this woman thought she was so cute–she thought she was so charming. So you kept kissing her, so she wouldn't see the look on your face as you felt each flutter of the butterflies.

She tore her lips away from yours, enjoying the pout that formed on your mouth as you tried to follow hers. She left one last kiss on your lips before trailing kisses over your cheeks to your ear.

"Are you ready for me, koroleva?" (Queen)

You pinched her thick arms, wondering if it actually hurt her but whatever, you had been ready before she interrupted the two of you just to use some sappy line on you and change positions.

"Right away," she chuckled, her breath on your neck as she pushed the strap-on into you again, "your Majesty."

"Natasha!" you let out a deep, guttural moan as she started moving again, your legs instinctively wrapping around her waist. Your hands gripped her shoulders tightly before dragging down to the thick muscles over her sides, fingers digging in as she thrusted against you.

She buried her face in your neck, kissing and biting the sensitive skin as she continued to move against you. She nuzzled closer until she could kiss you again, "Shit, baby, you gotta come soon."

Oh, you were much closer than she thought you were. Your whimper was almost silent, but she heard it. She just made love to you now like how she called it, but she knows that sound. Her thumb found your clit without warning, pressing hard circles that matched her thrusts. She captured your bottom lip between her teeth.

"Natasha, I-I'm so close…" you were completely lost in sensation, your back arched, legs trembling around her waist. Your hands clawed at her back, leaving red marks. You were making those high-pitched whines that always drove her wild. She knew you were right there, so she did something she knew would push you over. She knew you were a hair trigger right now—no filter, no control.

And just like that, you shattered. Your mouth fell open in a silent scream as your orgasm crashed over you like a tidal wave. Your body convulsed, legs shaking violently as you came undone in her arms. She felt your inner walls clamping down on her fingers, pulsing with your release.

You clenched your eyes shut, allowing a few moments for clarity to slowly return. Eventually, your office ceiling came into clear focus, and you became acutely aware of the weight of Natasha's body pressing against yours, your limbs wrapped around her body like intimate vines. A part of you wanted to just walk away.

Cold as ice.

You couldn't even if you really wanted to, your mind was still hazy, and your body was utterly spent. Your knees trembled, their stability compromised, and you knew you wouldn't be able to move for a few precious minutes.

Natasha's head gently turned, her mouth finding its way to the sensitive skin of your neck. With soft, tender kisses, she made her way up until her lips found yours once more.

"Hey."

"Hey." You took a deep breath, trying to steady yourself as your body slowly came down from its high. Natasha didn't give you much time to recover though—her kisses were insistent and hungry, like she couldn't get enough of you. Your hands found their way back into her hair without hesitation.

"So?" her voice was soft but with a hint of playful tease. She kept one arm wrapped securely around your waist, her chin resting on your shoulder. Her other hand slowly started smoothing down your mess of hair, deliberately avoiding your bruised lip.

You peeled your eyes open, doing your best to glare at her for interrupting your tranquility. You raised a brow at her bright grin, practically giggling with glee. "So what?"

She was even more undeterred by your prickliness, though. She traced your cheekbone with her thumb, gently smoothing away a smudge of make-up. "Do you know, now? How beautiful are you?"

She thought she was so fucking charming–damn this woman, and that heart of her. You allowed her one more kiss, soft and slower. You were beginning to think she liked kissing you or something.

"After one round?"

"One and a half," Natasha corrected you urgently, her pout deepened into something almost childlike—adorable even though she'd just wrecked every inch of your body. "And I thought they were pretty good."

Oh, they were amazing. Maybe the most amazing you'd ever had in your life. But she could never ever know that, ever.

All of a sudden, you bit the inside of your cheek, trying to hide your expression when your gaze went down on the discarded strap-on on the couch. Does she wear that all the time? Were you the first one she used that on? Because if you fucking weren't you better get yourself tested, that's for fucking sure. So now you had to ask to make sure if you had to get an appointment, and definitely not because you wanted to know if she had been with someone else.

"Do you wear that all the time?"

She chuckled softly, her smirk growing wider and now you're beginning to hate that look and what she's about to say.

"Yeah, so whenever I see a woman I'd like to fuck—"

"Get out." You won't let her finish or else you will finish her.

Her face fell completely flat, the cocky smirk disappearing as she registered your actual anger when you tore away yourself from her. "Hey, hey—" she stood as well, missing the warmth of your body together, "Wait, koroleva, I was joking."

Oh and you weren't.

"Get. Out."

She looked like a scolded child—all that confidence and swagger gone. As soon as you started walking towards her again, she scrambled to gather her jeans, binder, and top. She fumbled with the buttons of her jeans, while you stood there naked as you walked her towards your office door. She was terrified—not of the naked woman in front of her, but of your sudden coldness and the fact, that you can kill her with your bare hands.

"Detka, please wait, wait—hey, hey…" but you didn't listen, she was clearly trying to calm you down, but you are so calm in case she missed that because you haven't thrown her the knife you had been toying in your hand. You continue to walk her out while she stumbles backward, staring at you and the sharp thing you're playing. "Koroleva, I was joking!" she pleaded once again.

"Call me stupid nicknames and this knife will go straight to you, Black Widow."

Oh, Natasha didn't like that at all. Back with the titles again? After everything that had happened just a couple of minutes ago? Clearly, Natasha is now aware of the wrong actions she did and in the next few seconds, she's about to make one again…

"But, detka—"

You threw the knife straight at her and if Natasha wasn't able to grip the doorknob and get out fast, that knife would've gone straight to her left eye. She didn't even realize she is now outside breathing hard, the buttons of her top not in the proper places—while your guards, with their big guns, looked at her soul like they're ready to kill her as well. Luckily, Kate and Yelena was fast to get to Natasha to mediate the situation, kind of.

She turned to the door and knocked desperately while fixing her top buttons, "Y/N, please!" All the shame, all the title was long forgotten now as she beg for you.

"The hell happened?" Yelena, her sister asked while Kate eyes the guards carefully, not provokingly.

And you surprisingly opened the door.

All eyes were on you, but your guards immediately turned their backs as if they already knew what to do, as if they had already seen you like this before.

"Oh fuck." Kate drops her mouth at the sight of you, still naked.

"Goryachiy ad." (Hot hell) Yelena mutters before she turns around. When she sees that Kate was still gawking, she immediately hissed at her practically drooling for you. "Belova!" the tall girl groaned at the sight of you for the last time before she painfully turns around.

While Natasha really fought herself to grab your whole body so she could hide you from all the eyes that are solely on you. Or maybe tear the eyes away from the skull of those people who had already seen you like this. She just couldn't stand the thought of people seeing you this way, maybe some did—already did, but they would never make you feel what she made you feel just moments ago. She wants to hide you from the world and keep you in a place where she and only her can see.

"Y/N..." she fought her very best not to call you russian petnames, "I-I was..." she trailed off when her eyes went to your hands, holding the harness of her strap-on. She also fought her very damn hard best for her gaze not to go further down—she almost did, but the sound of you retrieving the knife from the doorway made her flinch and return her gaze on you.

Your eyes were killer and sharp, and so is your knife. You didn't tear your angry orbs away from her while you cut her strap-on harness with your knife in front of her, you threw the remaining ruined pieces on her feet before shutting the door close.

Nothing Burns Like The Cold: Masterlist

[sirenontheloose]

we really need part 2 to Please Don't Clip This ❤️🥺👉🏻👈🏻

Here it is! I'm lowkey scared I’ll get obsessed and keep going until they start dating or something.

Please Don't Clip This pt.2

pt.1 here

Y/N didn’t go online after that day or the next. She saw the trending tags, the edits, the slowed-down clips of her blinking at Lara’s Instagram like she was being hypnotized, but she didn’t respond. It wasn’t embarrassment, not exactly. She was just... critically offline. So offline, in fact, that she didn’t even know KATSEYE was in South Korea promoting their latest release, Gnarly, while she was busy resting, cleaning, and ignoring the fact that her livestream crush might’ve actually witnessed the full collapse.

She thought it was over and everyone had their share of fun teasing her.

Until Friday night.

Y/N had just finished dance practice. Hair damp from sweat, hoodie slung over one shoulder, she followed the rest of Aespa into a nearby Korean BBQ place. It was one of those regular idol haunts. Casual, private, safe. She didn’t even think twice about it.

Until she sat down.

And saw the face.

The one she was swooning over in front of possibly hundreds of thousands of people.

Sitting at the next table.

With KATSEYE.

There she was, Lara.

Y/N froze mid-sit, hovering awkwardly over the cushion like her knees forgot how to work. Karina noticed first. She looked up, followed Y/N’s line of sight, and let out a quiet but sharp gasp.

"Oh my God. No way. That’s her, isn’t it?"

Y/N sat down so fast she almost knocked over the water pitcher. "No it’s not. I mean, what are you talking about? It could be anyone. Shut up."

Winter leaned across the table with a smug smile. "That’s definitely her. I saw that livestream, remember? We all did. That’s your Instagram crush in 4K."

Ningning giggled. "She’s even prettier in person. Y/N, you’re so cooked."

"I’m begging you all to be normal," Y/N whispered, face heating up. She reached for a menu like it could shield her from the world.

Karina grinned. "You were giggling at her selfies for ten minutes straight. Don’t think we forgot."

Winter nodded. "Should we say hi for you? No? Maybe just a little wave? You should ask for her number," she was practically scream-whispering.

Y/N groaned. "Please stop. I'm shaking."

From the other table, a burst of laughter rang out. Y/N risked a glance.

Lara was laughing at something Dani said, head tilted back slightly, eyes crinkled. Then she turned, just a bit, and made eye contact.

Y/N blinked.

And Lara smiled.

The kind of smile that said, yes, I saw everything.

Y/N turned back around and physically pulled her hood up. "Abort mission. We need to leave."

"You haven’t even ordered," Ningning teased.

"I can survive off air and shame."

Meanwhile, at the other table, the KATSEYE girls were not being subtle.

"She’s so your type," Megan said, poking Lara’s arm.

"She was literally blushing on livestream," Manon added, grinning.

"She looked like she was about to write a love letter," Yoonchae chimed in.

Lara tried to play it cool, swirling her drink with her straw. "You’re all exaggerating."

"We are not," Dani said. "She was gone, she looked like she was planning her future with you while scrolling through your page."

Sophia leaned in. "What are you gonna do?"

Lara glanced over again. Y/N looked like she was actively trying to disappear. Her hood was up. Her chopsticks were shaking. Her friends were giggling mercilessly.

Lara smiled again. "We’ll see."

Back at Aespa’s table, Y/N let out a long, silent scream into her hands.

A few minutes passed. Then footsteps were heard.

Y/N looked up just in time to see Lara approaching, casual but confident, hands in the pockets of her jacket.

And of course, she smelled good. Looked even better. Like someone who walked straight out of a perfume ad, all glowing skin and effortless charm, while Y/N looked like she just finished dumpster diving behind a dance studio.

"Hi," Lara said, stopping by their table. Her voice was calm, a little playful. "Sorry to interrupt. I just wanted to say... your livestream was really fun."

Y/N’s soul tried to escape through her hoodie.

Karina choked on her water. Ningning bit her lip to stop from laughing. Winter made the most dramatic gasp of the night.

Y/N blinked up at her, completely frozen. "Oh. Uh. Thanks. It was…yeah. Unexpected."

Lara tilted her head slightly, still smiling. "Well, it made my night. I’ll leave you to your dinner. Just thought I’d say hi."

She gave the table a polite nod, eyes flicking back to Y/N for just a second longer than necessary, and turned to walk back to her group.

Once she was gone, the silence shattered.

"OH MY GOD," Karina hissed.

"She came over and she said hi. She talked to you," Winter whispered.

"Y/N, you’re sweating," Ningning added.

"I’m aware," Y/N muttered, hiding her face in both hands.

This was worse than the livestream.

And somehow, so much better.

[houseofpinkboombox]

Hey do first I'm sorry that happened to you. But considering how you went about this. Fuck you. Read studies? We do. Males dramatically make up pedos.

What happened to you is awful. You won the worst lottery on planet earth. Considering the statistics.

But on a post that's "hey mothers should be treated like people" you do this. So yeah it actually does seem like you're a misogynist. No one was asking you personally to hate your dad. When your mom was a pedo that belongs in a wood chipper.

We were talking about how mothers are treated largely like emotional and physical pact mules by the vast majority of society.

Like I don't know you. I don't know why you tagged me in this. But it seems like you're literally just saying "because my abuser was my mom, all mothers should be held to an impossible to meet standards and should be largely mocked at every turn!" Which isn't the hot take you seem to think that is.

I'm glad you had a "good dad" who by your own admission wasn't even there. So didn't even do the bare minimum. His apathy towards you should at the very least bother you. All things considered.

"Talk to real survivors" the fact you think you're the only survivor of assault, let alone as a child. I'll spare you my gory details. But I'm sadly in the marjority just wasn't family.

But here's a study. Go to therapy or something stop tagging me in shit because I'll tell you about your fucking self.

