#bro tone down the gay a little

[sceletaflores]

isn't it messed up how i'm just dying to be him?

pairing: stanford!art donaldson x stanford!fem!reader

summary: and there it is. there’s that glimmer of attention, that hint of acknowledgement of him. the heavy look of rage taking over your features, the bite in your tone, it’s what art’s wanted for months. your undivided attention.

—or: art tries to get through to you about patrick, it doesn't go how he thought it would.

word count: 6.2k (i'm so sorry lmao pls still read it's good i promise)

warnings: 18+ SMUT MDNI, p in v, rough sex, unprotected sex (wrap it before you tap it y’all!), switch!art a little bit, creampie, kinda hate sex but not really, more like angry sex, swearing, fighting as foreplay, art is lowkey a little gay for patrick (it's literally canon), tiny bit of manipulative!art, art is just kinda an asshole in disguise honestly, hints of mean!reader cause i live for that shit, tashi and reader are cute besties, art being a bad bro, porn with too much plot, no use of y/n.

authors note: so this is basically a re-worked version of art and tashi’s dining hall scene when he’s trying to convince her that patrick isn’t in love with her. it’s really similar just way more messy and angry and with sex. this is literally just a tiny thought i had that somehow spiraled just a little bit, but i needed some lowkey asshole!art in my life. i had so much fun writing this, like way too much fun lmao. title is a lyric from fall out boy’s "sugar, we're going down swinging" cause that song fucks so hard and it's soooo art coded. okay bye! mwah xoxo

psst! tftw series masterlist!

Art Donaldson is a patient guy. He's nice, understanding, empathetic. It's something he prides himself on, lots of guys on campus are pricks, but not him. He's "the sweet blonde guy that plays tennis, like, really well!" according to most people who've met him.

That being said, he's not blind to the fact that you frustrate him to the point of wanting to shout himself hoarse and rip his hair out.

It's been a while since he and Patrick met you for the first time at the Open, and Art has been through hell and back about a million times over by now.

He still so vividly remembers watching you step onto the court, the almost visceral reaction he had. The crowd was cheering and clapping nearly as loud as they were for Tashi. There were even a few signs made in support of you scattered throughout the stands. Big poster boards plastered with your name and your winning streak and pictures of you playing, tennis balls and rackets drawn from markers decorating them.

It was obvious you were a favorite, and it was more than obvious how much you lived for it.

Smiling and waving to the crowd, fully basking in their respect and adoration. You were nearly glowing, Art couldn't take his eyes off you. He could tell that Patrick was thinking the same thing, if the way his thigh tensed up where it was plastered against Arts was any hint, his breath slightly catching as you started stretching.

"Goddamn..." Patrick had muttered under his breath. Art could distantly see his hand clench on top of his thigh when you bent over to tighten your laces. He always tries to be less shameless than Patrick but he’d be lying if he said he wasn’t just as affected by you, fighting the urge to shift in his seat.

After you and Tashi walked up to the net with matching smiles and shook hands for a little longer than usual, it was time to start. Art watched as both of you got in position on the opposite ends of the court. Both of your faces lost the easy-going, excited expressions you’d shared when you first walked out, hardening in concentration as Tashi got ready to serve.

Patrick and Art openly gawking at the two of you would have been embarrassing if it wasn’t so fucking justified.

You and Tashi made magic happen on that court. 

It was powerful hit after powerful hit. Tashi’s backhand was out of this world, your overhand was a monster. Every rally, every volley, every serve was pure perfection. Art had never seen tennis played like that before in his life, he couldn't help but get sucked into your world the longer he watched.

The match was close, completely neck-and-neck throughout each set, neither of you willing to give an inch to the other. Tashi won by a single point, hardly wasting any time before she vaulted over the net to come barreling into your open arms, crashing into you so hard it knocked the two of you to the ground.

You both grasped at each other like lifelines on the hard concrete of the court as the announcer crowned Tashi the 2006 girl’s U.S Open champion.

Art let out a long breath and deflated a little deeper in his seat. His mind racing, he didn’t need to look at Patrick to know he felt the same. They sat in silence like that until the stands were practically empty. 

“What time did you say the party was again?”

Art pointedly ignored Patrick staring at him with a shit-eating grin on his face, stretching his arms out in feigned nonchalance. Patrick just snorted, shaking his head and squeezing Art’s thigh.

That was then, now Art sits across from you in the Stanford dining hall at the same table you two eat lunch at everyday, trying to stay cool as you complain about the latest biology lab you’re doing. 

He’s hardly listening to you, too busy trying his best to not glare too obviously at the hoodie you're wearing. One that he knows for a fact belongs to Patrick. You must have kept it the last time he was in town. The Nike swoosh embroidered to the front almost mocks him. Art puts his water down with a little more force than necessary.

Patrick and you being…whatever the two of you are now was something he tried his best to be okay with in the beginning.

Patrick’s his best guy, Art should have been so stoked that you were into him as much as he was into you when the two of them walked up to congratulate you and Tashi at the Adidas party. Only being able to steal you away from the house after you said your goodbyes to Tashi and her parents, inviting you to join them down at the beach.

It was obvious you were playing into Patrick’s attempts to get in your pants. Not blushing or averting your eyes shyly when he blatantly checked you out, throwing out smart comebacks to his sleazy lines, looking up at him through your lashes and biting your lip.

It would have been soul-crushing if Art wasn’t such a good friend. So, he stifled the rising feelings of jealousy and plastered a smile on his face as he watched Patrick shamelessly flirt with you.

It wasn’t like it was your fault. Art didn’t come on as strong as Patrick, he never did. Plus it wasn’t like he and Patrick had talked about who could try and score with you prior to the party, anything was fair game.

Besides, you were nice enough to Art that night. Chatting about college admissions and smiling at him over your coke bottle. Sure, it stung seeing you laugh at Patrick’s stupid jokes while the two of you smoked off the same cigarette, but there was nothing he could do about it.

You choosing Patrick had nothing to do with him. Everyone always chose Patrick, he was used to it by now.

At least he thought he was, but the longer it was just you and him, the more angry he felt each time Patrick would visit and steal all your attention. It wasn’t just jealousy or frustration anymore; it was a gnawing, consuming rage that twisted his insides every time he saw you light up around Patrick.

Patrick didn't fucking deserve you. You were too good for him. Nothing like all the easy, ditsy girls he fucked his way through at the academy. You were special, unlike any girl Art’s ever met. Patrick would just take you for granted. He'd grow tired of you, completely dismissing you when he got bored enough. Any day now he'd call Art to spill on his latest hookup with some chick he met on tour. 

But Art didn’t want to sit around and wait for that day to come. He couldn’t stand the thought of you being hurt by Patrick’s inevitable indifference. The idea of you, heartbroken and discarded, made his blood boil. You deserve more than that. You deserve someone who sees you for who you truly are, not just a trophy. 

Art knows he could be that person for you if you’d give him a chance, if for once you’d look at him instead of Patrick. He just has to find a way to get you to understand that.

“Pat texted me this morning,” you say from across the table, boredly poking at your pasta. “He’s gonna be here later this week, says he wants to go see 30 Days of Night. You and Tashi should come with us.”

Art hums noncommittally, not looking at you as he takes another bite of his salad. You do this a lot– extend invites to Art and Tashi when you and Patrick go out.

Art knows you think you’re being nice by trying to make them feel included, but getting invited usually means having to watch Patrick touch you and kiss you and walk around with his hand in your back pocket.

Art’s fork stabs into his salad roughly. He takes a slow breath, trying to calm the emotions starting to swirl inside him. “Yeah, sure,” he says eventually, forcing a smile. “Sounds fun.”

He sneaks a look at you from under his lashes. You’re already looking at him, brow raised at his clipped tone. “You don’t have to come if you don’t want to.”

Art shakes his head, waving a hand dismissively. “No, no, it’s fine. I’ll be there.”

“Okay,” you say slowly, still watching him with a hint of skepticism. “Are you alright? You’ve been weird all day.”

Art lets out a small laugh, but it sounds more sour than sweet, and finally looks up at you. You look back expectantly, concern lingering in your eyes. “Nothing, it’s just…” he pauses, drumming the fingers of his left hand on the table, “the fact that you two are still going out surprises me. That’s all.”

He regrets it as soon as he says it, words sounding way more patronizing than he wanted. His chest immediately tightens with guilt, but he doesn’t wince or shrink back like he normally would, just keeps his eyes on you.

Your brows furrow, a tiny frown pulling at the corners of your lips. “What?” you ask, fork stilling in your hand. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

Art just sighs, putting his fork down and leaning towards you. “I know Patrick better than you do,” he says with a tiny shrug, “he’s always had a hard time with…commitment.” He says slowly, searching for the right word.

You don’t say anything for a couple seconds, eyes scanning over his face slowly like you're examining him. Art forces himself to not start squirming under your intense, studying gaze.

You don’t seem to like what you find, eyes narrowing as you push your tray away from you and lean back in your seat. “Are you seriously shit talking your own best friend right now?”

Art’s brow raises, that wasn’t the reaction he was expecting, at all. His jaw ticks in annoyance, his hand balling into a fist on the tabletop.

“I’m not trying to shit talk him,” he says calmly, voice tinged with frustration. “I’ve just seen how things go with him. I’m looking out for you.”

Your eyes harden, disbelief mingling with irritation. “So, what? You think you know what’s best for me or something? Are you my keeper now?”

That pisses Art off, now you’re just being an asshole. His brows furrow, arms crossing in front of his chest defensively. “That’s not what I meant and you know it.” He says, tone harder than before.

You scoff, anger spilling over your face. “Well what the fuck do you mean then, Art? Because you dancing around whatever it is you obviously want to say is really starting to piss me off.”

Irritation flares in Art’s chest, piercing and sudden. He swallows it down, breathing out his nose slowly to try and calm himself. The air between the two of you is tense now.

You’re loud enough that a few people sitting at tables nearby start to quiet down, discreetly trying to listen in.

“Patrick doesn’t love you.” Art says spitefully, his fingers grip the muscle of his arms tighter. It’s childish, but he doesn't care.

Your eyes widen, clearly caught off guard. You recover quickly, letting out a disbelieving laugh as you push away from the table with a harsh scrape of your chair. "Excuse me?" Your voice cuts through the air, sharp and incredulous.  

He stays silent, letting the weight of his words hang heavy in the air. Your eyes narrow, searching his face for any sign of retreat, but Art meets your gaze head-on, jaw set stubbornly.

You stand with your arms crossed over your chest as you stare down at him. “Why are you telling me this? Why do you care if Patrick loves me or not?”

Why do you care? The question makes his heart drop down to his stomach. Dread mixes with the anger in his chest. This wasn’t how this was supposed to go, he doesn’t want to make a scene in the middle of the dining hall. You’re just being so difficult.

You’re jumping to defend Patrick, not even trying to hear him out, just like you always do. Still refusing to give Art the attention he deserves. It’s fucking infuriating.

“I’m just saying,” he says, voice distant and cold, “he hasn’t been in love with you for a while. He’s told me.” 

It’s a lie, he’s hardly spoken to Patrick recently, but he’s in this now. He may as well go for broke, he always plays to win after all. 

Your face contorts grimly, another disbelieving laugh punches it’s way out your chest. You don’t seem to notice the amount of heads turned in your direction, or maybe you just don’t care. “Oh, he’s told you that has he?” you parrot back mockingly, head cocked to the side as you stare daggers at him, “That’s fucking bullshit Art!”

Art clenches his fists, jaw flexing in anger. He’s never seen you this mad before, never expected to be the cause of it. But at the same time he’s fucking angry too. Angry at you. Angry at Patrick. Angry at himself.

His eyes narrow, holding your own heated gaze without backing down because if there's one thing he hates most, it's losing. “You don’t get it do you?” He mutters quietly, shaking his head in dismay. 