"Be kind to children" leftist tenderq*eers when you tell them that if they really cared about kids they would assess patriarchal dynamics as they are the root of all family issues, treat mothers like humans with emotions that can be overwhelmed by unequal dynamics instead of care robots and advocate for them to be a priority, and hold men to an identical level of emotional labor and police them since they're the ones who are ACTUALLY shit parents... instead of just virtue signaling with momtok drama and making YouTube commentary videos about stupid shit like "beige moms" and telling women they need to be good mothers by usurping men's role as well as their role and improve their already good parenting + lose all sense of self in order to be a good mommy (theyll still joke about that being insulting too):

[whumpetywhumpwhump]

Maisie's guide to disguised AI

If you've been anywhere near AO3 recently, you've probably encountered AI writing at some point. As somebody who writes for, primarily, the ER fandom (and occasionally the Pitt, too), I've noticed a concerning trend over the last few days: AI-generated fanfiction clogging the tags.

Firstly, I'd like to say that if you ARE posting fics on AO3 that were AI-generated, and you're passing them off as your own, please stop. I know this is not likely to actually resonate with you if this IS you, but on the off-chance that you do see this- please use tags as intended and make it clear that you're using AI.

Secondly, before I go into some AI tells in detail, I want to preface this with a warning- just because you see one or two of these in a fic, there's no guarantee that it was AI-generated. Please approach the matter of flagging fics with care, because the last thing I want is to incite a witch hunt against innocent people just engaging in fandom.

However, when seen in tandem, these signs should act as a warning to think a little more deeply about what you're reading, and ask the question- was this human written?

1. Em-dashes

I'm getting this one out of the way quickly because it's something easily identifiable, but it should by no means discredit a fic on its own. Real people can use em-dashes, but ChatGPT uses them a LOT. Like, a distracting amount. And they're often used in conjunction with...

2. 'Not' qualifiers

ChatGPT doesn't do 'yes, and'. It seems to work off 'no, but' instead (sorry @pagingdoctorcarter , like an AI, I am stealing your phrase here. But I do have the decency to credit, I suppose!).

Take this sentence I've come up with right now:

Carter was so exhausted he was struggling to stand, legs trembling with the strain of keeping him upright.

AI might write something like this (using my own creative license here because I don't want to feed the beast):

Carter was exhausted— not the regular exhaustion that came with twelve hours on his feet. Something deeper. Heavier.

3. Repetitive phrases.

AI is not original, so it can't come up with anything original, of course. This means that it relies on basic phrases it uses over and over and over again e.g 'the kind of (blank) that (blank)'

4. The classic 'concrete noun' + 'abstract noun' combo

For reasons that I can't quite understand, AI adores this. Some humans include this combo in their work, too, but AI does it even more frequently. Some real phrases I've encountered so far include:

"a story about meatballs and betrayal"

"champagne and anxiety soaked into the upholstery"

5. Anachronisms and inaccuracies

This is especially present in a fandom like ER, where most of the time we're writing about the 90s, and this CAN be attributed to genuine human error... but if Carter is repeatedly 'swiping' on his phone screen to open a call, and everyone's always texting... could be AI.

In a similar vein, if someone is shouting 'code blue!' for things that AREN'T cardiac arrest, or mixing up names and even hallucinating random characters- think 'maybe AI'.

6. Short sentences, short paragraphs, short chapters.

AI doesn't have the ability to understand how paragraphs are structured for ease of reading and flow. So it likes short sentences. Snappy sentences.

And not just when the situation suits it. But always.

If there's a hell of a lot of paragraphs, it could be AI. AI doesn't like including many clauses. At all.

7. Generic similes and phrases that don't mean anything at all

This relates to the 'concrete noun + abstract noun combo' but, more generally, AI produces writing that veers away from specifics. It won't often describe places in too much detail, and when it comes to similes, it uses simple, overused ones OR spouts a series of words that are meaningless. If you see an abstract simile in a fic, take a second. Is it abstract because it's complex and has several layers, or is it utterly meaningless?

8. A crazy update schedule

This one is less reliable because it IS possible to bank chapters and then post a lot in one go, but if an author is posting many thousands of words in the span of a few days, consider this a small red flag- especially in conjunction with the other things mentioned. It could mean they're just pumping out AI-generated writing, and this allows them to move far quicker than any human.

9. Overly mushy dialogue

AI is a thief, but it's a happy-go-lucky thief. Characters speak like they stepped straight off Sesame Street at times, lacking any kind of emotional complexity.

10. Awful, awful jokes

AI cannot write jokes. It simply cannot. If you read a joke in a fic that feels Disney-Channel esque but also doesn't make sense at all? It very well could be AI.

For instance:

Nobody talks like this.

Also, note the 'concrete noun + abstract noun' combo again here! (This actually was an AI fic as confirmed by author before deletion, not naming them here): 'gauze and intuition'.

Conclusion

Be vigilant. Don't fall for AI crap and, if you disagree with the concept of AI work clogging AO3 tags, definitely don't leave kudos.

And if you're posting this stuff, yet again I ask you politely, please STOP.

Thank you.

[gatorbites-imagines]

Yo! Been following your blog for god knows how many years now. But I wanted to know.

If you could write a Constantine x Magic user Batfamily reader, where the reader is the top in the relationship?

I know Bruce is gonna be like "...Oh god one of my sons is dating Constantine".

And the reader is around Constantine's age, so he is unofficially Bruce's adoptive son despite the reader being as old as Constantine. Which is very funny to me.

John Constantine x Bat male reader 

Headcanons 

Bruce and Constantine are around the same age, which is really funny to me. Cuz imagine Bruce sees this man, the same age as himself, and immediately goes “hm, yes. My son”. 

Reader is just along for the ride, cuz why not.  

I feel you have known Constantine longer than you have known Bruce, with the both of you being magic users and involved in that area of the world. 

But you being a Gothamite also means you have known the bat for a long time, and you were his go-to magic support back when he first started out.  

You two first became close when a whole portal to hell was opened by cultists, and you almost lost your life closing it, and saving Bruces life in the meantime. This made the poor guy grow attached, like a barnacle. 

You blame his mother-henning on his trauma, and you just go along with it, cuz he also finances all your whims and woes. 

You assumed his hovering would let up when Bruce starts picking up other kids, and sure, his attention is on them a lot, but Bruce does sniff you out semi-regularly to check on you. 

Ends up with you having a lot of younger “siblings” and it becomes a running joke in the batclan. All the younger ones always jokingly call you Bruces oldest, and correct people when they assume you are their uncle. 

Bruce somehow bat-tags you up like everyone else, somehow even finds a way to track you through the infernal realms, it's really impressive for someone who doesn't do magic. 

It takes a while for you and John to start actually dating. For a good while you guys were just FWBs, scratching each other's backs and itches when the need was there. 

Then you both grow older, experience a lot of things together, and accept that you two are in love, to a mad degree. 

When you guys become official, you two start going at it like rabbits, it is embarrassing really. You two act like you've never had the chance to be together before, and John has never been left so jelly legged as he finds himself after this. 

You move out of Gotham to move in with John, since you guys have finally settled in together. This doesn't keep Bruce from keeping an eye on you though, since you always find yourself in some kind of magic trouble. 

It takes a good while for anyone in the batfam to realize you are in a relationship. 

Over the years you've had a lot of things and non-serious relationships. It kinda runs in the family, and runs in the area of being a magic user, so they're all way too interested. 

You don't spend a lot of time in Gotham at this point, but you do come home for family dinners when Alfred invites you. You are still convinced all these years later, that Alfred is magic. 

When they hear you are coming for dinner, you get spammed in the family groupchat by your “siblings” to bring your lover so they can meet. 

All their theories on who your lover is entertain you and John a lot. Dick even puts a guess on Deadman, somebody else jokingly mentions Brother Blood. 

Cas is the only one to get it right, because it's pretty obvious if you know what you are looking for. It's pretty easy to clock when you start wearing the same amulets as Constantine, and you start carrying cigarettes in your pockets even when you don't smoke. 

John doesn't really dress up for the occasion, cuz he knows everyone there already. You do get him to shave though, and to put on a coat that doesn't smell so much like sulfur. 

You also have to flick on some illusion magic to hide all the hickeys on his throat, and the limp when he walks.  

The dinner goes as normal, as normal as a dinner with the batfam can be, especially when you sprinkle John Constantine in.  

Bruce can't even really grill him, or give him the talk, because they've known each other for a long time, and they all know how you guys met and have worked together. 

It's clear Bruce isn't too pleased though, as he's doing the bat-furrow(tm) of his brow, but he does that with most of his kids partners. He never says anything about it though, as you guys call him out on his many questionable partners. 

You still point out Khoa and Talia on the regular, whenever Bruce starts getting a little too protective of his kids, the younger ones, at least. 

Alls good and well, until John makes some comment about being sore and you wrecking his world better than any incubus he's ever met. You just keep eating with a shrug, as some of the others snicker, and others sigh. 

[sobbingscripter]

Tags: [wlw][mdni][implied age gap?][for that anon that wants Canary to leave her husband][rebound themes][anonymous sex?][oral (f! rec.)][fingering][squirting]

Dinah doesn't know how she expected any better from a man like Oliver Queen.

A hickey on his inner thigh had crumbled a solid 6 years of marriage, apricot-coloured lipstick on a collar had sealed the deal and she served divorce papers and cunt alongside slashed tyres and a shattered windshield.

And now she's here.

Sitting at a bar, sleek mahogany cool beneath her tapping nails, a cocktail in her hand that has yet to be nursed and her eyes rove over people. Jovial, smiles gleaming and music so loud that she can feel the way it rumbles her ribcage and she lets out a heavy breath.

Motioning towards a bottle of Vodka that's perched neatly at the top of the shelf behind the bartender.

Because if she doesn't get approached by someone other than shitfaced 20 year old frat guys who keep calling her a 'MILF', she might as well get shitfaced.

She's reaching into her purse, before she catches a glimpse of a wrist, a shiny card between your fingers and a soft, sweet voice murmuring to the bartender, "I'll pay."

Dinah's gaze flickers to your face. Fresh, pretty. Big doe eyes that watch her intently, before plump lips curl into a sweet smile, the apples of your cheeks turning rosy.

But your eyes widen imperceptibly when the bartender sets down the entire bottle, instead of just a shot glass and she hums, resting her elbow on the surface of the bar and her chin in her palm.

Vibrant blue eyes staring at you from beneath full lashes and her lips curl.

"Were you expecting that?" Dinah questions you and you clear your throat, just a bit surprised before you speak.

"Not at all, no." You breathe out.

And she lets out a low, husky laugh, before reaching into her purse, pulling out a card that definitely has much more than yours on it.

"It's okay, sweetheart." She hums. "I can pay—"

"No, no." You shake your head immediately. "I still wanna pay."

She watches the way you gently take your card from the bartender when he's done, sliding the plastic back into your Pokemon wallet, and you shove it into your pocket.

"I guess it's beans for the next two weeks though." You tease, and your knees nearly buckle at the way a laugh falls from her lips, painted a pretty, almost purplish pink colour. Her dimples deepening in her cheeks.

And she smiles up at you.

"I'm just kidding though." You reassure. "I eat beans anyway."

"College kid?" She muses, dark painted nails tapping against her chin and you nod your head.

"How's the debt?"

"Crippling, actually." And you inhale sharply, grabbing a lungful of something expensive and underlined by the distinct scent of grape-flavoured candies.

You can tell she's older. Not physically, obviously. She looks like she'd sleep in a wetsuit of Korean moisturizers and sunscreen.

Perfect skin, sculpted features and a razor sharp jawline, brilliant blue eyes that only stand out more with her tight-lined waterlines and winged eyeliner.

She hums thoughtfully, brushing voluminous golden hair over her shoulder and your eyes dart to how shiny and silky her hair looks. She's like a walking Pantene ad.

Hair so healthy it shines.

"Are you here with someone?" Dinah's voice breaks you from your reverie, watching you intently and you barely even notice when she stretches out her leg, the toes of her vinyl boot hooking the footrest of the barstool behind you, and she tugs it closer.

"You can sit down." She muses. "I don't bite."

You drop into the seat, watching the way she pours herself a shot glass of vodka, her gaze remaining on yours as she waits for an answer.

"Uh, mhm." You answer, snapping yourself back to the reality that you're actually talking to a woman who could inspire national anthems. "I'm here with friends but they look a little too preoccupied to be missing me right now."

Your tongue brushes along your bottom lip and in the mere seconds that Dinah's throwing back her shot, you take the moment to look her over in one wide yet very intense glance.

Which is a bad idea because you feel like the course of your life is altered when you see the sliver of lace trimmed stockings peeking out between the tops of her boots and the edge of her skirt.

And you swallow, gaze lifting to where her minidress is mocking you, the sweetheart neckline doing nothing to ease the way your belly flips at the way her top pushes her tits up, all accompanied by a pretty choker and a leather jacket.

"No boyfriend?" The sound of her setting down that glass is louder than the music. Metaphorically, obviously but it still scares you shitless and you snap your gaze back to her face.