Your jaw tightens, eyes blazing as you lean forward, bracing your hands on the table to get up in his face. He can smell the familiar fruity sweetness of your perfume.

“What’s there to get? The only thing I’m getting right now, is a front row seat to you being a vindictive little prick.” You bite out, breath fanning over Art’s face. “Who even said I wanted Patrick to be in love with me? Who said I gave a fuck about any of that?” You question sternly, brows furrowed as you scowl at him.

Art scoffs loudly, his face twisting in disgust as he rolls his eyes. His blood boils at having to sit here while you bitch him out. He wants to strangle you, to take you by your shoulders and shake you so that you’ll listen.

To make you see what he sees. To make you love him. “Please,” he hisses through gritted teeth, shifting so he’s leaning across the table just as you are, his eyes dark. “Everyone wants Patrick to love them. Everyone wants his attention. You want it.”

You just blink at him, taken aback by his outburst. You stare at him, not budging as your eyes scan over his face for a second time. And there it is. There’s that glimmer of attention, that hint of acknowledgement of him.

The heavy look of rage taking over your features, the bite in your tone, it’s what Art’s wanted for months. Your undivided attention.

After a few tense seconds you just laugh, shaking your head in disbelief. “You might be the worst fucking friend in the world.” You say simply, like you're reading off this week's forecast.

Maybe he is.

Art can feel the heat rising to his cheeks in anger, in embarrassment, in hatred, in lust. The way you’re looking at him makes something stir deep in his gut. His heartbeat echoes in his ears.

You’re so mad, but in that you’re giving him a hint of your attention, giving him the time of day, and you’re still fucking defending Patrick. Rage seethes in him, hot like fire. Yet even in this moment, you’re the only person that really matters. The intensity of your gaze pulls at something raw inside him.

“He doesn’t deserve you.” His voice is lower, pinched with thinly veiled frustration threatening to boil over.

"And you think you're the expert on what I deserve, Art? Last time I checked, your own love life’s track record isn't exactly stellar."

It’s a low blow, bringing up how Tashi rejected him a while back. He hadn’t told you about that, so Tashi must have. He laughs, but his lips are pulled up in a sneer.

"Don’t start deflecting,” Your name falls from his lips sharply, stabbing through the thick tension in the air. “This isn't about me, it's about you. You're setting yourself up to get hurt, and I'm just trying to warn you–"

"Yeah, well, I didn't ask for your fucking opinion," you snap, "maybe you should focus on your own damn problems.”

Art’s jaw tightens further, his frustration finally getting the best of him. "Fine, do whatever the hell you want. But don't come crying to me when Patrick does what he always does— leaves you for someone new."

You stare at him incredulously, shock and anger warring in your expression. "I can't believe you just said that."

"Yeah, well," Art mutters bitterly, looking away. "Believe whatever you want. Just know that he’s playing with your feelings.”

You huff, throwing your arms out at your sides in frustration. “What fucking feelings Art!” you say loudly, not quite shouting but you’re getting there. “Sure, Patrick and I fuck but that doesn’t mean we’re playing husband and wife with each other!” 

You’re definitely way too loud, voice steadily rising in volume the more you talk. Seemingly not caring about who’s around to hear you yell about fucking Patrick. “In fact,” you continue, shaking an accusatory finger at Art, “you’re the one trying to get in my head and play with my feelings, you fucking hypocrite.”

His mind whites out, filled with blinding jealousy all over again. He wants you so fucking badly, he could be everything you needed. Why can’t you see that? How could you be so blind? How could you not see that Patrick was using you, just like he used everyone else?

Art leans further across the table as you speak, his hands coming up to grip the edges of it tightly. “You’re so fucking naive, you know that?” He snaps in a biting tone. It’s harsher than he’s spoken to you during this whole fight.

Your voice drips with sarcasm as you lean forward, eyes locked on his. "Oh, well forgive me for not seeing the truth according to Saint Art."

“So fucking naive.” He repeats, spitting the words across the table meanly.

“And you’re a fucking pussy.” You bite back, leaning in even closer so Art can see your lips form around the words maliciously. You sway close enough that the tip of your nose bumps against his. His breath catches, going ragged in his throat. You’re so close to him. He can smell you, can practically taste you on his tongue.

He wants to take you in his arms, to hold you and kiss the anger off your face. The only thing keeping him from lunging out is the way you look. Your whole body is rigid with anger, eyes dark and cheeks flushed. You’re so beautiful. He has to remind himself that he’s supposed to be pissed at you and fight the urge to pull you in and really taste you.

But then you're backing away completely, “I won’t waste my time on stupid shit like this,” you mutter, turning to pick your bag up off the floor. “Thanks for lunch, Art.” You say sarcastically, not even looking at him as you turn on your heel and walk towards the dining hall’s exit before he can respond.

Art’s heart lurches forward at your words, not with pain, but with want. He watches you leave, the regret quickly setting in once you’re not here to play into his resentment. It hits him like a cold shiver, he wants to feel good for speaking his mind, for telling you how it is. Maybe on some level he does, but it’s overshadowed by how awful he feels.

Art stares down at his unfinished salad, appetite gone. He sighs loudly, standing up to toss his own tray plus the one you left behind. He tries his best to ignore the stares he can feel following him as he walks out.

ᯤ

Art wallows in misery for the rest of the day, skipping the practice he had planned after lunch. He just locks himself in his dorm, laying on his mattress and staring at the ceiling as he replays the fight in his mind. Replaying every word you said to him, every word he said back to you, every angry look you gave him. 

He thinks about texting you a thousand times. Typing and deleting different messages until he eventually gave up. He knows you’re beyond pissed, that him reaching out will only piss you off more and he wants to try and salvage this before you completely shut him out. The thought of losing you is why he never wanted to bring it up in the first place, regret settles in his gut like a ball of lead.

And yet, there was a small part of him that hoped, despite the shit show in the dining hall, that you’d see the quiet care he showed, the way he was there for you, and choose him for once. But hope was a dangerous thing, and Art wasn’t sure how much longer he could hold out.

Hours go by with nothing from you, it’s the longest you’ve gone with talking since the semester started. He forced himself to study for his biology final in a lazy attempt at taking his mind off you. You’d usually be in his dorm room right now, all spread out on his bed like it’s your own as you talk his ear off about something like your asshole psychology professor. 

The longer he sits at his desk the longer the ache in his chest consumes him. Art would do anything to know what you were thinking right now. He’d grovel for your attention, he’d fall to his knees and beg and plead if that’s what it took for you to forgive him. 

He’s getting ready for bed when his Blackberry pings on his night stand, it’s almost embarrassing how fast he rushes over to it. His heart stutters in his chest when he sees it's a text from you. It’s only two words, a simple ‘come over’. 

Art’s never moved faster in his life, rushing out of his room with only his phone, wallet, and keys. 

He makes it to your dorm in record time, nearly sprinting across campus to hurry up and get there before you change your mind. All that needy rushing completely vanishes once he’s actually outside your door. 

Art hesitates, staring at the little door decals taped on with your name written on them in black sharpie. He rests his ear against the door, but he can’t hear anything. He worries his bottom lip between his teeth, brows pinched as he wrestles with himself.

“C’mon Donaldson, don’t be such a little bitch.” Patrick’s voice rings out in the back of his mind. He takes a breath and knocks on the door.

Barely a second passes before it’s swinging open and you're there, gripping the front of his shirt and dragging him inside your room. Art's back hits the closing door with a thud, his breath catching in surprise. His hands shoot out to brace on either side of the door, knocking over a racket resting on the wall. Everything he brought with him falling to clatter onto the wood floor loudly.

You look rough, eyes slightly red and puffy like you may have been crying. Your breath comes out in short, quick bursts as you stare up at him. All the anger he swore would come rushing back when he saw you drains out of him in a second.

His face softens, a tiny frown on his lips. "Hey, what’s going on?" he asks, voice a mix of confusion and worry. His hands come up to hover near your hips, hesitating at the last second, not sure if he should touch you.

Without a word, you’re flying forward while yanking him down by his shirt. Closing the distance between the two of you with your lips crashing against Art’s. It’s so sudden, so completely out of left field, that Art stumbles forward a few steps, hands gripping your hips tightly to steady himself.

It’s almost pathetic how easily he kisses back, not even hesitating. Flashes of Patrick’s face go through his mind as he eagerly reciprocates, not stopping him from pulling your hips flush against his. He definitely might be the worst friend in the world, all the loyalty he felt to Patrick tossed out of his mind the second your tongue slides past his lips.

It’s intense, there’s no romance or gentleness about it. Your lips move against his almost violently, all the aggression and anger from earlier still very much there. He’s never kissed a girl like this before, it’s not how he imagined his first kiss with you would go. He’s still getting hard in his sweats anyway.

Your tongue fucks into his mouth roughly, it reminds him of the time he and Patrick kissed when they were still at the academy for “practice”. He moans loudly into your mouth, letting you dominate the kiss and just trying his best to keep up. Your teeth clack against his roughly, biting down on his bottom lip hard enough to have him whining embarrassingly high and needy.  

“It’s over with Patrick,” you breathe hotly, slick lips brushing his with every word. “I want you to fuck me.”

Jesus fucking Christ.

Art’s dick feels hard enough to burst out of his sweats by sheer force, but he pauses, pulling away from you with a hesitant look. "I-" he tries, voice cracking slightly. He can feel his cheeks starting to burn as he clears his throat. "I don't think that's a good idea. It's so soon, and I mean you're obviously going through something and I don't want to take advantage of yo-"

An incredulous laugh bursting from your lips effectively cuts Art off, your eyes roll to the ceiling in dry amusement. “God, Art.” you scoff, both hands pushing off his chest to create space between the two of you. He keeps his hands on your hips, the thin material of your bottoms bunching in his grip. “You’re such a fucking little bitch, you can kiss me but you won’t fuck me? What is it? You scared of Patrick or something?”

The taunt hits Art like a slap across the face, he freezes for a second before disbelief gives way to white hot rage. You just stare up at him smugly, lips red and wet. Art bares his teeth, using his strong hold on your hips to force you backwards until your knees hit the edge of your bed.

“You’ve pushed me and pushed me and pushed me,” he spits, glaring down at you as he speaks. “Acting like such a fucking brat. You want me to fuck you?” He pushes you back onto the bed roughly, covering your body with his, letting his weight sink you deeper into the mattress. “Fine, I’ll fuck you.”

Art sits up, ripping his shirt over his head and tossing it somewhere behind his shoulder. Your greedy eyes rake down the toned muscle of his torso, hands coming up to lightly scratch your nails over his abs. His breath hitches, goosebumps breaking out all over his skin. He grabs your wrists, forcing them down and pinning them to the bed. “No touching.” he chastises, leaning down to bite the skin of your neck roughly. Sucking hard enough that he’ll definitely leave a mark. 

His dick twitches against the inside of his sweats at the thought of you walking around campus with his claim staked on you, at the thought of Patrick, if he was still coming down, seeing it and immediately knowing who left it there. He slides his knee between your legs, he can feel the warmth radiating from your pussy, can feel how you’re so wet it’s soaking through your bottoms and onto his thigh. 

You hiss at the sting of his teeth, trying to squeeze your wrists out of his strong grip. Your thighs tighten around his knee, hips bucking up against him. “Are you gonna fuck me anytime soon, Art? Or do I need to find someone else that’s not all talk?”

Art chuckles darkly, nipping at the sensitive skin of your collarbones. “You can bitch and moan all you want, but I haven’t even touched you yet–” he leans forward to whisper directly into your ear, “–And you’re still fucking soaked for me anyway.” He drags his tongue along the shell of your ear in a dirty stripe. 

You let out a keen, pretty and high, grinding your hungry pussy against his knee faster. He lets go of your hands, grabbing your hips and flipping you onto your stomach. Tossing you around like it’s nothing, just manhandling you.