"No boyfriend." You answer.

"No girlfriend?"

"No, ma'am."

Dinah's lips quirk into a grin when you call her that, and she crosses her legs over one another, the tips of her boots brushing against the side of your calf as she does. And through the materials, you feel the electricity buzz beneath your skin at the contact.

"Ma'am?" She repeats. "I'm not that old." She teases you and you swallow hard.

Your brain rumbling and shuddering with different version of yourself, arguing and fighting over what you should do.

'Shoot your shot.'

'No! Play it coy!'

'Playing it coy is why she's in situationships all the time.'

That last bit stings and the words are falling from your lips before you even realise.

"I didn't call you that because you're older."

The silence is thick. Heavy in the air and you're already mentally fisting your hair and dropping to your knees when she sets a tip on the bar counter.

Pushing herself up from her seat, and her fingers lace with yours, and she's pulling you towards the exit.

You're following Dinah through the throngs of sweaty bodies, your gaze lowering to where full, squishy thighs brush against each other with each step she takes and you can hear the way your blood rushes.

You're soaking your panties in anticipation, your eyes catching your friends' but the look of pride in their eyes isn't useful as to what to do in a moment like this.

When you're following a sexy stranger out of a bar, and to God knows where.

⊹♡⭐♡⊹

"Wow." You murmur quietly, looking around. High ceilings, a corner window that overlooks the city, lights twinkling and stars studded in the endless abyss of the night sky.

"Your penthouse is amazing."

And she hums, kicking off her boots, tossing them carelessly near the door.

"I won it in my divorce."

"Divorce?" You repeat.

"Uh huh." Dinah nods her head, shrugging off her jacket before discarding her jacket onto the sofa. "Does it bother you?"

"Not really, no." You shrug, before turning on the balls of your feet, watching the way her arms move behind her back.

"Top or bottom?" She questions, the sound of her zipper loud and her dress falls into a puddle at her feet. The tiniest fucking panties you've ever seen, strewn over her hips, black dental floss-esque straps digging into the soft flesh of her hips.

"Munch."

⊹♡⭐♡⊹

"How do you like it?"

Dinah feels like she's died and gone to heaven, her body against Egyptian cotton, pillows puffed up behind her back and the moonlight bathes you in a glow that makes you look even more Heaven sent. You had popped off your press-on's, your jacket discarded and your gaze focused on her.

She knows this is a rebound thing.

Just something to ease the ache that Oliver's left but holy fuck, she hasn't thought of him since you bought her drink.

"Improvise." She swallows hard, her gaze flickering to where you're gently pulling her thong down her legs, neatly setting it aside. You spread her thighs, your palms warm against her skin and you stare down at her like you're trying to memorize what you're seeing.

And you lay down on your belly, your shoes kicked off and those ridiculous bunny-printed socks are exposed as you make yourself comfortable.

And you blow over her sodden flesh. Glossy folds and sticky inner thighs that she couldn't explain even if she wanted to.

And she watches the way your lips press against the blemishes on her skin, fingers tracing the stretch marks that span her hips and her breath stutters just a bit. Because your fingers are so soft, blunt nails following those lines, sweet and attentive.

And your head dips down between her thighs, your tongue dragging up. From the bottom of her sopping cunt, all the way to her clit, and your muscle flattens against the bud, just to feel the way it twitches.

Dinah's hands fist the sheets on either side of her, icy blue eyes locked on how you're so enraptured by the moment. Teasing your tongue through her sloppy folds, gossamers of slick and saliva between you before your plush lips find purchase around her clit, and you suck.

And her brain melts, head falling back against her fluffed up pillows and she sighs.

"Fuck—" She gasps shakily, "you're really good at that..." Her brows furrow into a frown, her thighs threatening to snap shut around your head when she hears that lewd, almost disgusting slurp.

And you pull back, arms wrapped around her thighs and with a rough jerk, you tug her closer.

You lap at her cunt with need. Your nose bumping against her clit, tucked neatly away between velvety folds, your tongue pushing past puffy lips and she gasps, her hands moving to grasp your biceps, nails digging into the flesh.

And her brain melts at the feel of your subtle flexing, your tongue writhing against her sensitive walls and for some reason, you're hitting all the spots that make her lashes flutter and her back arch against the sheets.

Dinah's having an out of body experience, her back arching and hips pushing up against your mouth.

And you're having a ball.

Your feet are kicking excitedly, your arms hooked around her thighs so she can't writhe away from you when you pull back, and spit at her folds, watching your saliva drip down between them before you dive back in.

Your blood's rushing in your ears and the only sound that's managing to permeate through, are Dinah's panted breaths and moans.

"Shit, you're so nasty." She giggles, gasping and her head tips back, toes curling in her stockings that she has yet to take off and her hands lace behind your head, pulling you closer.

Until you're smothering and all you can feel, taste, smell, hear, see, I don't know, even sense... Is her.

And you're pulling away with a shaky breath, dragging two of your fingers along your tongue before you're pushing them into her, feeling how she soaks your fingers instantly. Her walls spasm when you curl them, and you lean back down, flicking your tongue against her clit.

"Oh my fucking G— s'so good—" Her voice cracks, her hips twitching and her belly's fucking burning.

Cunt spasming with each rough yet calculated pump of your fingers and you're sucking her folds so earnestly, dragging your tongue through them again.

And again.

And again.

Her chest is heaving, skin prickled with goosebumps and her nipples are pebbled, rosy and so hard, begging for attention that you have yet to give.

Her skin glitters, a thin sheen of sweat illuminated by silvery moonlight.

"Wait, wait, wait—" She pushes herself up, chest heaving, "I think I need to piss."

She's crass. Her brain's muddled, her eyes are stormy and her face is flushed, body hot and cold all the same.

And you smile, cheeks burning rosy.

"No, you don't."

You add a third finger and you pump into her with abandon. Her thighs press against your ears hard enough that you can feel her pulse in your soul, but you don't care.

All you're focused on, is ripping that shriek from her like never before.

Dinah's hand clamps over her mouth, barely stifling a scream as her pleasure crests and she soaks your face, gushing and her eyes are squeezed shut. Body shuddering, your fingers keep fucking into her and you're basically deafened by the softness of her thighs that neither of you focus on the shattered windows of the room.

Not until you pull back, and your eyes widen, looking around her room in shock. Anything glass, has broken.

And the silence is thick in the air, the only sounds being her panted breaths and the sound of slickness as you gently soothe her overstimulated clit with the soft pad of your thumb.

And she swallows.

Body weak and melted into the sheets.

And you suck your teeth. "Uh... Do you have... Anything— like—" You're fumbling over your words, you're both caught in the cross breeze of the now opened windows. "—Do— is there an explanation— why'd the windows shatter?"

The laugh she lets out is weak.

"I've got some killer pipes."

⊹♡⭐ taglist ⭐♡⊹

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@feral010

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@blckbarbiedoll

[star-mum]

hello lovelies, I'm finally free : D

Once again, I'll read it without checking the tags, I'm in the mood for surprises :3

"Isaac Lahey pulled you far away to somewhere secluded" we're starting with SEX !!! pwp? maybe (well not without completely cause i know you, but little plot?)

"which would soon be filled with sweaty assholes" usually it's the other way around

"11. McCall" : O

oh okay not cheating... (said dejectedly)

"his eyes flashing that glowing golden yellow" JAOAOWIAJA W AAAAHH I'VE MISSED WOLF SHENANIGANS (literally giggling and kicking my feet)

"and fuck you senseless, feeling like an overeager dog" derek is an idiot cause this FUCKING RULES !!!!!

"Your gut had shriveled up when you saw that it was one with Scott’s name and lacrosse number on it" Lydia knows EXACTLY what she's doing, don't be fooled

"if it meant that you had been misleading him or leading him on" I think he knows, yes Scott is stupid but he can smell Isaac on us afterwards

(you have no idea how much I've missed these dumb dogs and their dumb abo dynamics)

(I'm also on my ovulation period so very horny) (sorry if tmi)

(if youre not sunny and you're reading this, I am not sorry actually, you chose this)

"She was excited that the two of you would look ‘coordinated’ cheering for your ‘boyfriends’" this was calculated, don't fall for her lies !!!!

"weird spiritual sexual codependency" delicious

"All of it was to make Isaac jealous - to get some kind of a rise out of him" terrible for Scott but he'll live... not the first time this has happened to him

"feeling of his teeth digging into your neck" hihi 🫣🤭🤭

"the first small indicator of his facade cracking" he's the pathetic pussy

"Was supposed to be treasured as yours" 🥺

"knowing that those tights emphasized your thick thighs" FAT READER !!!!!!

"he slashed his claws across your chest, shredding the fabric to pieces" scared is the best way to be horny, Eleanor Shellstrop always right

"you would have been angrier about if not for the very pretty boy currently sucking on your face" sacrifices must be made...

"You have to ‘take it off’ too" please for the love of god, I am NOT fucking you in this dumbass get up, Isaac

"You act like a dumb slut all the time.” SKSKKSKS YEEEEAAAHHH (I love all your readers so much, they're so fun)

"You don’t have to be so mean" QOAJAIAKAN he is SO cute tho

"He wouldn’t take a step in any direction if it wasn’t to stand in your shadow. He didn’t worship anywhere if it wasn’t at your altar" WOWOWOWOWOWOWOW

"Owning a pet meant that sometimes you came off with a few tiny wounds" i love this so much

"cooling the salvia he had left there" this is always my favorite typo in ANY smut fic ever cause it's just proof the writer was going at the speed of light to bring the vision to life (i can fear the frantic typing)

"Get on your knees for me like a good dog" hell yeah

"more than eager to shove his face into the folds of your perfect pussy" every single guy in this show has this energy, they all eat pussy like they're starved

"There was no skill to it" but damn it if he's not giving it his all

"Behave.” “I wasn’t done.” i love them

"beyond human strength helping him to easily lift you" one of my FAVORITE things in this show

"Such a sweet little puppy. Good fucking dog" LOVE IT HERE

"the metal started to crumble beneath his fist" ‼️‼️OJNANAOAKANA HIHI 🫣

"Especially knowing that he would be able to smell that cum on you for hours" another one of my favorite things about this show :3

"Somehow, at six-foot-one, he looked so terribly small" he just has that pathetic sad vibe to him

"I’ll even get you a dog collar with my name on it so that everyone can know you’re mine" HE'D WEAR IT !!!!!!

I LOVED THIS !!! I LOVE IT HERE !!! this felt like coming home, I've missed this

seriously the ending of this semester was so fucking stressful (for a myriad of reasons) I REALLY NEEDED SOMETHING NICE LIKE THIS !!!!

The Good, The Bad, and The Dirty

If you wanna start a fight,

You better throw the first punch - make it a good one.

And if you wanna make it through the night,

You better say my name like:

The Good, The Bad, and The Dirty.

Sub!Isaac Lahey x Dom!Fem!Reader

Summary:

What you and Isaac had going on wasn't exactly public - and whatever it was didn't have a title. Sexual, friendship, two souls entwined and bound to each other in an utterly complicated way.

Whatever. It didn't have a label. The two of you didn't need one.

But Isaac definitely didn't expect to see you showing up to a lacrosse game wearing Scott's number with the name McCall boldly across your chest. All he knew from the moment he saw that stupid shirt on your chest was that the night was going to end with it shredded to pieces.

(He had no clue that was precisely your plan from the start, because you knew how to guide him exactly where you wanted him - every. Single. Time.)

Sub!Isaac Lahey x Dom!Fem!Reader. Best Friends with Benefits (Secret Relationship) to Lovers. Smut/PWP. Set during Season 3.

Word Count: 7,200

Teen Wolf Masterlist | AO3 Link

Full list of warnings and author's notes below.