“God,” he groans, big hands coming up to knead the meat of your ass, spreading it lewdly making you moan softly. “You’re so fucking hot.” He whispers, words falling from his lips like he couldn’t hold them in any longer.

Art keeps one hand tight on your hip, the other fumbling with the drawstring of his sweats so he can push them down to finally free his aching dick. Letting it spring out to slap up onto his bare stomach, trailing a thin line of pre-come across his abs. 

You squirm under him, feet kicking out as you struggle in his hold. Your head craning over your shoulder and zeroing in on his dick, hard and red and leaking. “You came over here with no panties on, Donaldson?” you taunt, pushing your ass back onto the sensitive length of his erection. “How slutty–” 

“Shut up,” he snaps harshly, but his dick twitches where it’s dragging over the seam of your ass. He’s leaking like a faucet, leaking like a girl, all over your light green plaid bottoms. It strikes him suddenly, how familiar they look. He stares at the worn down fabric covering your ass, at the way his pre-come stains the material darker, at the way they hang too low on your hips, too big for you. 

“Are these…are these Patrick's,” he asks slowly, voice low as his fingers skim over the soft material. You chuckle wickedly, wiggling your hips back teasingly. 

“Yeah, they are,” you say, sliding your ass back and forth over Art’s dick. “You’re leaking jizz all over your best friend's pants, Art.”

Art groans loudly, chin dropping to his chest as hips jerk against your ass involuntarily. A full body shiver wracks through him like lightning, eyes screwing shut as he tries not to come all over your ass. “Shit–” he bites out sharply, voice rough and scratchy. He can distantly hear you laughing at him through all the white noise buzzing in his ears.

He breathes out through his nose, willing himself to calm down. He needs to be in control for once, needs to teach you a lesson for ignoring him for so long.

Art’s hands come up to the waistband of your– Patrick's– pants, fingers digging underneath the loose material and forcefully yanking it down along with your panties, only pulling them down to your mid-thigh. You yelp in surprise, hands gripping the sheets of your bed tightly. 

“I need to get inside you, right fucking now.” he rumbles thickly, flipping you onto your back again. He needs to see your face when he fucks you for the first time, needs to burn it into his mind forever.

“Fuck yes,” you reply eagerly, arms coming up to circle around his shoulders. “Finally.”

Art doesn't reply, eyes fixed on your bare pussy, so fucking wet and shining underneath the shitty ceiling light of your dorm. His mouth waters, he wants to drop to his stomach and eat you out until you're shaking and squirting all over his face. His dick drools at the thought, but he’ll have to wait. He needs to fuck you.

He takes his dick in his hand, dragging it through the silky skin of your soaked folds. He spreads your wetness around your clit, rubbing the leaking tip over you back and forth teasingly. You whine, thighs starting to shake on either side of him. He drags his dick back down to your clenching hole, lining up and slowly sinking inside the tight, wet heat.

Art doesn’t give you any time to adjust to the thick head of his dick breaching your tight hole, burying himself to the hilt inside of you with a sharp thrust. 

“Fuck!” you cry out, legs coming up to wrap tightly around his hips, digging your heels into his lower back. “Shit, fuck you’re– God, you're so fucking deep.”

“I’m going to use your fucking pussy however I want,” Your name falls from his lips, dirty and blistering. “because it’s the least I deserve for putting up with your bullshit for so fucking long, and you’re going to be good and lay there and take it.” He drives his point home with a mean thrust of his hips.

“Fuck you, Art.” you mutter back, trying to keep up the bratty act even though your voice is going breathless and needy.

Art doesn’t ease into it, pulling back only to start pounding into your pussy ruthlessly. Sharp slaps of his hips stinging your ass each time he drives back in, your eyes roll back in your head, slack lips parted in pleasure as he fucks you. 

Art can’t help but lean down to claim your mouth, kissing you a little too sweetly for the moment. He can’t help it, not when you’re under him making the sweetest noises, letting him fuck your perfect fucking pussy like he owns it. God.

“Fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck,” Art growls, breaking the kiss to rest his sweaty forehead against yours. “You’re so fucking, tight. Feels so fucking– shit, so fucking good.” His hips speed up, desperately rutting into you.

“Art,” you whine, nails scratching down his back hard. “I’m so close, fuck I’m so close– keep going, don’t stop, don’t stop, don’t stop–”

He cuts off your rambling with a kiss, groaning at the way his name sounds getting fucked out of your mouth. The loud squelch your pussy makes each time he buries himself back inside has his ears burning, he can feel you soaking the skin of his thighs with every thrust.

“Wanna feel your tight pussy milk me dry,” he grinds out through gritted teeth, picking up his pace. “Fuck, I‘m gonna come, I’m gonna fucking come.” He ruts into you harder, splitting you open with every thrust. The skin of your ass turning red and raw from how hard he’s giving it to you. 

Your hands come up to bury themselves in his hair, tugging sharply to make him look at you. “Inside,” you pant, eyes glazed over and wild, “come inside me Art, please. I’m on the pill you can, you can come inside me.” Your legs tighten their hold on his hips, ankles locking snugly over his lower back so he couldn’t even pull out if he wanted.

“Fuck!” Art shouts your name hoarsely, hips stuttering as he unloads in you. Hot come spraying the walls of your pussy. You let out a broken moan, your whole body shaking as you come with him. Your pussy chokes his dick so tightly, gripping him like a vice, milking him.

Art tilts his head up, catching your lips with his to greedily swallow down all your moans. He keeps going, shallow thrusts of his hips working you through the aftershocks of your orgasm until you’re kicking at his back, whining at him to stop. He collapses on top of you, his sweaty skin sticking to the fabric of your shirt. 

It’s quiet for a while, the two of you silently trying to catch your breath. Your hands come up to his head, sliding into the messy strands of his hair. “It’s pretty late now,” you say slowly, nails scratching against his scalp softly. “You could…you could stay here if you want.”

Art hides the wide grin breaking out on his face in your chest, arms coming up to circle around your waist. “Yeah, that sounds good.” He whispers back, squeezing the soft skin of your hips once.

It’s only later, when you’ve fallen asleep on his chest, that he stares up at the ceiling lost in thought. He’s too worked up to sleep, so fucking thrilled that it worked. His plan actually worked. You’re his now. He looks down at you, glowing softly in the moonlight filtering through your window, deep hickeys scattered across your neck. He drags his fingers along your cheekbone, tucking a stray strand of hair behind your ear.

This is what he’s wanted for so long, you.

You asleep in bed with him, you curled up in his arms, you with his come steadily dripping out of your swollen pussy.

Art can hear his Blackberry start buzzing on your nightstand, lighting up with an incoming call. Even from far away he can read the name displayed on the screen. Patrick. He lets it ring.

taglist!

@ebodebo @yuenity @artemis-b-writes @motopoppp @nhlfs @elaci @myahswrld @angelheavensblog @arianaroman @mcugurl @igotmajordaddyissues @redmoonsofvenus @tomorrowillmissyou

if you want to get tagged for any of my works just fill out this form!

[porcelain-savior]

Pink Stuffed Cat

Stone x Reader

not proofread!

A/n: I saw someone send DEATH THREATS to someone else because they didn’t agree that Stone was gay, autistic and trans. LIKE BRO. Calm down! Don’t make the fandom like Hazbin Hotel’s fandom. We saw how that ended, now everyone hates the Hazbin Hotel fandom

✩*⢄⢁✧ --------- ✧⡈⡠*✩

✩*⢄⢁✧ --------- ✧⡈⡠*✩

“I think this is enough to feed us for the weekend.” Stone said as he looked through a purse that he and you stole. The four of you, Stone, Vinnie, Skipp and you had spilt up to go steal from the rich to the richest people who were so caught up in their lives that they didn’t even notice. “Alright! Let’s start heading back then.” Stone nodded.

You both walked pasted a toy store. Something in the window had caught your eye. A pink stuffed cat. It’s childish—but it’s pink…and a cat. You stopped and stared, your eyes becoming bigger. “What are you staring at?” Stone asked as he glanced behind him at you. He raised an eyebrow as looked over your shoulder. “No.” Stone said as he began to tug at your arm. “Wait—! Just..” You whined as tried to reach out. “I am not risking to get caught just for some—shitty stuffed animal.” Stone said as he sighed. “Please Stone! Please please!” You begged as you stared up at him.

“..I hate you so much.” He groaned, rolling his eyes. “Come on.” He grumbled as he grabbed your wrist and pulled you inside of the toy store. A whole of rich loser kids were running around the store. “Jesus Christ..where is this stupid cat..” Stone looked around. “Right there!” You pointed. The both of you walk over. “Get ready to run.” Stone said as he shoved the cat into your arms. “3…2..” “Hey!” A kid yelled from below. The two of you look down and see some little kid. “That was the last limited addition, pink cat stuffed animal.” The kid said in a snobby tone. “Fuck off.” Stone said as he gripped your wrist. “Ready?” Stone turned to you. “Yeah.” You said, nodding. “Mommy! These scraps won’t give me the stuffed animal!” The kid cried, the mom stomped over. “Oh you scraps?! Thinking you can get away with everything!” The mother yelled. “Run!” You yelled as you grabbed Stone’s hand and began to run out of the store, only to be blocked by another person. “You think you can just steal?!”

“Shit..it’s always us.” Stone groaned as he slapped his face. “And yet we always get out of it?” You say as you shoved his shoulder a bit a smirk on your smirk. “You’re reckless.” Stone said as he pulled out a beer bottle from his coat. You took out your lighter and handed it to him. He quickly lit the bottle, threw it, grabbed you, before he jumped out the window.

As you both landed on the side walk, toys landing next to you. The place catches on fire. “..stone what the fuck.” “It was that or we both get stabbed by rich people who can’t even tie their own fucking shoes.” You both didn’t even realize that you two were holding onto to each other. “Gross..” Stone shoved you off, his cheeks only slightly pink. “Let’s go before we get blamed for this.” You said. Stone stood up and held his hand out for him, to which you grab.

✩*⢄⢁✧ --------- ✧⡈⡠*✩

“Wait—so you blew up that toy store for a stuffed animal?!” Vinnie said as she titled her to the side. Stone and you nodded. “..those poor toys..” Skipp signed shaking his head. “It was not worth it.” Stone sighed, glancing over to him. He noticed the small smile on your face has you hugged the stuffed animal cat. “But we got the stolen goods.” Stone said as he passed the bag to Vinnie and Skipp.

To Stone, seeing your smile was the best thing he’d probably seen all day.

✩*⢄⢁✧ --------- ✧⡈⡠*✩

A/n: ok hi again I apologize if this is out of character for him 🤗

[transform4u]

Hey, I need your help! I'm in a happy and healthy gay relationship with the partner of my dreams, but there's this girl in my college who always had a huge crush on me. Her dad is some kind of powerful conservative politician or something. She keeps trying to get between me and my boyfriend. I'm so worried that she'll do something really bad just to get what she wants.

The party buzzed around you as you stood by the punch bowl, your mind still lingering on the auditions you’d just completed. You were feeling a mix of excitement and exhaustion, but that quickly shifted when your cute boyfriend returned with drinks in hand. You gave him a quick kiss, enjoying the warmth of his lips before he wandered off to grab something else. That was when Samantha, the quintessential entitled, snobby, rich girl, sauntered up to you.

She practically oozed privilege with every step, her designer clothes and perfectly styled hair making you want to roll your eyes. You tried to ignore her, scanning the room for your boyfriend. “Like, what are you looking for?” she asked, her tone dripping with condescension.

“My boyfriend. He’s supposed to be coming back with drinks and—” you started to explain, but she cut you off with a saccharine smile.

“Oh, silly, don’t think about him. I have a drink for you,” she said, fluttering her lashes as she handed you a plastic cup of jungle juice.

You took the drink with a mix of reluctance and resignation, your annoyance barely concealed. Samantha was everything you despised about this college—rich, entitled, and deeply conservative. But a drink was a drink, and it was better than standing around thirsty. You took a sip, and the jungle juice was a surprising burst of sweetness, the alcohol warming your throat as it slid down. It was smooth at first but quickly gave way to a burning sensation, a hot pain settling in your stomach.

Then, a peculiar sound rang through the room—a sharp, resonant snaaaaaaaaaappppp that seemed to echo and reverberate. You glanced around, but no one else seemed to react. Your attention snapped back to Samantha, who had an odd, almost predatory glint in her eyes now. "Don't ever think of that annoying little faggot boyfriend ever again", she said with a coy smile.

As you looked down, your Adam’s apple seemed to swell, bulging noticeably as an unfamiliar energy surged through you. It was as if a hidden force was awakening inside you, making your skin tingle. You could feel the jungle juice transforming, its warmth morphing into a strange, pulsating energy that made your entire body feel alive.

Your gaze flicked to your reflection in a nearby mirror, and you saw your once-skinny, frail theatre boy body starting to change. The energy coursing through you felt both exhilarating and disorienting. Your muscles twitched and rippled beneath your skin, their contours gradually shifting. Your arms, once slender, began to swell, veins popping up as they became more defined. Your chest and abs, previously delicate, were now straining against your clothes, hardening and sculpting into a more robust form.

Samantha’s voice echoed in your mind, whispering, “Babe.” The word seemed to fuel the transformation, as though her very presence was molding you. You watched in disbelief as your body continued to change, every muscle becoming more pronounced, more powerful.

Your reflection now showed a strikingly handsome, young preppy bro—a vision of sculpted perfection. Every muscle was meticulously defined, from your abs to your biceps, which now bulged with impressive strength. Your shoulders were broad and commanding, seamlessly transitioning into powerful arms that seemed to effortlessly draw attention. Even your legs were a marvel of athleticism, each step you took radiating a potent mix of power and grace.

Your face, too, had transformed. The high cheekbones and piercing blue eyes spoke of classic, preppy charm. You wore a confident, almost cocky smirk that suggested a mix of intelligence and mischief. The entire package radiated youthful vigor and meticulous grooming, a modern Adonis wrapped in preppy charisma.

The energy that had transformed you was now settling, leaving you with a blend of awe and confusion. Samantha’s gaze was one of satisfaction, her eyes twinkling with a mix of triumph and something darker. You could feel her influence lingering, but now, you were faced with the new reality of your own transformed self—a striking figure of athleticism and charm, commanding attention with every move.

As you stood there, grappling with the bizarre transformation, Samantha’s voice cut through the confusion like a siren’s call. “Babe, Daddy’s going to love you,” she moaned, her words resonating with a deep, almost hypnotic allure. The sound wrapped around you, and a shiver ran down your spine. It was as if her voice was weaving itself into the fabric of your thoughts, reshaping them.

Memories, once vivid and cherished, began to flare up in your mind, but they weren’t the memories you expected. The recollections of theatre camp, where you’d shared innocent kisses with your boyfriend under the stars, or the electric thrill of singing showtunes in dimly lit dive bars seemed to dissolve into a searing blaze. In their place, new memories, laden with a different kind of intensity, started to worm their way into your consciousness.

You saw yourself in the opulent ballroom of a fancy party, dressed in pristine designer attire, the epitome of privilege and entitlement. The room buzzed with the drone of high society gossip, and you were at the center of it all, effortlessly commanding attention. You could almost taste the exclusivity, the heady sense of superiority that came from being part of this elite circle. The feeling was intoxicating, a stark contrast to the camaraderie of your previous experiences.

Flashes of prep school days invaded your mind—those were the times when you were the quintessential preppy douchebag. You remembered the way you’d sauntered through the hallways, your perfectly ironed shirts and perfectly tousled hair marking you as someone who was above it all. You relished in teasing those you deemed beneath you, their attempts to fit in falling short against your polished, unapproachable demeanor. The thrill of belittling others, the way their reactions validated your sense of superiority, was both exhilarating and addictive.

Images of fucking your way through the entire cheerleading team danced across your mind. The clandestine meetings in the back of limousines, the whispered promises, and the easy conquests—it was all part of a lifestyle built on entitlement and indulgence. Each memory stoked the flames of an arrogance you hadn’t fully realized you’d possessed.

As these new memories took root, you found yourself looking at Samantha through a different lens. Her entitled, snobby demeanor suddenly felt less like an affront and more like an extension of the world you were now embracing. The rich, privileged allure that had once seemed so foreign to you now felt familiar, even appealing. The changes in your body mirrored the changes in your mind, reinforcing a new self-image that was sleek, assertive, and commanding.

Samantha’s satisfaction was evident, her eyes gleaming with a mixture of triumph and something else—perhaps a touch of smugness. You understood her now, or at least felt you did. Her world of high society, privilege, and unabashed arrogance was no longer something you resented; it was a realm you were beginning to inhabit, relishing in the power it conferred.

The cacophony of sound fills the air, like a chorus of the gods screaming their praises, yet your gaze is fixated solely on Samantha, and it feels as though nothing else matters. The colorful lights spin around you as you raise your voice in exuberance, towering above the rest like a towering behemoth. You lick your lips, feeling them plump up as you imagine all the ways you want to ravage her. The thought of her heaving breasts is driving you crazy, and you can't wait to get your hands on her.

As you imagine the ways in which you want to fuck her, you start to feel like she's your property, your plaything. You envision squeezing her ass, pulling her in for a kiss, and then taking her hard and fast. The image is so vivid that you can almost taste the sweat on her skin and feel the heat of her body against yours. "Babe, this fucking party rocks!" you scream, your voice carrying above the din of the music. But as the words leave your lips, your mind starts to dwindle, your thoughts growing foggier and foggier.

The booze is running through your veins, clouding your judgment and dulling your senses. You feel dumber and dumber, your movements becoming more sluggish and less coordinated. But you don't care - you're too busy imagining all the ways you want to take Samantha. You're too busy picturing her screaming your name as you ravage her, too busy feeling like the king of the world.

As the music continues to blast and the crowd swirls around you, you stumble and stagger, your vision blurring. But you don't care - you're too busy chasing after Samantha, too busy trying to catch up to her before she gets away. You're too busy imagining the way she'll look as you take her, too busy picturing the sound of her moans as you fuck her hard and fast.

You spot a faggot wandering around, desperately looking for his boyfriend. You remember him from that one theatre production you attended, the one with all the faggots dressed up in drag. You recall how he pranced around the stage, reciting his lines with an over-the-top flair. He's a real theatre dork, and you can't help but roll your eyes at the sight of him.

You take a step forward, a scowl on your face. "Yo faggot, this isn't a fucking party for loser gays like you," you scream at him. The other partygoers turn to look at you, their faces a mixture of confusion and amusement. You don't care. You're too busy being a homophobic jerk.

You take the drink out of his hand and spill it all over him. The liquid drips down his shirt, leaving a trail of red on his white skin. He looks up at you, his eyes wide with anger. You just laugh. "What's wrong, faggot? Can't handle a little bit of spilled drink?"

Your dick starts to harden as you think of the ways you want to fuck Samantha. You can't believe how lucky you are to have her all to yourself. You run your hand through her blonde hair, feeling the silky texture between your fingers. She looks up at you, a smile on her face. "You're going to go far in politics with daddy's money," she says, her voice husky with desire. You just laugh, knowing that you've got her right where you want her.

As the night goes on, you and Samantha act like an entitled, douchey couple. You hold hands, kiss, and cuddle in front of everyone. You make sure to show off your wealth, flaunting your expensive clothes and jewelry. You even go so far as to hire a private bartender to serve you and Samantha drinks, just to make it clear that you're above the rest of the partygoers.

Samantha runs her hands over your biceps and pecs, making you feel insanely horny. You can't believe how lucky you are to have her touching you like that. You start to feel like you're going to explode with desire. You grab her hand, pulling her close. "Let's get out of here," you whisper, your voice low and seductive. Samantha nods, following you as you make your way out of the party.

[salmonskinrolltf]

Hey there. A little bit about me? I'm a tall, mostly attractive actor from Iowa now living in New York. My chest hair won't stop growing, and I'm always cast as the awkward, gay comic relief in shows. I guess that's why I'm here. It's silly but I've always had a crush on The Situation and most of the cast of the Jersey Shore. I was hoping to rent one of seasons before I have an audition for a more manly part I'm going in for.

[Thank you so much to everybody who submitted requests! I have nothing close to the bandwidth to get to all of them, so this is going to be my final Be Kind Rewind post for the time being. I’ve got so many other types of stories I’m excited to work on as soon as I’m able, but I do apologize if your request wasn’t selected! Here’s a bit of a long one though, as a finale.

This is a gay-to-straight story. If you’re not into that, feel free to keep scrolling, but I bet you'll like it anyway. Read my G2S ethos here.]

You eagerly rip open your Be Kind Rewind delivery and a die falls into your hand. Oh yeah, their weird promotion thing. You toss it on the coffee table, not noticing that it lands on 5. You’re too busy pulling out the Jersey Shore tape you ordered, excited to have access to one of your favorite guilty pleasures and use it as research for a particularly manly role you’re hoping to score, which could finally break you out of being typecast as awkward and effeminate.

As you push the tape into your TV’s built-in VCR (that you could have sworn wasn’t there when you bought it), you realize it’s already at the end credits, so you hit rewind. While you wait for the tape to be ready, you decide to run your lines some more.

“Hey baby, why don’t you bring that fine ass over here?” you say, cringing at how utterly wrong those words sound coming out of your mouth. You sound like a nervous pre-teen at a school dance, not the overconfident douchebag that the part requires.

You clear your throat and repeat the line, trying to artificially deepen your voice when you say it.

“Hey baby, why don’t you bring that fine ass over here?” you say, your throat tingling as it delivers the words in a perfectly sultry, slurred bass, with a hint of a New Jersey accent. Holy shit! You nailed it!

“Hell yeah, bro!” you shout, pumping your fist, too excited to notice the uncharacteristic slang you unconsciously used. You decide to see if you can replicate the voice for the other lines on your sides, and each word comes out perfectly.

“You’re looking fly, my man,” you say, dapping up an invisible buddy. Fuck yeah, that line sounded even more perfect than the last one! The deep tones of your voice echo through the empty room. You don’t even notice as the color leaches from your pants and they grow baggy and thin. However, you can’t help but be aware of the cold sensation slithering across the back of your neck, wrapping around the front to form a tight circle that feels like a necklace chain. A golden metal knot at the end of the loop seems to be stretching the circle with its weight, pulling it down toward your shirt collar.

It never makes it to your collar. The neckline of your shirt begins to scoop lower and lower as the knot progresses downward, the crew neck becoming a V, expanding into a deep V, and eventually stretching into a drooping U that leaves your shirt loose and baggy, practically exposing your nipples. The necklace and the shirt seem to be racing toward your navel, and the shirt wins. The necklace gives up somewhere around your chest, the knot unfurling into a golden cross that rests between your slightly toned pecs. Conversely, your shirt collar goes all the way down to the bottom, splitting the fabric in two as the color fades to black and the edges sprout rows of metallic teeth, becoming a zipper.

Now, you consider yourself plenty attractive, but you still feel self conscious and exposed with your entire torso hanging out, even if you’re completely at a loss to understand how this is even happening. You link the zipper together and pull on the tab, trying to cover yourself with the strange new garment that has appeared on your body. But something stops you from zipping up too far past your belly button. You suppose you’re subconsciously afraid of getting your hand anywhere near the magical necklace that suddenly appeared on you. Sure, that must be it.

However, thinking of the necklace makes you freak out a bit, so you decide to try and take it off. When you reach up to unclasp it, your fingers thrum with energy and you feel a sudden urge to keep rehearsing your lines. Yeah… Maybe the getup will help you embrace the character.