Warnings: this is primarily a smut fic - there is some slight plot; this does take place in a high school setting, but just for the sake of clarity/for the sake of argument, the characters are eighteen or older; the reader uses she/her pronouns and has a vagina and breasts (but as with all my fics, the primary pronouns used are you/yours); mention of the reader wearing a skirt;there is some descriptions of the reader being curvy/plus sized (as with many of my fics - and I always just picture Isaac with a plus sized girl) (absolutely no bias there), and there is mentions of Isaac being taller than the reader, but that is based on the assumption that at 6.1, he would be taller than most people; there is also mentions of Isaac lifting the reader due to his supernatural strength, but her back is also supported by a wall so it’s not wholly unrealistic; mentions of background Scott x reader (mostly the reader using Scott to make Isaac jealous and Scott having feelings for the reader that she does not return), and this would have been when Scott and Allison were broken up because I would not do my girl wrong like that (you can even interpret this as Scott using the reader to help ‘get over’ Allison if you want); some non-detailed mentions of the abuse Isaac received from his father (which is pretty difficult not to mention in an Isaac fic); there is some dom/sub themes - Isaac is submissive and the reader is more dominant; Isaac is jealous and possessive - very slight angst because it discusses Isaac’s jealousy coming from a place of being hurt; this is not the first time that Isaac and the reader have had sex with each other; Isaac and the reader have been best friends since before his father’s death (and his werewolfism) and they recently started having sex, and they have a murky situationship; the reader clearly knows that Isaac is a werewolf; mention of Isaac ‘pinning the reader down’ and fucking her (in a memory) (and she loved it); Isaac calls the reader a ‘slut’ and a ‘whore’ - not in a kinky way, but over the fact that he is deeply offended that she was flirting with Scott and pretending to like him; in turn, the reader calls Isaac a slut in a kinky way; the reader also calls Isaac ‘puppy’ and ‘good boy’; hair pulling - Isaac receiving; something like subspace is described (regarding what Isaac is feeling) but the word ‘subspace’ is never used during the fic; the characters do not discuss having a safe word in place, but they trust each other due to their history and know how to nonverbally balance each other’s needs; Isaac using his claws to shred a shirt that the reader wears with Scott’s numbers on it, and in the process he accidentally scratches her chest slightly (but she likes she slight pain); very slight blood kink - Isaac licks up the blood from these small cuts; I feel like there should be a warning for the endless amounts of dog imagery because I cannot stop comparing Isaac to a kicked dog because it works to well; lacrosse pads being used for slut activities; oral sex - reader receiving; Isaac has an extreme scent kink (he loves the way the reader smells); praise kink - Isaac loves being praised by the reader; penis in vagina sex; unprotected sex; (surprisingly, there’s no breeding kink in this); I think that’s actually it for this - one stray joke about the reader getting Isaac a dog dollar.

A/N: I had so much fun writing this. As soon as the request hit my inbox, I knew I was going to write it at some point. Part of me kind of feels bad that I didn't write the expected jealousy = dominance - you may notice when you read the fic, I started out writing Isaac as dominant, but I cannot help writing him as submissive, and it turned into this interesting painting of 'his dominance is a performed act, and submissiveness is his true self' and 'his jealousy is possessiveness, not dominance' and possessiveness is a very submissive trait. (I could go more into depth about this in another post, and I probably will.) People often associate possessiveness with Doms, but I see Isaac as the most possessive Sub ever because he's a wolf. Anyway - I am really happy with how this turned out, and even if it's not what the original requester intended, I think the point of a request is that the author gets to interpret it and write it in their own style. And this is definitely how I would write it most true to my style. Also this has references to Season 3 - like Lydia dating Aiden and Isaac fighting the Alpha pack, but this is set after a lacrosse game, and in S3, they were in the off season of lacrosse. and I can guarantee you my autistic ass is the only one who cares about that and you didn't even notice until I pointed it out. So please - carry on.

...

The lacrosse field of Beacon Hills High School was absolutely buzzing. 

The night air was filled with cheers as the team and many fans were celebrating another win, while the opposing team sulked in disappointment as they packed onto their bus with their heads hung low, their coach screaming at them for the loss. Chatter and celebration filled the air - but you didn’t get a single moment to be a part of it as Isaac Lahey pulled you far away to somewhere secluded. Somewhere only he could get to have you.  

He currently had you pinned up against one of the lockers in the girls’ locker room. It was a place that nobody would think to look for the two of you - a place that wouldn’t be entered for the rest of the night, unlike the boys’, which would soon be filled with sweaty assholes shedding their kits and getting a shower before they went off to some party to celebrate their victory. Isaac had locked the door to make sure that the two of you would be left alone, and left the lights off so that nobody would be suspicious of any light coming from the crack beneath the door. 

But right now, none of those details mattered. 

All that mattered was that stupid number in the middle of your chest. That stupid block lettering sitting across your perfect round breasts. 

11. McCall. 

You could claim that you had worn it as a joke. But as Isaac locked his jaw stiffly, staring you down - you didn’t think that you would be getting away with that claim. 

“Take it off.” Isaac growled at you, his eyes flashing that glowing golden yellow, a visual that made your breath tight in your chest and made your cunt quiver. 

You remembered the first time you had seen that glow coming from his eyes - the first night he had found you after he received The Bite, when he was still high on adrenaline and warned by Derek not to do anything ‘stupid’. And the stupid thing he had done was climb up the side of your house, claw in through your bedroom window with the clumsy hands he barely knew how to use, and pin you down to your bed and fuck you senseless, feeling like an overeager dog with intensely swollen balls, feeling like he was too strong and going through puberty all over again. 

It had been one of the best nights of your life. 

“What?” You said, your voice even, calm, not even close to mocking dubious. “Take what off?” 

You were faking confusion - faking it poorly, easily signaling to him that you knew exactly what he was talking about. 

It was a dare. You were egging him on purposefully. The two of you always had the best sex when you did. That’s what the whole night was about, after all. 

Lydia had gotten the shirts made - she had gotten one for herself with Aiden’s name and lacrosse number on it, and she had told you that it was cheaper to ‘order multiple at a time’, and then she had pulled out one in your size. Your gut had shriveled up when you saw that it was one with Scott’s name and lacrosse number on it. 

A plain white tee shirt in a feminine, tight fit with burgundy vinyl lettering to match the school’s colours. Lydia had ordered them in white because she said it would be easier to make into an outfit, and she didn’t want to ‘wear that god awful colour’ with her nice coats. 

You had gone on one single date with Scott. He asked you out, you said yes. It had been a pleasant, average evening that ended with a bit of kissing. It was nice - Scott was a great guy. But it definitely hadn’t been anything special. It had only driven home in your mind that you definitely didn’t have those feelings for Scott. And you felt guilty for every single time you had flirted with him in Isaac’s presence just to make Isaac jealous, if it meant that you had been misleading him or leading him on. 

A while ago, Lydia had been talking about guys, and she said something about ‘you and Scott’ and not even fully paying attention, you agreed with her. And then she cheered, and you realized that she had been talking about romantic couplings among your friend group. She thought that your flirting with Scott and the one single date meant that the two of you were dating - so she took this as a greenlight to order you the shirt. She was excited that the two of you would look ‘coordinated’ cheering for your ‘boyfriends’ in the stands. 

But more than anything, you felt awkward correcting her because you couldn’t exactly tell her about the thing that you and Isaac had going on. 

Mostly because you had no clue what to call it. 

The two of you had been best friends for years, and you had been his rock and his confidant before anybody else knew what was going on with his father. And then, shortly after he had made the grand transformation from abused introvert to powerful (hot) werewolf, the two of you had started… this. 

Some might call it ‘friends with benefits’, some might call it a weird spiritual sexual codependency that had truly begun with you patching up his wounds from the beatings his father had given him. Either way, the slight flirting of your normal friendship ramped up tenfold, and now, every single time the two of you were behind closed doors together, the intense sexual tension in the air built until you were both partially unclothed and moaning. 

And in the outside world, the two of you were constantly at war. You were constantly in the throes of a game that nobody else knew was going on. You both refused to name each other as a romantic partner, but you were constantly in some kind of effort to get the other’s attention or make the other person jealous. He flirted with Allison and Erica, and… that stupid game was the only reason you had gone on a date with Scott. It had been a relatively nice date, but you hadn’t felt a single sense of the spark with Scott that you did with Isaac. 

And it was the only reason that you were wearing the stupid shirt that Lydia had given to you. It was the only reason you had sat in the stands beside Lydia with your jacket unzipped and even taken off all night in the cold, showing off that shirt, loudly cheering for Scott, putting on a show. 

All of it was to make Isaac jealous - to get some kind of a rise out of him. 

And it had worked so damn well. Seeing his clenched jaw, his flared nostrils… seeing the way his sharp fangs extended out over his lips as if he couldn’t control them while he looked at you with hellish lust in his eyes… you were almost terrified by how well you had succeeded. Almost. 

“Take. It. Off.” He growled, grinding on each word, his chest now heaving with the effort. 

“Make me.” You mumbled in reply, entirely confident, hoping that further teasing would only wind him up more. Hoping that it would only beautifully play into your game. 

He stepped closer to you and when you instinctively took a step back, your body hit the cold metal of the lockers, and you swallowed harshly as your body pumped with more lust. It was oddly thrilling to be so trapped - only because it was Isaac. And because you knew there was only one way this could end. 

Because your body was preparing for the sensations you knew came next - the ghost of his touch already lingering on you, your mind replaying those past events like grooves in a record. It caused you to become wetter and wetter just thinking about the feeling of his teeth digging into your neck, the feeling of his hands possessively gripping your hips, the feeling of his cock splitting you open. 

His breath ghosted over your forehead, his height towering over you somehow not intimidating at all as he pressed his hard body (disappointingly still clad in lacrosse pads, keeping you from feeling the true ridges of his muscles) up against you, truly ensuring that you could not escape. Not that you would want to escape from him. 

He took a thick sniff into the air, his nostrils flaring widely, and you knew he could smell it on you - the lust, the pure attraction you felt toward him, the adrenaline. Or maybe it was just the pure smell of your pussy pathetically leaking into your underwear that he was picking up on. Either way, he let out a whine, the first small indicator of his facade cracking, and you felt his hips jolt toward you, instinctively seeking friction. 

“Why the fuck are you doing this to me?” 

Isaac growled, still trying to sound tough, the words bordering on a pained howl. There was a unique agony in his voice as he stared down the length of your body and continued to fixate on those numbers on your chest, true haunting dancing in his pretty baby blues. 

Your gut twisted horribly as you realized it. This wasn’t just something he could brush off in the name of sex. You had really hurt him this time. Perhaps you had gone too far this time. Something that had started out as a well-meaning game of cat and mouse had turned into truly taunting a wolf - and unintentionally, you had wounded that wolf. 

That wolf that, even if it was never spoken, was supposed to be yours. Was supposed to be treasured as yours. 

You had gotten so caught up in playing the stupid game that you had made a terrible mistake. 

But you needed to see it through now. 

You reached up and grabbed both sides of his face, forcing him to look you in the eyes. 

“Make me.” You repeated the words, and Isaac let out another huff. “Make me take it off, Isaac.” He replied to this with a growl from deep in his chest, a sound that vibrated through your hands on his delicate, angelic face. “Make me yours.” 

He reached up with one hand in the middle of your chest and gently pushed you back, making sure your body was stiff and firm against the metal of the lockers, propping you there like hanging art on a wall. And then he took a small step to distance himself, his eyes flickering up and down your body sharply, drinking you in even though he had seen you thousands of times before. 

It had been torture - pure torture all night. From the moment he had seen you unzip your jacket, revealing that fucking shirt with Scott’s name on it (and the fact that you had paired it with a tiny little skirt and a pair of sheer tights… knowing that those tights emphasized your thick thighs, his favourite part of your body… just to torture him…) - he had been tempted to ditch off the field completely and run up into the stands just to tear it off you. Just to prove a fucking point. 

But that hadn’t even been the worst part of it. No. One of the words parts had been the fact that he was forced to stay on the field all night listening. Over-hearing you chatting it up with Lydia and Allison about your ‘date’ with Scott, talking about kissing him, theorizing about what having sex with him might be like. You had known he was listening the whole time. You knew his hearing was enhanced enough, and you knew that he had a special knack for picking up on your voice in a crowd. You had been doing it on purpose. 

And every time he glanced over between goals and saw Scott’s name stretched across your perfect tits… it killed him a little more inside. 

While thinking about all this, while thinking about the fact that he had been waiting to do this all night - 

Isaac raised up his hand, very intentionally flaring his claws, bold enough for you to see what his next move would be so that you could anticipate it and wouldn’t be afraid. And his cock began to throb almost painfully between his legs when he saw you push your chest out, arching your back against the lockers as you licked your lips, silently begging for it. 

Clearly, you didn’t wear Scott’s name proudly. You were aching him to tear the shirt off you, downright lustful at the thought - biting your lip, batting your eyelashes at him, the scent of your lust even more potent in the air down. 

Such a beautiful fucking tease. 

With delicate precision, he slashed his claws across your chest, shredding the fabric to pieces and feeling a cathartic vindication as the name and number of another guy fell apart and began to fall off you. 

A twinge of guilt nearly ruined the moment as he saw the slightest bit of blood glinting across your perfect skin, gathering in your cleavage along your gorgeous stretch marks, but you didn’t seem to care, and you didn’t seem to be in the slightest bit of pain. In fact, you let out a purely lustful moan and arched your back even more, pushing your chest toward him more - making you look like a perfect porno in your shredded clothing with your red lace bra now revealed underneath. 

Though in a moment, you reached up, pulling the scraps of the fabric away and shucking off the useless remains of the shirt, throwing it to the ground like the garbage that it now was. In the back of your mind, you guessed that now you would have to put on your jacket  - which you had been carrying in your hand and tossed off to the side earlier, and zip it up completely to cover yourself in order to leave. But that didn’t matter now. You didn’t care if you would have to leave here in just your bra if you meant you got to have what would likely come next. 

Isaac indulged in the sound of your pretty panting, the way you licked your lips, and the perfect, accelerated thumping of your heartbeat in his ears. 

“Better.” He sighed in relief, much preferring the sight of your chest heaving, nearly bare in front of him than the visual of Scott’s fucking name plastered across you like he owned you. He never did, he never would - 

You let out another hot moan in response, and Isaac found himself licking his lips. 

While he stood there, frozen with his lust, too busy visually admiring you, you were driven forward by your maddening need. You grabbed the front of his jersey and yanked him forward into a heated kiss. It was a mouth that you knew well from experience by now, and it was only a second before the two of you were exchanging moans and a clash of tongues. 

He craned down, his hands possessively grappled for your thighs, those claws making quick work of your tights, putting runs and even huge holes in the sheer material, quickly exposing your skin to the cool air of the room. It was something you would have been angrier about if not for the very pretty boy currently sucking on your face. 

One of his hands moved to claw at the seam of your tights, but you quickly clamped your legs shut, trapping his wrist from moving any further, much to his whiny disappointment. You used your hold on the front of his jersey to push him away, and you were met with the most sweetly crestfallen expression - wide, glossy, sad eyes staring you down while he curled his lip, clearly wondering what he had done wrong. Wondering what he had done to be denied. 

“Not so fast.” You scolded him gently. “You have to ‘take it off’ too.” You told him, running your fingers down the front of his chest, more than offended by all the padding he was wearing in addition to the clothing. Far too much coverage. 

“I’m not the one who was acting like a whore.” Isaac huffed, clearly still wounded from the fact that you had worn Scott’s numbers. The word sounded strangely good on his lips, but still, you rolled your eyes. From him, it wasn’t dominance or power. It was slowly turning into bratty defiance in your little game. “I wasn’t out there shaking my ass in front of the crowd while wearing some other guy’s fucking number, acting like a dumb slut-” 

“Oh, please.” You let out a dark laugh, and Isaac swallowed thickly, knowing that you had truly arrived. After all the winding up - the main event had finally started. “You act like a dumb slut all the time.” 

Isaac let out a sharp breath at your words, loving how easily you tossed the words back at him. Something inside of him was absolutely purring at the harsh title that was now freshly branded into his skin. This was the moment that his brain began to melt between his ears, and any sense of the ‘tough guy’ act that he put on for the rest of the world was completely gone. 

From this point on, he was dissolving into the sweet puppy that only you were allowed to know. 

“Like now, for example.” You continued on, more venom lacing through your lips. You put on your most threatening voice, hating to get firm with him, but knowing it was necessary. “So you can strip down, and fucking behave yourself, or I can get dressed and go find Scott and see what fucking him would be like instead.” 

Isaac glared at you, and you saw that horrible quiver come across his lip again. Before you could worry that you had gone too far, he reached up and began pulling off his gear, and you heard a few muffled complaints as his pads hit the floor. 

“You don’t have to be so mean,” He told you, nothing more than a petulant whine at this point. 

He was ready to be compliant with you - ready to do whatever you said because he needed it just as much as you did. 

When he was shirtless, you didn’t wait for him to ditch his bottoms before you leaped into action once again. You reached out and tucked your fingers into the waistband of his shorts, hauling him toward you - and much like a loyal dog tight on a leash, he let himself be so easily pulled, even though he was much stronger than you and he could have overpowered you if he wanted to. 

But that was the glory of it. He was a statue of might, standing over six feet tall, shredded with muscles that were enhanced with supernatural strength, and yet - he wouldn’t hurt a fly without your permission. He wouldn’t take a step in any direction if it wasn’t to stand in your shadow. 

He didn’t worship anywhere if it wasn’t at your altar. 

He had sought out guidance anywhere and everywhere since his father had died - Derek, Scott, Deaton, even Erica. But he had only found sanity and solace at the palace of your lips. 

Which was why he moaned into your mouth as you kissed him again, quickly shoving your tongue past his teeth to remind him of why he was here. He belonged to you, and he shouldn’t do anything without your sacred permission. 

You got a firm grip on his hair and caused a sting across his scalp with how possessively you were holding onto him, causing pleasant tingles through his whole body as he was reminded of that lovely feeling of being held by you, being owned by you. You used the hold to force him tighter into your mouth, angling his head just the way you needed to kiss him firmer, deeper, controlling every single aspect of it - causing a sweet whimper out of him as he was guided like a puppet on a string. 

He had been the one to drag you here with a demanding, tight grip on your wrist - he had been the one to practically throw you up against the lockers in anger. He thought this whole thing had been his idea. 

But this had never been his game. 

Any tough moves he made out on the lacrosse field, any intimidation he managed with people like Stiles or the Alphas he had battled during the summer - it was all a farce. You were the only person that knew deep down, he was a puppy, just looking for guidance. At the end of the day, after everything he had been through in life - he was just looking for somewhere soft to lay his pretty head. 

Isaac let out a whine as you pulled away from the kiss to take a breath. He instantly wanted to protest, instantly began chasing your mouth. He didn’t care if he drowned in your mouth, if he died due to lack of oxygen. 

But of course, he didn’t settle for a lack of contact. 

While you combed your fingers through his hair and used the other hand to start untying the knot of his shorts, he immediately dipped his head down, seeking more of your precious skin. His neck almost became pained from the awkward angle, having to lean so far down due to his height - but he didn’t care. He dipped his head between your breasts and immediately began laving his tongue over the small cuts he had unintentionally left there. From him, it was a wordless apology, hanging his head in shame at the fact that he could ever hurt you, no matter how small, no matter how meaningless the tiny scratches were to you. 

In your mind, it didn’t matter. Owning a pet meant that sometimes you came off with a few tiny wounds. You would end up loving the scars. You let out small hiss at the sting of saliva, and then began moaning, and he was quickly driven mad by the twang of your blood on his tongue. 

“Isaac-” You moaned out hotly. 

He believed that he was a beast being fed by you, bound to devour you disastrously sooner or later - but you knew not to be afraid. He could do you no real harm. You could never truly be afraid of someone with such delicate sadness in his eyes. 

Especially not when he humped your hip like a lost puppy and whined against your skin like he had been kicked in the gut. His cock throbbed painfully inside his athletic cup, far too fucking restricted, crying out for your touch. He was grateful when you pushed down his shorts and his thin athletic pants underneath, and then took care to strip off his underwear and cup without hurting his sensitive, now very hard cock. 

“Aww, puppy.” You cooed - it was a playful pet name that you had used with him many times before, but for some reason, it practically punched him in the gut, easily forcing the air out of his lungs when he heard it. 

His responsive moan crescendoed into a harsh growl between his teeth when you reached out and grabbed his cock with a cool hand - it was an immediate contrast, his skin boiling hot with blood thumping so hard underneath, making his cock so rigid that it practically vibrated under your touch. The tip of his dick leaked furiously into your hand as you began casually pumping him, no distinct rhythm or precision in your movements, purposefully teasing him. 

“You need this, don’t you?” You purred, voice purposefully honey-sweet as you lapped up his reactions. “You need me.” 

“I need you.” Isaac panted in return without hesitation. “I need you, please.” 

You ran your thumb over the leaking slit of his cock, indulging in just how wet he was, loving how it showed his desperation, plain and clear. You also couldn’t help but to love the beautiful little whimper he let out from the back of his throat, the way his breath puffed across the exposed skin of your breasts, cooling the salvia he had left there. Your skin becoming more exposed as he reached a hand up and yanked down your bra, putting strain on the straps where they sat on your shoulders. 

“You gonna earn it?” You posed, feeling the devil on your shoulder, unable to resist. Isaac only whined in response. “Get on your knees for me like a good dog.” 

Isaac’s breath caught in his throat. 

When he had first become a werewolf and you had found out about it, you had made a good many ‘dog’ jokes about him. And he used to hate them. But over time, he had come to love the comparison because he loved being your dog. (It’s why the nickname ‘puppy’ put a warm fondness in his gut rather than making him feel humiliated.)  

He knew, at the end of the day, that it was true. He needed to be owned by you, he needed a damn leash. He was intensely loyal, despite himself. And no matter what, at the end of the day, he would always return to you, head down, looking for praise, looking to be fed - whether that was a feeding of the soul, or stupidly literal, who knows. 

Any other time, the words would have been embarrassing - it would have been something he argued against. But this time - he practically let out a bark to demonstrate his pure loyalty to you, and he rushed to follow the simple order. Even though he hated your touch leaving his cock as he dropped to his knees on the cold tiled floor (thankful that he was still wearing his knee pads where his clothing was caught in a tangle just above them), he was more than eager to serve you. He used a careful, precise claw to reach up and shred a hole in the crotch of your tights, quick to destroy your underwear as well when he found them in his way. 

“Good boy.” You easily praised him, and he found his brain once again delightfully fuzzy at the simple words. 

Your fingers were in his hair again, but he didn’t even need your touch driving him forward. He was drawn to your exposed cunt like a madman, more than eager to shove his face into the folds of your perfect pussy. He used a hand to lift your perfect plump thigh and pull it up over his shoulder, inviting you to sit some of your weight on him so that he could be closer to you, ever closer, closer. He shoved his tongue deep into your hot, wet hole and shoved his nose between your folds, unintentionally bumping against your clit, just hungry to taste and smell as much of you as he possibly could. 

“Isaac!” You moaned out, using your hold on his hair to try and keep him in place while you humped against his face, causing him to moan enthusiastically into your pussy. “Oh fuck, puppy! You’re so good.” 

The combination of the praise and the nickname was absolutely dizzying, and along with your wetness on his tongue, your smell so potent and perfect surrounding him - he felt as though he didn’t deserve something this good. But he didn’t care. He quickly became obsessed with drowning himself in you - with one hand possessively gripping your thigh beside his head and the other gripping the edge of your skirt, moaning frantically into you while he fucked his tongue in and out of you, lapping up as much of your taste as he could. 

“Oh fuck - such a sweet puppy, so good for me.” 

There was no skill to it. 

He was growing dumb between the ears, becoming more and more of the dog that you accused him of being - nothing but animal instincts and the loyal need to please you. He humped his hips into the air and his cock began leaking openly onto the floor, leaving a pathetic puddle of precum there that neither of you would notice, something that would have the janitor questioning later. 

Currently, all Isaac cared about was the taste of your pussy on his tongue, the wonderful essence of you that reminded him he was home. All he cared about was being good for you while getting a reward that he barely deserved; all he cared about was the wonderful heat of your pulsing cunt under his lips with your vibrating little button bouncing on his nose, getting to smother himself in your perfect scent. 

“Yes baby, so fucking good-” 

All of his moaning and insistent tongue-fucking meant that you were drawing close to your orgasm very quickly. 

Your thighs began to shake, your muscles jolting beside his head and he continued to lap it right up. He moaned even harder, angling his head to drive his tongue deeper into you as you became wetter, and he only basked as there was more for him to consume. You panted in harsh gasps as beautiful jolts of pleasure rang through your cunt while his tongue pierced you again, and again, and again, fucking you in the most perfectly thoughtless way. 

Your fingers dug into his scalp and he didn’t even care that you used the touch to drive him further to smothering while you rubbed your pussy across his face, smearing your wetness all over his cheeks and his chin, coating him so perfectly in your smell. He could only enjoy it as you came all over him and tipped your head back against the lockers behind you, your moans echoing against the walls like a perfect concert while the boys in the locker room across the hall were none the wiser. (The chatter of their conversations and the sound of their showers completely muting out the sound of your moans from reaching their ears.) 

“Fuck, Isaac! Oh, puppy! Such a good boy!” 

Isaac moaned at your words and his cock was downright throbbing now. 

But even though, in the back of his mind, his dick was cold in the air of the room and he wanted nothing more than to sink into your perfect pussy, he still felt a deep pang of disappointment when you used your grip on his hair to pull him away from your perfect, wet cunt. He let out a whine showing that disappointment, and fought to keep your leg on his shoulder as you moved to pull away. But still, he ultimately conceded to you when you patted his hand off your thigh and scolded him with a glare and a quiet warning of: 

“Behave.” 

“I wasn’t done.” He complained, his voice small. 

But still, he settled for licking your taste off his lips, looking up at you through his lashes from down on his knees. You combed your finger through his hair again, unable to stop yourself from admiring him, even if he was being a bit of a selfish brat. 

He was just so damn pretty. 

Porcelain skin stretched over perfect muscles, big pretty blue eyes staring up at you, his cock out and still leaking, bright red now due to being neglected by you. You couldn’t have imagined a more perfect sight. You couldn’t help but to reach down and drag your thumb through some of the lingering wetness on his chin and feed it to him - and of course, he ate it right up, sucking the digit eagerly into his mouth and moaning around it. 

“Oh? So you don’t want to fuck me then?” You posed, playing off his words with a teasing statement that easily drove him mad. 

These words quickly sparked him to action. 

He jumped up off his knees, rising to his tall height once again, somehow so unintimidating. Such a sweet little wolf. 

With your back pinned up against the lockers for support, he grabbed your legs and pulled you up off the ground, his beyond human strength helping him to easily lift you so that you could wrap your legs around his waist - and just a moment later, as his cock perfectly lined up with your soaked entrance, you easily fell onto that perfect, stiff shaft. 