“When you look like I do, bro, you don’t gotta fuck with dating apps,” you say. Although you were still perturbed, this line also came out perfectly. You decide to lean into whatever strange thing is happening because, even if it’s fucked up, you’re definitely getting this part. In fact, you’re even starting to move like your character. You just scratched your chest by reaching under the hem of your hoodie and exposing a strip of your abdomen in the process.

You repeat the line, hooking your thumbs under the open part of your zipper, flaunting your chest. As the last word rings out in a perfect, reverberating tone, your chest swells with pride. No, wait, it’s just plain swelling. Your toned chest becomes downright swole, like someone has taken a bicycle pump to your pecs. Six bulging abs surface from your stomach beneath them, forming neat rows while your biceps and quads inflate to twice their previous size.

Although the hoodie now clings more tightly to your expanding mass, you can still see your belly button if you look down. That’s how you notice the tribal tattoo inking its way in a curlicue pattern around your navel, licks of inking flame forming the shape of the Sun. You chuckle deeply. Thinking about the solar system, you laugh at the fact that this tattoo makes it seem like the world revolves around your abs. Hell, you think, if you had abs like that, you’d probably agree. Wait a minute… For whatever reason, you DO have abs like that. Fuck…

You walk over to the mirror, admiring your new physique. You flex, enjoying how your muscles bulge, even through your clothes. You’re flooded with a surge of confidence and you rub your crotch, thinking about how hot you look.

A deep tan color emanates from the tattoo around your belly button, engulfing your old skin tone in an orangey brown, spreading over your legs, chest, back, and even face. You give a little smirk, embracing the newfound changes. You notice that the expression is one your face has never made before. It’s contemptuous, commanding.

You’re an actor. You need to hone your craft. You try out a few more expressions that you’ve seen on sleazy guys at bars. Condescending. Seductive. Proud. Angry. Each one looks completely new on your face, yet perfect, probably because your bone structure has been quietly shifting to give you high cheekbones and a sharp jaw.

You rub your bulging muscles one more time, annoyed by how much hair covers them. You’d have to wax at least once a week if you wanted to show off this definition properly. However, as you rub, there is less and less hair rustling between your fingers. You lift up your hands to see baby-smooth patches of skin beneath where they rested. Enthused, you scrub your hands up and down your body, the hair vanishing like marker from a dry-erase board. Once, you’re done, you admire your perfectly smooth and shiny figure.

However, that hair as has to go SOMEwhere, as it turns out. Your armpits, which were feeling more and more resistance as you moved your hands, are now bristling with jet black hair. You lift up one arm and give a tentative sniff, your nose flooding with a ripe musk. You try to swipe the hair away with your hand, but it won’t budge. You shrug. Nothing a little Axe body spray won’t fix.

That thought surprises you, because you’re pretty sure you use a different type of deodorant. However, you suddenly can’t remember the brand. And the mist of Axe floating around the room certainly suggests you use it all the time. Oh well. Chalk it up as one more weird thing about this afternoon.

The hair growth as clearly also affected the top of your head. Your hair is growing out into haphazard spikes that jut from the top of your head, forming tapered cones that begin to shine as if they’ve been coated in a year’s worth of gel.

You look… ridiculous? No. Douchey? No. Fucking hot? Hell yeah, bro.

You return to your script, fiddling with your hair to give it the perfect spiky muss at the back.

“Bros before hoes, dude! You know that!” It sounds like your character really believes that line as it comes out of your mouth. And why wouldn’t he? Hoes might be a good distraction for a night of fun, but bros are for life. Your memories of dancing the night away at gay clubs begin to morph. You’re still dancing with a group of men, but now they’re all spray-tanned, juiced-up Jersey Shore rejects rather than fashionable young gays. And you’re still rocking a half-chub in your memory, but it’s from watching a female go-go dancer shaking her moneymaker on a platform, rather than you grinding up against some cute twink or other.

You groan deeply as the memory tugs against the core of your identity. You look hot now, and you’re gonna get the role, but you don’t want to lose EVERYTHING. But it’s too late. It feels like your mind is expanding, but not in a Limitless kind of way. Instead, each individual thought you have becomes much, much bigger, taking up more brain space than it used to. Your memories of ex-boyfriends, Pride parades, and anything even remotely gay begin to circle the drain of your cerebellum, washed away by just a few base urges. Partying. Playing beach volleyball. Hitting on chicks.

You grab your script again to recite a few more lines, but the words start swimming in front of your face. It’s not that you can’t read. It’s just that, suddenly, reading is the last thing in the world you want to be doing. A sudden craving for beer pops into your head. It's the biggest thought yet. It shoves almost everything else out, and you drop the paper on the ground, where it vanishes into thin air while the room around you transforms into a beachside cabana.

You emerge into the dusty sunset of the Jersey Shore, admiring a few hot babes in bikinis who wander by while you make your way to the store. You lift up your shirt to show off your abs to a few of the hottest ones.

You pick up two six-packs of beer at the store and, why the fuck not, a pack of condoms, along with some other snacks and supplies. You decide to hit up the clothing store on the way back for some new threads, because your impulses are ruling you like never before. As you head to the checkout, you spot the most beautiful woman you’ve ever seen. You almost drop your beer, she’s so hot. Your dick is already stiffening as you say, “Hey baby, why don’t you bring that fine ass over here?”

[bluecollarmcandtf]

"Dude, I took over your dad's body.."

"...and goddamn is there a lot of him to work with! I've been a ghost for years now, but I've never been inside a 6' 3" ex-linebacker! I've been checking him out all afternoon, and let me tell you that this man is big and hairy all over," he punctuates his comment with a wink.

Your dad, the man you've looked up to your entire life, is saying things you don't want to think about while casually laying on the couch in nothing but a robe and booty shorts. The urge to puke is suppressed, but you know that Jimmy has crossed a line here. Your deceased friend has possessed bullies, professors, and more, but he's never had the balls to take over your own family. What was he thinking?

"I jumped into him while he was at work. I think his coworkers probably found it strange when I picked up his briefcase and waddled his ass out the door," Jimmy chuckles at the memory, "But don't worry. Your old man had plenty of sick days he wasn't gonna use."

It doesn't take long for you to burst out in anger at the spirit controlling your father. Your face is hot, and you can't stand to watch your dad get puppetted around like a fool!

"Calm the fuck down!" he swears uncharacteristically, "Give this big guy a hug. Come here. Daddy needs some love..."

The thought of hugging your father while he's being forced to act like this feels wrong, but you relent. A part of you is glad for the embrace. It might not actually be your dad, but paternal comfort is exactly what you need right now, and your real dad isn't the type to give his child a hug.

"That's it, son," Jimmy pets your head with your father's thick hands, "Let daddy take care of you. Let your dumb old fart-of-a-father give you some much-needed attention."

You can't help but chuckle at the self-deprecating joke. Your real dad was too proud to laugh at himself, and he'd never made an effort to be anything other than distant and formal with you. In fact, there was a lot your real dad would never do; he'd never leave the office in the middle of the day, he'd never lay around the house like a lazy bum, and he'd certainly never let his hairy chest and thick legs be on full display in front of his disappointing gay son.

Suddenly, while still embraced, you realize there's something poking into your waist.

"Sorry, dude," your father whispers in your ear, "I guess your dad is just happy to see you."

You push him away, insisting that Jimmy needs to stay out of family members' bodies because this just feels so wrong! You search the pair of unnaturally blank eyes for any sign that Jimmy might be listening to you.

"You need to relax, bro," your dad (Jimmy) groans in annoyance. He looks disappointed, but then he sparks up and gives you a new look of excitement. "Son," he says with exaggerated machismo, "Take a page from my book and learn to chill out. It doesn't matter what the world thinks about you or me. I'll prove it to you..."

With a placid grin and blank gaze, your father lumbers past and marches straight out the front door of the house. You're almost too stunned to follow. Was Jimmy really going to parade your dad's body around the neighborhood in nothing but his robe?

"Afternoon, neighbor," your father's rumbling tone bellows across the street, "Lovely weather, today. My son thought I should take my fat hairy gut for a little stroll in the sun. You know us dads have got to keep our boys happy. Am I right?"

Mr. Jones stares at your father from his porch, just as shocked as you are. He often drank beers with this man and every other neighborhood dad at backyard barbecues and living room game watches. This was not how he normally interacted with the man, and it obviously struck him as weird.

"You alright, Bob?" he asks hesitantly.

"Right as rain, neighbor!" Jimmy answers with a tone that's too goofy to pass as my dad's, "If that's how you're staring at me now, I wonder what'll happen if I take this robe off..."

Before Mr. Jones can process the flirtation in your father's voice, you shuffle your dad further down the street and away from the whole interaction. That may have been hilarious, but Jimmy was going to destroy any reputation and respect your father had around here!

You demand to know where Jimmy is going with this body. It's not like you have any ability to even slow the ghost down when he's got the weight and strength of your 200 lb father.

"I'm thinking the park. Your dad could use some cardio," he smirks, an unfamiliar expression on the grown man's face, "Or maybe the public bathroom on the north end. You know, it has that hole in the stall..."

No amount of reasoning or arguments can change Jimmy's mind. Apparently he's set on wearing your father to the city's most notorious gay hookup spot.

"Don't look at me like that," his gravelly voice sounds amused by your frustration, "With me in charge, your dad will be the dirtiest slut that bathroom's ever seen. Don't you think it'll be funny to see such a massive, manly bear serving man after man in there?"

You sigh in disbelief.

"Or...maybe I don't have to rent out your dad's body to a bunch of strangers..."

You wonder where he's going with this. It sounds like an ultimatum is coming, and you don't like the idea of your crazy dead friend giving you an ultimatum.

"...your dad could hold off on bottoming for strangers...if...you let him be your submissive little bitch."

The choice is an annoying one, but you're pretty sure you can't let your dad have unprotected sex with strangers in a public place. This is what he'd want right?

"That's what I thought," the grin on your father's face twists maniacally. He tussles your hair like he's the proudest dad in the world, "Let's head on back home, buddy. Daddy's gonna lick every inch of sweat off that body of yours. He's got years of emotional absence to make up for."

One of his beefy arms cradles your back and turns you around. You're relieved to no longer be headed towards the public bathroom, but you're still a little nervous about what awaits you at home. How does Jimmy expect you to enjoy any of this when it's your dad doing all these things to you?

"Daddy's gonna treat you to a night that's all about you," he goes on, "Cooking you dinner, rubbing your feet, cuddling on the couch, and so much more. I want you to think of some humiliating things daddy can do for you while we walk back. Make sure they're extra degrading or your dad will just have to step out of the house and degrade himself where the entire city can see..."

The last comment gives you butterflies in your stomach, but it also gives you a bit of a hard-on. Maybe Jimmy playing with your dad wasn't so scary of an idea after all. With him possessed, anything was on the table: personal affirmations, some much needed bonding, roleplay, revenge, humiliation. Heck, you could even give your father a golden shower and Jimmy would have him smiling through it!

Walking home, you steal glances at your dad, towering over you as his rotund gut leads the way. Home can't come fast enough!

[kunasthiast]

My God (2)

If last night's events are already stressful as it is, today's much worse than ever. With a visit to your father's office, what could go wrong?

Oh yeah, everything!

a/n: okaaaaay, so i'm halfway Chapter 3 as of posting this one >.<

I reaaally appreciate all your notes, reblogs, & comments for the taglist – it makes my heart flutter so much & it gets me so excited to finish this story already T^T

Pairing: Sukuna x Reader (female) Genre: fluff + angst, Yakuza AU, Enemies to Lovers Word Count: 2,877 All characters are of age. This story is 18+. Minors don't interact.

<- previous • next ->

Taglist: @cr1sta11y @idk-bro-gay @tojis-ball-sack @thepurpleempath @fangirl-332 @jijijihanji @thedondiva45

As the first light of dawn crept into your room, a small gap in the blackout curtains that you forgot to fully close last night betrayed your efforts to keep the morning at bay. Yep, definitely starting the day this bad, how else will the rest of the day be like?