He didn’t hesitate to fuck up into you. He knew you didn’t need soft and you definitely weren’t expecting it, and any sense of patience he might have had was long gone. There was no sweetness, no slowness - all that was left was his pure possessive need to be close to you and your guiding hand driving him on, encouraging him as you dug your nails into his shoulders, leaving marks that would never last with his werewolf healing. 

“Good boy.” You told him, your breath slipping away for a moment as you were reminded of just how perfectly his cock could split you open. “Fuck, Isaac.” 

He kept one hand tight on your hip and the other went above your head, hanging onto the top of the lockers, desperate to hold on to something as he felt your perfect, hot wetness gripping his cock. Following his instincts, he fucked forward, slamming his hips into you, needing to feel more, needing to be closer to your warmth - needing more of you. 

“Need you.” He panted, his head falling to press his forehead close to yours, something that felt sweetly intimate for the situation, his eyes squinted tightly as he became overwhelmed by the sensations. “Fuck - need you, need you so much.” 

“Come on, puppy.” You encouraged him. “Come on, take what you need.” 

You tightened your legs around his waist, his movements nearly threatening to buck you off as he moved his hips so wildly - sheer need absolutely tight in every muscle as thick whines poured from his lips. You were eager to soothe him, your hands running up and down his sweaty back - some of it lingering from the hard work he had done during the game and some of new from how hard he was fucking you now, lighting up all the nerve endings inside your pussy, making you feel so perfect. 

“Such a good boy.” You moaned, your breath brushing against his lips - his mouth open as he struggled for air and continued to whimper sweetly for you. “Such a sweet little puppy. Good fucking dog.” 

Isaac let out a growl, fucking into you harder, his brain pure static at this point. 

Yes - he was a good dog. He was your good dog. 

He couldn’t help it when the pleasure surged through him, the pure energy, and his grip on the lockers above your head tightened so much that the metal started to crumble beneath his fist as if it was nothing more than a piece of paper. You heard the terrible shrieking groan of the metal, but you didn’t even bother to look up - you couldn’t have taken your eyes off Isaac in those moments. You were far too enraptured by your puppy in front of you, by the nearly pained look on his face, by the feeling of his perfect cock splitting you open as he faithfully fucked up into your pussy, not stopping for even a moment. 

You brought a hand to his face, grasping his jaw between your thumb and forefinger, digging the touch in - just a twinge of pain to get his attention, a firm grip to remind him that he was yours. 

“Look at me.” You demanded, your breath hot, your voice shaking slightly as the pleasure shook your body. “Come on, puppy - look at me.” 

He forced his eyes open, eager to be good for you, eager to do as you said. He gulped air in as he continued to grip onto your hip, the locker crumbling even more into a mess as the tension in his muscles was wrought into it, forced there rather than ever be taken out on you - even unconsciously, he could never use too much force on you. 

The silken blue that looked at you was a sight so beautiful that you couldn’t bear to look away, a mess of lust and ravenous madness, a prayer of devotion to you that was far too complex for words. You gave him a small, sweet kiss on the lips that he moaned so deeply at, his hips stuttering terribly as his balls downright ached - 

“Cum for me.” You demanded, the words a firm smack against his mouth, a punch to his gut that made him cry out. “Cum for me, puppy, be a good boy, come on-” 

He let out a strangled moan that dissolved into a downright filthy whimper from the back of his throat as his hips sped up, his skin practically blurring as he was now given precious permission from you. Your cunt became utterly sore with the speed and pressure his pelvis kept hitting you with, continually pounding into you with that impossible strength, the sound resonating harshly through the room, nearly threatening to break you. 

But it was only a few breathless moments later that a moan punched through his gut and you heard something that resembled your name choked through his throat - and then he fucked into you one last time, his hips then becoming glued to yours, almost entirely still in contrast to moments before. He ground against you sharply, overstimulating your swollen clit with the stiffness of his pelvis as he seemingly tried to merge with you through persistent will alone as he pumped his cum inside of you in warm spurts. 

“Good puppy,” You hummed, continuing to run your hands up and down his back and through his hair. You kissed down his cheek and his neck and along his shoulder, praising him, soothing him, worshipping him just like he deserved while his cock throbbed inside of you. “Good boy. So fucking good for me.” 

He moaned in return, words lost to the stupidly thick tongue inside of his mouth - one that was only capable of licking up and down your neck while he humped his cock inside of you for a few more moments, enjoying your soothing words and the warmth of your pussy around him as his orgasm ebbed away. 

Unfortunately, it couldn’t last forever like that. 

You pulled him in for one last kiss - one that the two of you savoured with a moan and a dip of tongues into each other’s mouths as he pulled his cock out of you. 

(Distantly, you had a thought about how you would have to walk out of here with no underwear - because you definitely weren’t going to keep on the scraps that he had left you, gaping with remnants of his cum inside of you. And you did feel a strange sense of satisfaction in that. Especially knowing that he would be able to smell that cum on you for hours with his werewolf nose, even if you went home and changed your clothes before Lydia’s mandatory ‘Lacrosse Team Win’ celebration party - and that was enough of a reason not to take a shower and scrub the scent off.) 

He let you down and you were unsteady on your legs, much like a baby deer, still having to lean on the lockers for support while he moved to grab some toilet paper from one of the stalls to help clean you both up. 

A heavy silence fell over the two of you, unlike any other time that you had sex with Isaac. 

While you righted your clothes (prying what was left of your underwear out from underneath your tights and throwing them away, along with the scraps of the shirt that had started this all, fixing your skirt, and putting your jacket on over your bra for some coverage) - and Isaac got dressed, you wondered what would happen next. Your eyes landed on the huge dent that was now in the top of the row of lockers, and you genuinely weren’t sure if you should ask him to try and fix it, or if it would just be better to leave it like that and let people wonder. 

“Please…” 

Isaac mumbled out, his voice so quiet, raspy around the edges due to the moaning he had just done. When you whipped your head toward him, he worked up the courage to finish the sentence. 

“Please… don’t talk about Scott anymore.” 

You stared at him, puzzled, as he put on his jersey (his pads still left on the floor, seeing as he didn’t need them anymore). Clearly, his mind had been on a completely different track. He was staring you down with those sad, glassy eyes once again, and you felt a terrible twinge of guilt tighten in your gut. 

You knew that he was the jealous type. That was why you had done all this. But you couldn’t go on being his secret fling, his secret fuck. His perfect confidant with no public title. 

So you prodded that wound one last time. 

“Why not?” You asked, risking it all. 

You would either leave this losing your best friend, the best sex of your life, and the person you loved most in the whole world - or you would leave this as a whole, better person. 

Isaac swallowed, and bowed his head, unable to look you in the eyes. Somehow, at six-foot-one, he looked so terribly small. He might not be able to do this. He might be too broken to live up to it. But you hoped, you prayed that he would - 

“Because I-” He shuddered, verging on tears. And somehow, he was able to get the words out. “Because I’m in love with you.” 

Everything inside of you lit up. More perfect than any orgasm, better than the feeling of his cock inside of you - this was what you had been missing the whole time. 

“And look, I understand that you might have just been playing around,” He continued, his words having a terrible meaning - acknowledging your game in wearing Scott’s numbers, and voicing his insecurities in your relationship, believing that you had been unserious with him because you had never loved him at all. “But it kills me to see you with other guys. I can’t-” 

You stepped forward, using a hand on the side of his jaw to pull him into another kiss. In a moment, he understood the passion, the warmth - something that went far beyond sexual needs. The way you guided him because you knew exactly what he needed. The unspoken connection the two of you always had that now needed those words. 

“Isaac, you should know I love you too.” You told him. “That I’ve been in love with you - since forever.” 

He let out a tense breath of relief. 

“I won’t talk about anyone else like that, or flirt with anyone, or anything along those lines, if that’s what you want.” You assured him. “You are mine, and I’m yours. Okay, pup?” 

He flushed at the nickname, and nodded, and you smiled brightly. 

“I’ll even get you a dog collar with my name on it so that everyone can know you’re mine.” You said - your tone was distinctly joking, but you didn’t miss the way he bit his lip, and the lustful light that grew in his eyes. 

“Shut up.” He laughed, shaking his head. 

(He definitely wouldn’t end up masturbating to thoughts of that later. Definitely not.)

...

Please keep in mind, there will not be a continuation or a 'part 2'. This is a oneshot, meaning that it is a complete story on its own and I do not feel the need to continue it. If you comment asking for a Part 2 or asking for a continuation after I have written this ending message, I consider that to be extremely rude and unkind.

If you are going to comment, please comment about the content of the fic that has been written. I love discussing the characters that I write about with other people in the comments and connecting with fellow fans. I work very hard on my fics and I always appreciate comments, but I do not appreciate when people only comment asking for more rather than wanting to discuss what I have already worked hard on.

Even if you don't comment, I hope you enjoyed, and if you want more from me because you enjoyed this fanfic a lot, you should definitely check out my Teen Wolf Masterlist, which has a lot of similar fics!

Happy Reading,

Sunny ☀️

[solarstranger]

CHAPTER 1 | I HOPE YOU SEE (RIGHT THROUGH ME)

w.c. 1.2k

tags. minors dni. fem!reader, pro-hero!katsuki, aged-up (23), some cussing (it's not bakugou's internal monologue if there aren't any), suicide-related deaths (see series synopsis for more details), discussions of suicide, canon-typical descriptions of violence

a/n. welcome to another series by yours truly!!!! i know i still have that body swap one in the queue, and while i am planning on working on that, this series' premise just spoke to me and i was emboldened to write it as soon as i could. i'm writing this as i go, though, so the posting schedule is likely gonna be erratic, but i promise i'll try to write this consistently. anyway, i'd absolutely love to hear what you think throughout the process, so please don't be a stranger and talk to me!

links. masterlist, ao3

Somehow, he’s wound up in the emergency room of Musutafu’s highly renowned Central Hospital.

Which, if he had the energy left to really think about it, is not particularly an unusual occurrence. He’s been here—and other similar hospitals—enough to have a general blueprint of the corridors etched in his mind, as well as the basic rules they shared and protocols that were strictly followed. Stuff like how phone calls are prohibited, fatigued doctors specializing in emergency medicine are perpetually present, and how—for a place supposedly and rightfully dubbed with the ‘emergency’ title—the staff sure don’t seem to have a whole lot of sense of urgency.

Although he supposes he’d rather have that than be in a room teeming with frantic energy. Maybe they’re doing it on purpose, actually, for the sake of the patients who get rolled in.

Except right now, he was not a patient.

He was technically not a guardian, either, though the disheveled-looking middle-aged man blatantly staring at him from a few rows up front is most definitely thinking otherwise.

Well, then.

Acutely aware of the unwanted attention, Bakugou shifts uncomfortably in his seat, wincing ever so slightly when the connected metal chairs to his right creak loudly with the motion. It doesn’t help that he’s still in his hero clothes—although he’s aware there’s no point in mulling over it now; after all, he didn’t exactly have the time to do a costume change with all the shit that went down.

Not that he’s exactly sure what that ‘shit’ even was.

It all happened too fast.

One minute, he was walking down his regular patrol route down Shizuoka’s famous tallest bridge—cursing the unbearable summer heat and the dehydration-induced headaches that it brought with it; the next, he was jumping off of it.

He even boosted himself with his quirk to aid gravity in his free fall, but to no avail.

Your body had already collided with the ground by the time he could grab your wrist.

The moments that passed after that are even more of a blur now. He doesn’t know how he did it, but after what seemed like an eternity of merely staring at your limp, bloody body, Bakugou was able to pull out his phone and call 119. The medics arrived shortly after, maybe in a span of five minutes, but to him it felt like more.

It took everything within him not to just haul your body and propel you to the nearest hospital.

Because if someone died under his watch…

“Mr. Dynamight?”

Bakugou startles, looking up from where he was blankly staring at his intertwined, scarred hands. At the sight of a white coat-clad woman, the pro-hero immediately stands up, nodding, turning to face the brunette with his full attention.

“Hi,” the doctor greets, “It’s come to my understanding that you’re the one who called in regarding Patient—” she trails off, looking down at her clipboard to double-check, before saying your name in a question. “Is that right?”

“Yes,” Bakugou rasps roughly, before clearing his throat and trying again. “Uh, yes, doc.”

The doctor nods. “Were you on patrol when you found her?”

Close, the voice in Bakugou’s head retorts without missing a beat. I saw her fucking jump.

Instead of saying all that out loud, however, the ash-blonde only nods wordlessly.

The woman hums. “Okay, then. Well, her parents are still on the way here, and normally we’d let them know first, but given the nature of your involvement and your occupation, I might as well inform you.”

Instantly, Bakugou finds himself bracing for what’s next.

The doctor presses her lips in a thin line.

“I’m sorry,” she starts, shaking her head solemnly. “She didn’t make it.”

Dead on arrival.

You were dead on arrival.

At least, that’s what the doctors told him when he pressed them for more. He couldn’t tell if they were hesitant about divulging further information about you aside from the basics or just simply in the dark themselves, seeing as how they only had your wallet that they found on your person to go from. Either way, Bakugou decided it didn’t matter as soon as an older couple burst through the doors of the emergency room—a good half hour later—whom he immediately identified as your parents.

Needless to say, he hightailed it out of there.

The last thing he needed was to be the unfortunate bearer of bad news, or worse, be recognized as the reason why their daughter is currently lying lifeless in one of the hospital’s private rooms.

After that, he couldn’t remember much of his actions, only that he somehow decided to head to the agency. The entire flight down to his office, he stuck his good ear out for any signs of ringing from his phone, which surprisingly—or unsurprisingly—didn’t come.

Which makes sense.

He’s heard stories before. Exchanged in hushed whispers back in the UA dormitory, and uttered in low voices in the agencies he worked at as a sidekick. About how suicide cases in the country are criminally underreported—not just because of the stigma surrounding the act, but because the police allegedly make it a point to conceal such cases, away from the media’s prying eyes and before it gets blown out of proportion by the public.

Hakamada told him it was most likely to prevent the occurrence of suicide clusters, to which Bakugou scoffed instinctively, granting him a reprimanding look from his mentor.

But really, could anyone blame him?

The idea seemed stupid then.

If he killed himself for whatever reason, he sure didn’t want his death to be treated as some sort of curse, talked about only when people think no one’s watching.

There’s nothing more pitiful than fading away without leaving a single trace, after all.

But now, as he sits in the quiet dark of his agency’s office—the building silent if not for the gentle whirring of his air conditioner—Bakugou finds himself oddly grateful.

Because…

Because.

He wouldn’t know what he’d do if he had to face the press about what just happened.

He’s not sure how long he sat spaced out in his office, but by the time he’s inserting his lone copy of his key into the door knob, it’s already two hours past midnight, and the exhaustion from the day’s events has finally made itself known in the form of muscle aches and a throbbing migraine.

Bakugou doesn’t try to fight the sigh of relief that wracks his body the second he hears the lock click, his movements automatic as he pushes the door open with his side, left hand reaching out in the dark until it lands on and presses against the switch.

As if on cue, light floods the living room slash kitchen of Bakugou’s apartment unit, a sight so mundanely familiar that he doesn’t even blink at first.

Just—drags his aching feet towards the foyer where he toes off his sneakers and drops his duffel bag, which he swears he’ll collect the first thing tomorrow morning.

But then that’s when it happens.

Bakugou barely catches it—the movement at the corner of his eye—but he does.

And when he does—glance to look at it—he blanches.

Because sitting on his sofa is no other than a ghost.

˗ˏˋ while likes are appreciated, they don’t do much on tumblr! if you want to support me and writers in general, reblogs, replies, and tags are the way to go. feel free to drop an ask, too—i’d love to chat. have a nice day! ´ˎ

[man-i-love-fanfiction]

Dead Dove (Do Not Eat)

- Hozier x Fem!Reader

Summary: You, Andrew, and the band get together and play a drinking game involving fanfiction. what could go wrong?

Tags: Fluff, friends to lovers, drunken confessions, drunken kissing, no use of Y/N, FIC DOES NOT CONTAIN DEAD DOVE DO NOT EAT CONTENT, it was just a title i swear, written for fem!reader but could be gender neutral

Word Count: 3139

Author's Note: THEY CALL ME A CHIROPRACTOR THE WAY I'M BACK‼️‼️‼️ like for realsies. i know i keep coming back like once a month and saying "i'm back" but i mean it now. anyways! i wanted to thank @cervidaewasteland and @sillycartoonhozier for coming up with this concept, as well as @deprivedmusicaljunkie and @uprightpillar for betareading!!! hope you enjoy because this is lowkey a crackfic. also yes i know the format of the texting is weird, tumblr hates me

read on ao3!

as always, fic under the cut :3

Touring with your best friend since your late teens was genuinely a dream come true. The moment Andrew first offered you a spot in the band, over ten years ago when his debut album was released, you’d said yes. Your love of music (combined with your looming crush on Andrew) made the job as easy as breathing. You wouldn't trade this job for anything, no matter how routine being on the road might get.

Another concert wrapped up. Another mostly flawless performance (Andrew flubbed the words to Cherry Wine, but what else was new). Another stay at a hotel that you never would've picked if you had the choice. And most importantly, another bed with too-soft pillows that was calling your name. That was, until Larissa called it first. You turned to look at her from down the hallway, pausing as she sped up to meet you. Once she reached you, you continued your pace towards your hotel room.

"The band’s gonna go to Andrew's room, have a little celebration since we don't have to hit the road until the morning. Are you coming?" She walked beside you as she explained. You could hear the eagerness in her voice at the possibility of your presence. However, at the moment you were much more enthralled with the idea of getting a good night's sleep.

"I think I’ll have to pass. I'm pretty tired, I —" your sentence was cut off by a yawn, like your body was proving your point. "I might just turn in for the night.”

"Please? We're playing your favorite game!"

You stopped in your tracks upon hearing the teasing of your favorite pastime on tour: an admittedly juvenile game that the band had dubbed “Fanfiction Book Club”. One member of the band would find some outrageous fanfiction written about Andrew — usually one written with grammar mistakes and plot holes galore — and take turns reading it aloud. You laugh, you drink. More often than not, it resulted in tour buses full of hangovers the next day, but you never regretted a second of it.

Your favorite part was the fact that it made Andrew squirm. It was consensual, of course; half of the time playing the game was his idea, and you were sure that tonight was no different. He seemed to enjoy it as much as anyone else, laughing and blushing and sometimes even muttering an That's actually a good line.

"Hmm... oh, alright. I'll be there in a few minutes, just let me get changed so I'm not still in my concert attire.” You finally gave in, gesturing to your all-gray outfit left over from the performance less than an hour ago. Larissa didn't seem to care when you showed up, her eyes gleaming with excitement the second you agreed. You said farewell for now and rushed back over to your hotel room, texting Andrew on the way there.

Hey. U ready to read some teenage girl’s flawless writing about u?

This is what i was born to do

Of course I’m ready.

I’ll bet you € 20 they misuse Gaeilge

I’ll bet you €30 there’s only

one bed

You got changed into a much more comfortable outfit, a simple old t-shirt and some shorts, something you knew you'd soon change out of. It seemed that by the time you entered, all the other members of the band had already arrived, and you took the only empty spot. All squished into Andrew's hotel room, you were all sitting in a makeshift circle, going across the floor and onto his bed. Everyone already had a drink in hand, and feeling a little left out, you went to grab a can from the room’s mini-fridge. Andrew was already sitting in front of it, ready to distribute drinks to those who asked. He handed your drink to you instead, and you wanted to kick yourself over the fact that your heart fluttered when your hands brushed.

You quickly scanned the room, noticing the only empty space to sit was between Alex and Melissa. Sitting criss-crossed on the carpeted floor between the two, you watched as Alex stood up from his spot, commencing the events of the night.

“Welcome to Fanfiction Book Club, my fellow musicians. I found tonight's selection on the modern day Library of Alexandria: Wattpad.”

Alex was almost always the ringleader, being an absolute menace and finding the fanfiction. Andrew supplied the drinks and the hangout space. Everyone else brought their spirits. Everyone had their small habits to make the reading more enjoyable. Deepening their voice drastically whenever they had to read for Andrew. Making sure to pronounce every spelling error just as it's spelled. Giving “Y/N” the most outrageous name possible, so that Andrew was about to go on a date with “William Shakespeare”.

The story of the night featured the main character being Andrew's backup singer who was a decade younger than him. They hated each other at first, but after a night in which they shared a hotel bed (you owed Andrew that money later), feelings were beginning to be reconsidered. The band especially had fun with tonight's pick, with jokes ranging from cradle snatching to HR violations. Andrew laughed along with them, taking everything in stride and even taking quite a few drinks of his own. The phone got passed around, and you had made your way through more than one drink already from the sheer amount of fun you were having.

Andrew seemed especially flustered when the phone got around to you. You read out loud about how the main character had confessed her undying love for Andrew in a rainstorm, despite only knowing the man two months. Her pining couldn't even compare to yours, you thought as you read. Two months versus almost two decades. Unfortunately, there was also a pang of discomfort you could feel, as some of the words you were reading aloud actually resonated with your situation. It almost gave you shivers to read someone describe how “in love” a character was with Andrew, and express thoughts that had crossed your mind daily. I love your smile. Your eyes are the most gorgeous thing I’ve ever seen. Your kindness is overpowering. How dare words on a screen — likely written at two in the morning by someone with nothing better to do — relate to your situation so deeply.

You were able to keep it together and not laugh, likely thanks to your comparison between the fanfic’s story and your own. You passed the phone back to Alex, who was much more inebriated than he was at the beginning of the game. By the time his phone got back to him, his words were slurring.

"Everybody listen! Here's where it gets good," Alex yelled, effectively shushing the room and capturing everyone's attention. You leaned over his shoulder, trying to get a sneak peek at the next few words as Alex read them. You couldn't resist a laugh as Alex read. "'Andrew leaned in, and as his lips met yours, he kissed you with the burning passion of a thousand suns—' Oh my god," Alex read before being stopped by his own chuckles. Poor man couldn't even finish the sentence. When your gaze jutted over to Andrew, he looked like he wanted to crawl into a hole and die. He had thrown the hood of his zip-up over his head, like his thought process was if you all couldn't see him, he couldn't feel the shame. Alex had no aversion to making Andrew cringe like this, and a shit-eating grin was plastered on his face as he read out the next segment.

“‘You never would have known it, but Andrew could touch a woman just how she wanted to be touched, and look at her like the way she's always wanted to be looked at.’ Want to teach me your ways, there, Andy?”

“That's kinda hot, actually,” you joked, turning to Melissa as you took a voluntary sip of your drink. Andrew coughed, followed by dropping the hood and taking a deep breath. This caught your attention; you assumed he had just had a moment where he was choking on his drink. You raised an eyebrow, wordlessly asking Are you alright? He held up a thumbs up to reassure you, using his head to nod back towards Kellen, whose turn it was.

“Okay, here we go. ‘Your kissing quickened, until eventually his large hands were…’ oh, I don't think I can read that aloud,” Kellen said. He flashed the cellphone screen to Alex, who scanned the words on the screen, his eyes getting cartoonishly wide at the contents.

“And then they start having sex, so that, my friends,” he said, snatching up his phone from Kellen’s hands, “— is where we have to cut the story off.” This was met with groans, everyone upset that the game had come to a close.

“Additionally, if we go any further we run the risk of Andy turning the same shade as a stop sign,” Alex teased, gesturing to Andy who, true to Alex’s word, had now turned a bright shade of red. Eventually, the group conceded and began to leave the room, congratulating each other and laughing on their way out, sometimes mumbling a witty remark.

“Same time next week?” Rory asked as he left, followed by an agreement from Andrew. His exit meant you were the only two people left in the room. In the moment, you decided to make yourself at home, sitting at the foot of his bed and plopping your back onto the mattress.

“So… that was… quite the story, huh?” you said, stretching your arms out before crossing them over your chest. Andrew chuckled, nodding as he walked over and sat down beside you.

“Tell me about it. That had the grammar of someone who’s never heard the words ‘spell check’ before.”

"Plus, the way they wrote about you? It was like some... some cheesy BookTok romance novel."

"What's that supposed to mean?"

You scoffed, accompanied by an eye roll. Maybe it was his ego, or his intoxicated state, but he really couldn't see how absurd those words were.

"C'mon, Andrew. 'Kissed you with the burning passion of a thousand suns'? Be for real. You would not kiss like that," you explained. Your sentence dissolved into a chuckle towards the end, likely because you had been made more giggly thanks to the alcohol in your system. Your laughs subsided when he asked you a question that was without a doubt a result of the alcohol in his system.

"Wanna put that to the test?"

You laughed again — now from nerves and not from amusement — and shook your head in disbelief. Did he actually just say that? Fully sitting up now, a confused look came across your face.

"Andrew, what do you mean by that?"

"What I mean is that you keep saying those descriptions are inaccurate. You don't know that.”

Could he really not see that those words were completely asinine?

“You really believe you… what was the line… ‘touch a woman just how she wants to be touched’ and all that crap?”

“Well, y’know, any man would like to believe that. Won't know until you try,” he said with a nonchalance to it that made you almost angry. It felt like a life or death decision was being thrown into your lap, and he couldn't care less.

You thought for a moment, weighing your options. It was just one kiss. Just to prove some stupid point. If anything more happened, it would be blamed on the alcohol. Even the worse outcome to saying ‘yes’ still meant you got to kiss the man you had been longing for. What did you have to lose?

“Fine, Andrew. You can kiss me.”

He nearly lunged at you, grabbing the sides of your face and smashing his lips into yours. You felt a jolt down your spine at the sudden sensation, kissing him back.

Holy shit, he really was kissing you with the passion of a thousand suns.

Kissing Andrew, your best friend as well as your boss, was, to put it lightly, playing with fire. There was something about his lips on yours that felt like burning. You were more than willing to step into the fire and let it consume you.