“Fuck,” you exclaimed so early in the morning. Or so you thought. Grabbing your phone from your nightstand, you tapped the screen to peek the time. 

9:54 AM.

With a groan, you closed and threw your phone somewhere in your room and laid down on your stomach. Face clearly being suffocated by your pillows. This life sucks.

“Why does it have to feel this way?” You said with a groan.

Flipping around, and lying on your back, you stared blankly at the ceiling. Absolutely feeling so devoid of everything in life. Your eyes are as empty as the void. It’s like everything was sucked out of you.

Dragging yourself out of bed, you walked over to the window and yanked the curtains shut, shutting out the intrusive light. The darkness offered a slight comfort from the harsh reality of the day ahead, but you knew you couldn't hide forever.

With a heavy sigh, you forced yourself to your feet and began getting ready for the day. Each movement felt like a chore, every action weighed down by the burden of disappointment and betrayal. I hate everyone already.

As you made your way downstairs, the familiar sights and sounds of your family's mansion served as a stark reminder of the life you were born into. Despite the opulence that surrounded you, you couldn't shake the feeling of emptiness that gnawed at your insides.

Walking to your father's office, you braced yourself for the inevitable confrontation that awaited. The door loomed ominously before you, a silent barrier between you and the truth that lay beyond. 

With a heavy sigh, you told yourself, “Here goes nothing.”

Summoning all your courage, you pushed open the door and stepped inside, steeling yourself for whatever may come. Little did you know, the events of the day were about to take a turn you never saw coming.

—

“Okay, first of all? What the fuck!” You erupted, your voice dripping with anger and disbelief as you confronted your father.

His face tightened in disappointment at your choice of words, “Language, dear,” he chided, his tone laced with irritation.

Yeah, never mind all the fucking respect he deserves. Scoffing at him, you paid his scolding no mind, too consumed by the whirlwind of emotions swirling inside you. 

“Might I remind you,” pacing back and forth, you continued with your voice trembling with pent-up rage, “that you promised me a lot. A fucking LOT of times! That I’m the next head, only to have you pass it over to Sukuna – who by the way isn’t even a part of our family. I’m your family, your flesh and blood, damn it! I’m not even processing this properly yet and now you’re telling me that you already got me on a fucking arranged marriage to someone from the Gojo family? Oh, fuck off, father!” 

Your father remained unmoved, his expression unreadable as he calmly countered your tirade. “Honey, it’s just the way it is. Take it or leave it. And, for once, try to act like a respectable daughter,” he retorted, his words like a slap in the face, dismissing your turmoil cold-heartedly.

His indifference fueled your frustration further, and you fought to contain the seething anger threatening to boil over. “I can’t believe this,” you muttered, the weight of betrayal heavy in your chest with your fidgeting fingers.

With a dismissive wave of his hand, your father returned his attention to his book that you unfortunately cut him off from reading earlier, effectively ending the conversation. “I’m busy. Come back when you’re done with your tantrum. Now, leave.”

“I’m not gonna do as you say this time. I’m not gonna marry anyone from that fucking family,” you confidently declared with the fire still burning within you. “I’m not gonna be your fucking pawn, father. I’m leaving this family. So, deal with it.” 

Fuming with indignation, you stormed out his office. And, let’s not forget, you slammed the door hard when you left.

This is not the day I’ve envisioned to have today.

—

Back in your room, the weight of the recent events bore down on you like a heavy burden, pressing against your chest with a suffocating intensity.

Yet, there are no tears threatening to fall down anytime soon, just the palpable heartache and silent screams echoing through the depths of your soul. Please, I’m too strong for this.

As a way to make yourself calmer, that can help you gather your thoughts, you decided to go to your restaurant. Yes, the restaurant your father gifted on your 18th birthday. It’s apparently his gift symbolizing his support for your aspirations outside the family’s legacy. 

A bitter scoff escaped your lips, “Well, fuck legacy.” Words heavy with anger. As you made your way out your room towards the mansion’s carport, you know in yourself that you got to leave this place. “Yeah, I won’t go back home here,” you mutter to yourself as you approach your car.

Sliding into the driver’s seat, you revved the engine, the purr of the powerful machine echoing throughout the carport. But, as you were getting ready to live, your thoughts inevitably turned to the arranged marriage your father and the Gojo family had arranged.

Just the mere mention of this family sent shivers down your spine. Yeah, I fucking hate that family. They’ve been your family’s rival from the start. Always the territorial disputes, the dirty, underhanded tactics, and the arrogance that runs throughout every family member.

And, then there was Satoru – the one your father chose as your groom. Well, he has no choice, Satoru’s the only heir of his family, definitely of flesh and blood.

To call him attractive would be an understatement – Satoru has that magnetic, alluring charm that was impossible to ignore. Heck, he’s beautiful. With those azure eyes, fluffy white hair, and velvety voice, he’s every woman’s dream – except you. You’re not even sure why you think his hair’s fluffy!

But, all beautiful things have ugly sides. And his was a huge ass dent to his looks. He’s a fucking asshole. Clenching your jaw, you tore yourself away from your thoughts and the carport, steering yourself towards the way to your restaurant.

The drive to the restaurant made you forget everything for a moment. With each passing mile, you felt the tension in your shoulders begin to ease. As you pulled into the parking lot, the sight of your restaurant filled you with a sense of calmness. 

Stepping out into the cool embrace of the wind, you savored this feeling that offers a temporary calmness within the raging storm inside you. 

“I’m so glad to be back,” you murmured to yourself.

Pushing open the door to the restaurant, you were greeted by the familiar sights and sounds of the bustling kitchen, the savory aroma of spices and herbs filling the air. Your staff, surprised by your unannounced visit, immediately greeted you with a mixture of surprise and fear. You rarely visit. Rarely.

You may own this business, but, you couldn’t really care less about the business side of these things as you’re too busy learning everything your father taught you with. And, this one’s not a part of it. Or, so you think!

He just gave this one to you when he learned you love to cook – which definitely by the way is a short occurrence in your life. You were bored, you learned how to cook, you made everything you’ve been craving for, and now you were bored, again.

But, you can’t deny the calmness that cooking brings you. It takes you out of your thoughts and just focus on prepping and cooking everything up.

Uraume, your most trusted confidante and your restaurant’s head chef, immediately approached you with a knowing look.“You’re only here when you’re stressed,” they remarked, their tone a mixture of sympathy and understanding.

You chuckled wryly as you made your way towards your office. “Yeah and today is no exception,” you replied, the weight of the previous events pressing heavily upon you. “I’ll whip something up in the kitchen. You know what to do.”

As you entered your office, you felt the sense of zen and calm wash over you. With each passing moment of taking in the familiar surrounding, the tension began to ebb away. You slipped into your chef’s jacket, your mind already buzzing with ideas for today’s creations. 

Glancing at the clock, you noted the time – 11:21 AM. Perfect timing. Your restaurant is supposed to open in a few minutes, but you instituted a rule long ago: when you were here, no one is allowed to enter the kitchen, and the restaurant will be closed to the public.

A tub of orange chicken sounds nice.

—

Sukuna's luxurious penthouse was filled with the soothing sound of water coming from the shower as he emerged from the steam-filled bathroom, a towel wrapped around his waist. With a flick of his hand, he silenced the insistent ringing of his phone, its screen lighting up with a call from Uraume, his most trusted confidante.

Walking across the marble floor towards his bedroom, his thoughts drifted to you, your demeanor from last night.

He knows you’ve been expecting to become the next head. He knows how frustrated you are feeling after the announcement has been made. He just knows. And, it amuses him to see your reaction, the way you wore your emotions so openly. He’s keen on observing you.

“Cute,” he mused to himself with a glint of amusement in his eyes.

Dressing himself in a black slack with an unnecessary tight black folded sleeves, definitely outlining his sexy physique, topped with a suspender, Sukuna admired his reflection in the mirror. Yeah, more like it. His demeanor exuding with such confidence, power, and authority.

Adjusting his reading glasses, his mind buzzed with what’s to come for the day – negotiate with the Naoya from the Zenin family regarding the territorial disputes, dealing with the underground firearm deliveries he missed last night – all in a day’s work for a man of his calibre. 

Yet, amidst the chaos of his busy schedule, thoughts of you lingered, an unexpected distraction in his otherwise meticulously organized life.

Shaking this off, Sukuna stepped out onto the expansive balcony overlooking the city skyline. Before he could go on with his day, there was one matter that demanded his attention. Gotta see princess first.

As he reached for his car keys, Sukuna’s thoughts went back to you, a nagging reminder he couldn’t quite shake. How the fuck are you doing now. And, he can’t believe he’s this worried about you.

Brushing aside the thought for the nth time, Sukuna exited the penthouse with a confident stride, the door closing behind him with a soft click.

As he was walking towards the elevator, his phone buzzed with an incoming text message. Glancing at the screen, a smirk tugged at his lips as he read the words: “She’s here.”

“Talk about coincidence,” he chuckled to himself.

Yeah, he can’t wait to meet you.

—

Sukuna stepped out of his sleek black car, the sharp click of his shoes against the pavement. He approached the entrance of the restaurant – which has a sign that says ‘closed’ – and his gaze fixed with a single purpose: to see you.

Pushing open the door that Uraume left unlocked for him, he stepped into the warmth of the restaurant, the savory aroma of the spices and herbs enveloped the cool air. The whole place is completely deserted with only Uraume sitting at one table. 

“Where is she,” Sukuna commanded as Uraume pointed towards the kitchen as their answer.

Sukuna’s eyes swept across the room, his gaze setting on the bustling kitchen where you were too focused on. There was a flicker of intrigue in his eyes as he watched you move, completely absorbed in your culinary hobby. You once told him that it was just a hobby and it sticked to him.

As he approached to observe you, the noise of the kitchen seemed to dim. Sukuna’s presence filled the space around you. Sensing him, a prickling sensation at the back of your neck sent a shiver down your spine. Can’t this day get any better?

Turning, you met his gaze head-on, your expression guarded. Yeah, still attractive. You roamed your eyes on his whole physique, with a quick glance at his folded arms that showed his defined biceps. Okay, wrong move because the fluttering pterodactyls in your stomach are back.This made you sigh and cut your gaze off him.

“What do you want?” You asked, your voice tinged with a hint of irritation and skepticism. Sukuna’s smirk only widened at your boldness, his eyes glinting with amusement.

“I came to see you, princess,” he replied smoothly, his tone dripping with charm. You swear even without looking at him, you can see his smug smile that you want to wipe off his face and kiss – okay, what the fuck was that?

You rolled your eyes at his flirtatious tone and breathed heavily to clear up your thoughts, choosing to focus on your cooking instead. Sukuna’s presence is a distraction you didn’t need, especially not today. To top it off, you’re not ready for another confrontation.

“I don’t have time for your games, Sukuna,” you retorted, your voice firm. “If you’re here to eat, then see yourself out.”

Sukuna chuckled at this with his hands unfolding to raise it to a low surrender pose, “I don’t have games for you, princess. You know that. Just came here to check in on you.”

“How did you even know I’m here?”

“Uraume.” Oh, yeah. Even though Uraume’s your trusted confidante, they also are Sukuna’s trusted confidante. It just works like that.

Sukuna’s response only fueled your frustration further. The pterodactyls in your stomach long gone. Of course, Uraume would rather reveal your whereabouts to him that tell you how they even got close with Sukuna. You couldn’t help but feel a pang of annoyance at that.

"I assure you, princess, I mean no harm," he reassured, his voice smooth as silk. "I simply wanted to see how you're holding up after last night.” Yeah, he’s here to gloat.

Last night. The mere mention of it sent a wave of emotions crashing over you – anger, betrayal, frustration. You clenched your jaw, fighting to keep your composure in front of him.