His tongue ran across your bottom lip, asking you for permission to enter, which you happily gave. His tongue explored your mouth, hungry to memorize every inch of you that was available. You relished in the feeling of his touch, letting him pull you closer. He grabbed onto your hips, your lips still interlocked as your hands made their way to his untamed curls. Trapping his legs between yours, you accepted as he pulled you into his lap and let you straddle him. A soft moan escaped you as you felt Andrew's sudden grasp of your ass, and you wanted to do something in return, but you came to a realization.

Andrew probably thinks there's no feelings involved.

As much as it pained you to do it, you leaned back, pulling away from the kiss.

“Whoa, whoa, whoa. Wait.”

Andrew blinked up at you, his lips now red and slightly swollen. If you didn't know any better, you’d say he looked a little worried.

“What's the matter? Did I not meet your expectations?”

“No, no. It was great, but,” you watched his lips curve into a cheeky smile. Grabbing the sides of his face was the only way you could get him to focus. “Andrew, wipe that smirk off your face. I’m trying to be serious here.

“I’m sorry, but it's hard to be serious in this position,” he replied as you looked down at him (for the first time, thanks to your height difference now being reversed). You paused in hopes of taking a mental picture of the image to save it in your psyche forever.

“Yeah, well, try your best.”

A sigh left you. Your brain tried to articulate how to tell him what you needed to get off your chest. Thanks to the alcohol, even when you did speak, it came out much more simplified than you had hoped.

“Okay. I like you. I really like you, and I have for a while. I feel so stupid for saying it, but I do. I couldn't let this continue without letting you know that.”

To your shock, Andrew's reaction to your confession was to… burst into laughter. It felt as though your heart could escape your chest at any moment, the nerves now hitting you all at once. Hastily, you said your thoughts out loud.

“You're laughing. Oh no, you're laughing. Shit, I’m an idiot, aren't I?”

“No, no, you're not, I promise,” Andrew replied, shaking his head. He took a deep breath, composing himself before meeting your gaze with a new sincerity in his eyes. “I’m only laughing because I’ve felt the exact same way. Also for a long time. Just never knew when the right time to tell you was. And tonight… the opportunity just arose.”

You gave him a calculating look, like you were trying to make everything make sense in your head.

“So we’ve both liked each other for close to a decade, just said nothing about it for years, basically wallowing in our own self pities, until you decided you had enough liquid courage in your system to finally hit on me? Because of a fanfiction?”

Andrew exhaled, giving you a defeated nod after essentially he had been called out.

“Sounds about right."

The situation was almost comical. Really comical, actually, and you now understood why Andrew’s first instinct was to laugh. Your forehead rested on his shoulder as you laughed into his hoodie. Of course he had liked you the whole time, how could you have been so oblivious? Once you fully composed yourself, you pulled away, shaking your head in disappointment. “God, what a couple of idiots we are.”

“A right pair of knobheads.”

Andrew smiled up at you, a dumb grin like an idea had popped into his head. When he spoke again, his voice was lower.

“I wanted to ask you this when we were much more sober, but I guess no time like the present, right?” Letting out a small sigh, he continued. You could see his cheeks flush again, like whatever he was going to say would make him more flustered than the fact that you were sitting in his lap. “Would… ehm… would you want to go out sometime? I don't need an answer now, if you want to just let me-”

“Yes. Yes, please. I would want nothing more than to go on a date with you.”

The goofiest grin spread across Andrew's face. You couldn't help but think he was adorable.

“Grand. I don't know what I would've done if you said no.”

“Shoving me off of you would've been the best option.”

“Yeah, probably.”

You both laughed together once again, before your giggles where cut off by a yawn. Seemed that the tiredness you were feeling before the whole ordeal was beginning to catch up to you.

“I guess that's a sign I should retire to my bed chambers, huh?” You lifted yourself off of him, moving so that you were now merely sitting next to him. Looking over at Andrew, you could tell he had an idea forming.

“Maybe you could just… sleep here tonight? No one needs to know, and if they question anything, I’ll just say you passed out and I didn't want to wake you.”

Another way your night began to overlap with fanfiction: there was only one bed. Sharing a bed with Andrew was an offer you simply couldn't refuse. You nodded.

“Let's get comfortable, then,” you mumbled, shimmying back until you took up one side of the bed. Andrew maneuvered himself backwards to get comfortable. You watched him lay down, both of you on opposite sides of the bed. Buried underneath the covers, you gazed at him as he did the same; he looked perfect. He raised an eyebrow at your staring and gestured for you to come closer. If you nodded any quicker, your head would’ve fallen off. You let the both of you get fully comfortable with one another, shifting to find the best position to cuddle in for the night. Once you found a way, Andrew made it work. He enveloped you, holding you to his chest with one arm and cradling your face with the other. You placed a hand on top of his.

“I always did like when they mentioned how big your hands are,” you murmured jokingly, your eyes already fluttering. In reply, Andrew rolled his eyes before placing a kiss on your forehead.

“Good night,” he whispered.

“Good night, Andy,” you responded.

You had never felt more at peace.

[i-nssomniia]

Can we get high school au with Joker🥲🙏🏼 (I love ur high school au fics smm)

Just a physical education lesson?

Pairing: Joker/Hajun x reader

Tags: college au, secretly in love!Joker, panicking!Reader, a hint for the future relationships

Note: of course, darling! I'm glad you like it! i love<< (do you even remember how the author presents the Joker to us? Always awkward and inferior to girls! I think if I met him in real life, I would really be a little scared of its size, but then... hehehehe, it’s size hehe)

@shintaru @wthphe1n @dzvelinaskebiyars

college au part1 with Wooin college au part2 with Owen college au part3 with Hyuk college au part4 with Vinny

"Oh.."

You hold your breath, lifting your head to look at him. He's so tall that you have to tilt your head up a lot to see his face.

"Physical education teacher paired us up"

You nod briefly at his words, your breathing is a little unstable. He's so scary.. Your classmate Hajun or Joker, as everyone here calls him. Why? you don't know, and you definitely don't want to know the answer, because you're almost 100% sure that it has something to do with something violent.

You fidget with the hem of your t-shirt awkwardly, panicking inside. Hajun always intimidated you not only with his appearance, he's taller and wider than you, but also with his gaze! Sometimes you feel like you've crossed his path like a black cat on a bad omen, and he's silently planning your murder.

"Are you feeling unwell?", - his voice sounds so harsh as his body leans slightly towards you, causing you to take a step back reflexively, waving your hands in front of you as you respond too hastily.

"No, no, I'm fine" - nonsense, you're not fine. You feel like when you will do exercises together, he's just going to break a couple of your bones with his brute force. This guy is a boxer in a college boxing club! - "Let's just get it done quickly and be done with it"

you awkwardly walk past, trying not to accidentally touch him, as you make your way to the sports mats to start your exercises. and you're ready to believe in God right now, and pray on your knees like a nun, just to stay intact. and why is it that your friend decided to get sick and not come today? because because you couldn't choose a partner at the beginning of class, you're forced to be near him.

you take a short breath, trying to calm your heart rate, "you're first" - you look back at him over your shoulder, noting the frown on his face. maybe you should have actually said you were feeling sick? you feel like your body temperature has risen.

Hajun walks past you, sitting down on the mat, bending his knees. you sigh, sitting down in front of him, reaching out with shaky hands to hold him in place.

"Closer, otherwise you won't be able to hold on", - he pulls your hand towards him, and you reflexively move your body forward, securing his knees with your hands and his heels with your feet, - "Hold on tight"

And you instinctively apply more pressure as he checks the hold and begins the exercise by starting the timer, folding his arms behind his head and lifting his torso. You try not to look at him, mentally counting the number of his bends until he stops. your heart beats faster when you look up at him. he's so close.

"How much?", - he asks you, his voice softer than usual. Up close, his features seem softer. You've never seen Hajun from this angle, as you usually look up at him.

"..ah, 61" - you correct yourself, looking away from him. He doesn't seem as threatening as usual. And damn it, 61 times in less than a full minute? And he hasn't even broken a sweat.

he doesn't say anything, just gets up from his seat, so easily escaping your grip, even though you're pressing with full force. how strong is he? you switch positions with him, putting your legs in your knees, lying back on the mat, and closing your eyes. the fear of him crushing your legs with his hands settles in your head, sounding like a terrifying siren.

but instead, you feel a gentle touch, like touching crystal, that takes your breath away. again. not out of fear.

"Start", - you sigh briefly as you begin to lift your body. And damn it, the seconds haven't even reached the middle of the minute, but your breath is starting to fail, and sweat is dripping down your temples. And every forward lean feels so awkward.

and when the minute is up, the gym teacher comes up to you to write down your scores. you're definitely screwed, you know you did a bad job, but your eyes widen when you hear Hajun's answer. he added a few numbers to give you a good grade for the sports standard? and the image of this intimidating guy in front of you, kneeling with those soft features, gentle touches, and almost pink cheeks, crumbles. wait, pink cheeks, what? Are you sure that's what you're seeing?

and it seems that the rest of the lesson consists only of awkward moments and Hajun's touches on you. and you're sure that he's embarrassed every time you're so close. because now you look at him more often, even though a while ago you were afraid to breathe around him!

and even if the rest of the lesson passes in silence between you, you can feel his gentle touches on your back as he helps you pull yourself up on the lower bar, and you can hear him exaggerating your results. If the first or even the second time you could say that Hajun was just losing count, then no, he was doing it on purpose.

your mind is racing with a million thoughts as you change clothes and walk out of the locker room after class.

"Hey", - a rough voice from the side makes you stop and look up again, - "this is for you. You did a good job"

Hajun hands you a cold bottle of water and takes large steps towards the exit, leaving you behind in a daze. Did he run to the vending machines to get you some cold water?

you look in the direction he was heading again, but he's nowhere to be seen. and the only thing you can hear is your own heart beating in your ears. this damn bottle of water causes goosebumps more than a long-awaited birthday present.

and Hajun, hurrying towards the bathroom to wash his face, his cheeks burning so hot. and the silent hope that you didn't see him nervous around you, blushing every time he touched you.

and one day he will come to you again, under some stupid pretext to help him with the material that he supposedly did not understand in class, so that he can be with you for at least five minutes close to you. because he can no longer just look at you from afar and blush like a stupid schoolboy in front of his first love (oh, no, he is exactly like that, completely whipped up just for you).

just give him time, okay? one day he'll give in to all of Wooin’s teasing and ask you on a first date to an amusement park. he knows you love it, he's heard you talk about it. he'll buy you cotton candy and ice cream, and he'll hold your hand and lead you by the hand, nervously keeping you close to him so you don't run into anyone, and he'll even cover you from behind so your skirt doesn't ride up.

but right now he's here on the college campus, squeezing his t-shirt, washing his face with water, nervous because you've spent so much time close to each other.

and he's secretly glad that your friend got sick, leaving the two of you alone, and he was able to take that first step towards you.

oh, his size–

[badgalsasuke]

So a naruhina shipper is trying to co-opt @youweremygoal post [LINK] and try to make it seem like it supports The Last's nonsense narrative of Naruto not knowing the difference between liking ramen and loving someone actually makes sense and is in theme with Kishimoto's writing?

But then they also accuse youweremygoal of being biased and that's why they didn't include the ramen discussion from The Last, even though that wasn't written by Kishimoto, but The Last's screenwriter Maruo Kyozuka

Now, I've read analyses by Naruhina shippers and let me tell you they all suck ass so it doesn't surprise me that they are now trying to co-opt narusasu shippers' analyses (they never ask themselves why it's always this side of the fandom that happens to have the best analyses out there) but this just makes me wonder how much of our words are being stolen and twisted to support het!shippers narratives.

I've already heard that some het!shippers steal maoam's posts and try to pass them off as their own (like one Hinata stan from twitter or the Sasuino shipper from youtube) but I guess it's more common than I thought.

Anyway since I'm still flagged as a bot I don't think youweremygoal will get the tag notification and see this post, so if any of you could let her know, that'd be great. I think she should know how some people are using her posts over there on twitter.

[olderthannetfic]

So I lowkey want to write a fanfic…. It’s a little bit of spite and a sort of “fine, I’ll do it myself” feeling that’s pushing me to do this.

So I like genshin impact and I’ve come across sagau fics just perusing the tag. The premise is pretty interesting, it stands for self aware genshin au, so the characters know they’re in a game and that someone plays as them. I’ve read a few good one shots that made me like this premise, but it has come a long way from what it originally was.

Now most fics I find under that tag have it mean that the characters think the player/oc is god and are in love with them or the characters think the player/oc is an imposter of the god they love and want to kill them. That sounds like the opposite of being self aware tbh. How did such a leap in meaning happen? Idk why it bothers me so much. I think I just want the tag to be used correctly

Back to my point, I low key want to write a fic that is actually sagau but I’ve never written anything before and high key have social anxiety so I don’t know if I would even post it somewhere. Any writing advice for a first timer if I go through with it?

--

Don't overthink.

Allow the first draft to suck.

Most people never make most of the creative projects they get ideas for. Actually finishing something is far more important than making it good.