“I’m fine. You can have the fucking title as the head of the family all you want. I’m out of this family,” you replied curtly. Sukuna raised an eyebrow, his expression a mix of amusement and skepticism, as he leaned casually against the wall near the door.

“Why leave?” He challenged, his voice dripping with casual disdain. “You’re just proving to your father that you’re not deserving to be a head. Too weak for this shit, princess?” 

“Oh, fuck off, ’Kuna. You don’t know anything,” you shot back, your tone sharp with annoyance.

Sukuna’s facade of nonchalance faltered for a moment, replaced by a feigned hurt expression. “It hurts my pride that you don’t acknowledge me that much, princess,” he said, his words clearly laced with mock sincerity.

“I can see it in your face,” he continued, his tone shifting to one of quiet intensity. “You don’t think I deserve to be the head.”

“Because you really don’t,” you retorted, your words cutting through the tension like a knife. “You’re not even blood-related to father, to us. Just a stranger who climbed up the ranks.” Yeah, you’re quite harsh on this one.

Sukuna’s smirk only widened at your brutal honesty. “Yet, a stranger better than the supposed one-and-only heir,” he quipped, his amusement evident.

Fed up with the conversation, you flipped him off. 

Sukuna chuckled, his laughter filling the space between you that made your eyes roll – you swear, you almost blacked out from that eye roll.

“Well, if you ever need anything, you know where to find me. I’m just a phone call away, princess. You know and I know that I’m on your speed dial,” he said with a wink and a smug smirk yet his tone is surprisingly genuine and a bit flirtatious.

But before he could make his exit, you called out to him, the desperation evident in your voice. “Wait.”

Oh, fuck his captivating eyes. Fuck his infuriatingly sexy smirk. Fuck the way his muscles strained against his tight shirt. Fuck those damn eyeglasses that he doesn’t even have to wear because he has a clear vision! Fuck everything, it’s all too much. I just need a way out so fuck my plan, too.

Sukuna paused, turning back to fix his gaze on you with a newfound intense curiosity glinting in his eyes. “Missed me already, princess?” His lips curled into a smug grin as he spoke, a hint of amusement lacing his words. 

Your heart pounded in your chest as you gathered the courage to blurt out the unexpected request. 

“Marry me, ‘Kuna.”

[swappersworld2]

Becoming My Classmates Brother

My classmate Enzo Ceja was so hot, everyone on our class thought so. He was everything you would expect, he played football, basket ball, and was so attractive. He was 6’3, Mexican, and had a pretty toned body. Me being one of the only gay boys in my class, obviously had a crush on him, and everything about him. I knew he was straight, but I couldn’t get him out of my head.

So one day at my school during lunch I was talking to my friend about Enzo, and how I wanted to be his boyfriend. Little did I know, admitting this crush would completely change my life. The next day when I got to school, I could feel everyone staring at me, and I knew why. Someone over heard me telling my friend about my stupid crush on Enzo.

Enzo’s Perspective

I was leaving football practice when I over heard some of my bros talking about Dan, the one gay boy in my class. Had told someone that he had a crush on me. Ew. I could never date a man, but since rumor had spread around the school. People were shipping us. I had to talk to that boy, and clear this up, before I get clicked of the team. And I know just how to fix this.

Dans Perspective

As I walked into school, Enzo grabbed my head and pulled me into the locker room. As soon as he knew we were alone he started rambling on, about how he doesn’t even like the idea that a man likes him. Then he slapped me, and I lost consciousness.

When I woke up, I felt different. I looked down, and saw legs that we’re definitely not mine, they were darker, and a lot more athletic then my fat, white legs. I got up fast and looked in the mirror.

I looked in the mirror, and instead of myself, I saw someone that looked like Enzo, but older. I was his older brother, I pulled out my id and on it was “Daniel Ceja” Which was definitely not my name before. Somehow I had turned into the older brother of the man I once liked. And I’m not complaining, if I couldn’t have him, being him was just as good, if not better.

“Hey bro get your keys! I’m going to be late for school!”

Obvious, I was Daniel Ceja, and Enzo is my younger brother. I have to give him a ride to school.

[billthedrake]

TRAINING THE SALES GUY (PART SIX)

Previous chapters here: https://www.gaydemon.com/stories/Training_the_Sales_Guy_42206.html

I was supposed to be the one training my co-worker Carson, but the next business trip was more the other way around.

"The Dream Team is back," he said when I showed up at the gate area of the airport. Carson always got there early, and I always cut it close. He looked like a million bucks, in his slim-cut suit and neatly trimmed hair cut and beard. I knew things were just a sex-buddy dynamic between us, and that we were coworkers first. And Carson Wells had a bro-ish personality that was good in small doses but got on my nerves sometimes. But if the dude was gay I'd probably be getting more than a little crushed out on him.

"You probably say that to the other account execs," I teased as I took a sip of coffee.

Maybe that was a pissy thing to say and Carson would read some jealousy into it. But he just smiled back and laughed. "I forgot how cranky you are in the morning, Boss."

Those baby blues and that flirty disposition was making me wonder how good I was at maintaining my defenses and boundaries.

"It's why I'm single, Wells." I figured some self-deprecating humor would help.

"I doubt that," he said with surprising sincerity. "You just got off your game, Boss. When was the last time you went on a date?"

Maybe Carson had an ulterior motive for asking. A way of saying that nothing romantic or permanent was going to develop between us. But his tone was natural, on the level. I realized that he probably talks this way to his bro buddies in the office, and this was his way of including me in that work-friend category.

I sat down next to him. "About two months ago. When was your last date, Wells?"

He flashed his pearly white smile. "Had two last week, Boss. Different chicks.... it's a lot of effort, but I enjoy the hunt, you know?"

"I get that," I said. I'd been like that when I was in my 20s. But after the divorce, I'd had fun with more casual sex but found the process of using apps a fucking chore.

As we drifted into small talk, and then lined up to board the flight, a deep part of me hoped Carson wasn't so successful at his dating that he'd cut me off entirely. Then another part of me hoped for that very thing.

****

We were all business that day. Carson was particularly focused on our presentation. He was normally in the zone on our sales calls, but that day he was nervous I could tell. It was a huge prospective client, and it would mean a fat commission for Wells. It was getting to him.

I pulled him aside during a quick break an hour and a half in. "Relax, buddy," I said. "We got this."

I could see the tension in his handsome face. "Yeah?" Not believing me but appreciative of my forced confidence.

I shrugged. "It's a like a date. You can't want her too much, or it's all fucked up."

Hell, I didn't know how straight guys dated, but the advice seemed to work. "Yeah," he said.

We did good but not great. It might not matter, depending on what the company wanted. I wasn't going to sweat it. We'd come in and done our part. The rest was out of our hands.

And Carson was back in fine form over the dinner. We'd taken a number of the contacts out to a nice steak restaurant, and Wells was in classic sales guy mode. Chatty but not too chatty, able to engage with everyone at the table, comfortable in mixing business with pleasure.

And he was in a good mood after, as we got back to our hotel.

"Wanna come to my room, Boss?" he asked.

I wasn't expecting this. It had been a long day. And if it had been anyone other than Carson I might have even begged off getting my cock sucked.

"Sounds great, Wells," I said.

We wheeled our luggage to the elevator, and I think we both had smirks on our faces as we rode up.

"I guess we're getting more comfortable with this," Carson said, speaking the very thought I was thinking.

I nodded. "If you ever don't feel comfortable, Carson, please let me know." I'd gone too far in this affair to be safe from HR consequences, but at least I wanted to give Carson an out any time he felt like it.

He laughed. I expected him to make a crack about uptight Bill, but instead he said, "It's crazy. I knew I liked sucking dick, but you got me into the other stuff, Boss... I even watch the videos you sent."

Indeed I'd discovered a new Pornhub guy with a very minimal gag reflex and no inhibitions about working the one he had.

I was getting turned on, surprisingly by Carson's candor as much as anything. "Well it's really hot to experience your skills," I said, my voice almost cracking into a whisper.

The elevator dinged and we wheeled our bags down the hall. Carson tapped his key card and we entered.

"Um, Carson... can I ask you something?" I started. "What makes you like it?" I'd been afraid to ask. Afraid I'd spook this straight guy with a major bi streak.

He'd clearly been asking himself the same question. "I dunno, Boss... it's just... when you use my throat, it's like I'm not the one who needs dick, you're just feeding it to me."

I didn't quite follow. "You afraid of being gay, Carson?"

He nodded. "Yeah. I mean, I'm not gay, thought maybe you don't believe me."

"I believe you," I replied. "But it doesn't matter if I do."

He took that in. "Yeah. I guess having a cock in my mouth always feels like the last thing I should be doing, and the taboo of it gets me off."

"The forbidden fruit thing is hot for me too," I said.

Carson's blue eyes twinkled in amusement. "Fuck yeah it is, Boss." He pulled out his phone and wallet and set them on the table. "I think the fact you're a fag..." he stopped himself. "Sorry boss... but I think that when your cock is in my mouth and it takes me to this fucked up place."

I didn't know what to make of it. But I was getting head from Carson more than I ever dreamed of, so I decided not to get pissed off. "Please don't get therapy, Carson," I joked. "At least not anytime soon."

That made the guy laugh. He's so fucking sexy when he laughs. "Don't worry, Boss."

With that he knelt down in front of me. I was already hard and Carson's touch at my crotch made me harder. He teased and massaged my ridge in my suit pants, then pulled my zipper down.

"OK if we start with some old-fashioned head?" he asked.

"Yeah," I croaked. "More than OK." I'd been enjoying the more extreme throat training lately, but a standard Carson Wells BJ was always gonna get me off big.

He licked my dick up and down, before pulling back. "You mad at me for what I said?" he asked.

I nodded. "A little, yeah." I figured I should be honest. "But I'm not gonna stay mad at you, Carson. Just don't call me that again. You can think it or whatever."

"Yeah," he sighed. He was genuinely contrite. He seemed to be taking in my cock with his hungry eyes, examining my length and girth.

Then, slowly he opened his mouth and descended on me.

"Oh fuck!" I hissed. Carson's mouth felt great. I knew I'd spend the next day wondering if these blowjobs were keeping me from finding a boyfriend, even a casual one. Carson Wells had gone from top 5 in his oral skills to top cocksucker in my life experience, period. The best I'd ever have, I knew.

I looked down as he blew me. His hunky body in his navy suit, head bobbing up and down. I could hear the spit and the suction around my prick and the rhythmic soft moans from this throat. He was working himself deeper on my pole, working up to a deep throat. Not fast but steady, knowing what he was doing. He was getting me to that place, fast, that build up of pleasure, and then it was like his mouth and throat was gonna milk the load out of my balls.

Only he pulled off instantly and gripped the base of my prick, pinching it slightly. "Goddamn, you're worked up tonight, Boss."

"Jesus, Wells," I exclaimed.

My excitement made him smile. "See? Sometimes it's better not to have to go all hardcore and shit." He let go of my dong and started tonguing the bottom half of the shaft. With anyone else, it might look slutty, but I knew Carson was mostly trying to let me enjoy this without blowing too soon. It worked, sort of.

There was a clear excitement for him, too, as he looked up at me, hands on his trousers, gym-toned chest showing between the spread lapels of his coat. Unlike me, he wasn't wearing a tie but instead rocking that more millennial business-bro look. It suited him.

"Thanks for letting me initiate this, Boss," he said softly. "I don't know if I'd like it the other way."

In my head our affair wasn't one-way, but I knew what Carson meant. "You do a lot for me, Wells... I want you comfortable with it."

He nodded. He reached down and fiddled with his zipper and belt. Often he didn't like jerking, and I think he was shy of letting me see his dick. But Carson was pulling it out now and wrapping his fist around it just as he leaned back forward.

"MMMmmh," he moaned around my prick as he swallowed me. He'd gotten warmed up already so now was just a skilled, silky deep throating. Up and down, six, seven inches at a time. Almost bouncing. Carson was driving his blowjob but he was abusing his throat all on his own. Deep throating me, faster and faster, till he was spearing his gullet with rhythmic gutteral sounds.

"God yes," I hissed. Watching him do a sword swallowing thing like a pro.

I heard the gurgle of a gag on one down stroke then that familiar mucusy slickness on my meat, dripping out of Carson's mouth and onto my balls. That did it for me.

"Shit!" I muttered. And I was cumming down Wells' throat.

He slowed his mouth strokes just enough to be able to swallow my semen comfortably. And as he rode out the aftershocks of my orgasm, he stroked himself to completion.

Carson finally pulled back, a flush look of sexual satisfaction on his face, which must have matched mine.

"Thanks you, Wells.... you outdid yourself." I wanted to give him every compliment I could.

He smirked. "Yeah, I've been wanting to try that, Boss." He looked down at his hand. It was covered in his own jizz. Carson shoots a lot. He got up off his knees, holding his hand out to keep the dripping load from getting on his suit. I'd have to get mine cleaned, but it would be worth it.

He wiped off then offered me the Kleenex box. I used a couple to handle the spit and throat slime. There were some cum dribbles too but Carson took care of most of those. I tucked back in and sighed.

"We good, Wells?" I asked.

His green eyes met mine. "Yeah, we're good."

I wanted to kiss him bad. But that wasn't in the cards. So I grabbed my luggage and gave Carson one last nod before walking out of his room and over to mine.

As I got ready for bed, I thought over the evening. Sometimes I had real misgivings about fooling around with my straight-ish coworker. But that night I had none. The sex was hot as hell.

****

"You up?" came the text bright and early the next morning.

I was up, but barely. It was pretty early. "Yes. Still on East Coast time."

"Can I come by?"

My morning wood throbbed. "Sure."

Fuck, this was too easy. Wells was going to make me look forward to business travel all right.

I wasn't decent when he showed up a minute later. But that didn't matter. Carson had on only a pair of gym shorts and athletic shirt. The shorts didn't hide a thick boner.

"Hey," he said, morning voice making him sound deeper.

I ushered him in. "Hey," I laughed. It was a little absurd how carried away we were getting. But Carson's body was looking really fucking good in those clothes.

"I was jerking off and I thought the hair of the dog might be in order."

I smiled. I was now self conscious that Carson noticed the boner in my underwear. "I'm surprised I have anything left in the tanks after last night. You drained me, buddy."

Wells had a slightly nervous look on his face now. "You not up for it?" he asked.

"I'm very up for it," I replied.

I took the initiative and peeled down my briefs. By now Wells had seen my cock a lot but I wasn't sure how often I was completely naked.

The man's eyes were pretty much on my dick though, till he took them away and looked back up at me. "You OK if we try something new, Boss?"

"After last night... you can try out as much as you want," I said.

He grinned and peeled off his shirt. I'd never have a body that could compete with his, but that was OK. "I've been watching some videos. I guess they give me ideas."

My heart was pounding now. I wasn't expecting a two-fer on this trip. So it was a nice surprise. Particularly as Carson slid down his gym shorts. He was hard and I could see his dick still was covered in a lot of lube. I wondered how long the guy had been jerking off that morning.

My own bone twitched as I watched my coworker lie down on his back, settling in on the unmade bed, till his head lay just past the edge. I didn't need a diagram to know what he had in mind. I stepped up, hands on my hips and positioned my cock above his face.

Wasting no time, Carson leaned up, attacking my nuts with his tongue before I angled my prick to let him lick that. As he did, he jerked his cock, not fast, just enough to prime the pump during this foreplay ritual.

"Fuck, Boss, you have a great cock," he hissed. Hearing that was enough to make me spurt some precum on his chin and neck. Carson could tasted it was he licked his way to the head.

I swiveled my hips back to give him access. That tongue laved all around my head, slobbering it down. Carson wasn't shy about extra spit with me now and excess saliva dripped down his face.

"God fucking damn, Wells," I hissed as I watched the lewd sight.

He muttered something then more spit ran out just before he swallowed me.

The trick of being an oral top, particularly for the more extreme sucking, is knowing when you can take charge. Carson was ready. I reached down and pressed against his shoulder. To steady him but also to let him know I was coming in.

Wells grunted along my cock but was ready. I steadily speared his throat, from the inner part to the deeper reaches. He quickly stopped jerking and I realized it was to keep from coming. Wells was loving this shit.

I pulled back and thrust in again. And again. Wells' throat was snug and wet and alive. I don't know why we hadn't done this before, but we were doing it now.

I heard his soft grunts and felt his excitement as I steadily fucked his throat. Taking my hands off his shoulder, I leaned forward. That meant I couldn't watch his face and throat as easily, but the better thrusting angle made it worth while.

I just went for it. Not super rough, but steady firm thrusts deep into Carson's gullet in rapid succession. Figured I could stir the pot and see if I could get some nice slime.

It took a half minute, a half minute of watching Carson's dick jerk in excitement before I heard and felt it.

I stopped and withdrew. To give Wells a break and check in on him, but also to see that trophy. That milky mucus was thick around my bone but I didn't realize just how much there was until I pulled out completely and watched thick river of slime run down his handsome face.

"Fuck!" he gasped, chest rising and falling as he caught his breath.

"You OK, Wells?" I asked.

He was beet red and not opening his eyes but he grunted a yes. "Go for it, Boss."

I got back in place. Entry was easier this time. And as I fucked his face I heard the sloppy wet sloshing.

"Gonna cum..." I said.

That was the cue. He grabbed his own dick and jerked in rapid strokes.

We came together. My dick pumping its morning load straight into his guts as his own fired out. Like I say, Carson's a gusher, and I enjoyed watching several streaks of thick cum land on his muscular body.

I knew I had to give him a break now, and fast. I wasn't rough, but quickly I pulled out.

He sucked in some air while I went to get a washcloth for him. He seemed grateful for it and as he sat up he wiped his face down.

"Damn, Boss, you're hardcore."

I nodded. "I got news for you Wells, you're pretty hardcore yourself."

He finished wiping off and I took the cloth from him. It was only then that we felt self conscious being fully naked with one another.

Carson looked at the clock. "Well, I'm not getting my morning workout in, I guess," he said, acknowledging the time. We had about a half hour before we had to leave to the airport. "But fuck I was horny."

I gave a nod and watched Carson find his clothes.

"You're getting really good at this, Carson," I said. Not just complimenting him, but acknowledging that he was taking the throat abuse like a pro.

He pulled on his T shirt and flashed a grin. "I am, aren't I?"

"You doing anyone else?" I asked. I don't know why I did, but curiosity got the best of me.

He seemed offended though. "Would it bother you if I did?" he asked.

I shook my head and gave the best contrite expression I could. "Not at all. You're your own man, Wells. Just curious was all."

That seemed to put him at ease, but his voice was still quiet. "You're the only dude I suck, Boss."

"Cool," I said. I gave a pause. "I know this arrangement is weird as fuck, Wells. But anytime you offer head, I'm not gonna turn you down."

He liked that. "You'll find a boyfriend to focus on, Boss," he said. He'd bene thinking about that. "In the meantime, let's just have fun, OK?"

Dude actually fist bumped me on the way out of my hotel room.

***

Carson upgraded on the flight back, while I stayed in coach. I was glad not to have to make small talk. Still, I felt a strange elation when I got the news on my work phone as we landed. The decision was fast. We'd won the prospect as a client.

Carson was waiting for me at the gate in the terminal. "The Dream Team did it!" he growled, pulling me into a bear hug.

I hugged him back. "You're buying me drinks with that commission money, Wells."

[og-danny-dorito]

[ VOYEUR : GOJO X M!READER HEADCANONS & BLURB ]

[ A/N ] : came to me in a moment of clarity while i was scrolling through content for him on tiktok. this is my design (gay men kissing)

[ CW ] : MDNI 18+, AMAB!reader, he/him pronouns for reader, established relationship, pet names, degradation, all parties are consenting

its a SERIOUS ego boost unsurprisingly LMAO

no im being so ffr rn i cannot possibly explain to you how much he's into the whole being watched while undressing/getting off thing

gojo isn't stupid; he knows you like watching him from the way your eyes linger on him while he's getting ready for work in the morning to how he always finds your gaze straying to him when you're in public

and honestly? it's comforting to him, a way to add fuel flame of his nearly insatiable need to be wanted, to be desired

but he didn't know you'd like watching him like this

well, he had a hunch you would at least. he figured it out when he first caught you watching him while he was jacking off in the shower after a long day of work, having decided to let off some steam while he waited for you to get home

he could hear you come in, but didn't bother to stop considering he thought you'd get flustered like you normally do and just go about your business as you waited for him to get out

only he heard you stop at the door to listen to him, trying not to do something as simple as breathe so as not to disturb him. he can feel you watching steam surround the cloudy room as he cums, grunting out your name under his breath

it was almost fascinating to him how much you seemed to enjoy it, unable to hide a grin at the sound of you suddenly darting off once he turned off the water, making a move to get out so you wouldn't get "caught"

so he keeps doing it. taking off his clothes to change at an agonizingly slow pace, bending over and posing himself in compromising positions as if he's trying to rile you up on purpose (he is)

there's no way he couldn't have known, really; his six eyes makes it almost impossible to sneak up on him anyway and he's almost surprised that you didn't put those dots together earlier, but he doesn't mind keeping up this little game between you two at all

he likes having the power in his hands to tease you, some power quiet and unspoken in a way that holds much more weight for him than anything he could be doing deliberately

but he pretends like he doesn't for the sake of the game. he waits until you're home, putting on a show for his not-so-secret admirer

like bro's arching his back, moaning your name- he's going the whole mile dude. he's trying to get you as worked up as possible

and when the time finally comes and he can feel you getting close he stops suddenly, going "who's there?" like he doesn't know damn well it's you

as soon as he finds you he grins like he's won some sort of competition you didn't know you were participating in, calling you a perv and saying "If you wanted to watch me get off so badly, why didn't you ask?"

his favorite thing is to catch you and then make you sit down on the opposite side of the room while he continues getting himself off, scolding you and degrading you when you move to touch yourself- or him for that matter

his version of a punishment for your "bad behavior" is just to tease you to see how long you'll last before you're begging to suck him off or have him fuck you or just touch you, really, finally relenting after he too gets impatient

he'll smile and "begrudgingly" agree too it, meanly calling you a "desperate slut" the whole time and making an effort to push you to beg for release

he's almost always going to make you thank him for it once he's done, too, making you cum hands free or finishing in your mouth and getting a sick grin on his face when you whine "thank you" with sensitivity and desperation lacing your tone

in short, he absolutely LOVES it and will 100% encourage it LMAO

"What, watching me isn't enough this time?" His voice comes out mean and teasing, eyes filled with some sort of affectionate mirth that almost feels out of place with the position he's in. It's dark in the room, dimly lit save for your bedside lamp and the streetlights shining through blinds in the window. His vibrant white hair is tousled and unkempt as it usually is, but the slight sheen of sweat that coats his skin and makes some of the snowy white strands stick to his skin makes him almost look heavenly. You think for a moment that despite the insatiable need for release in your gut and the tight fist you have in a near tearing grip on the chair's arm, it might be heaven to be here. Gojo is propped up on the bed with his left arm held at a 90 degree angle so he can look across the room at you, his other one draped across his hip so the grip on his shaft is just loose enough that he can stroke up and down without having to move much else but his hand, the flushing pink tip leaking a lot more precum than you saw when he didn't know you were watching. Well, 'didn't know' is wrong, you've noticed, taking into account the fact that his smile is all to wide for him to not have been plotting this all along. He makes a show of stroking himself almost as he did before, rolling the palm of his hand over the tip during the upstroke and letting out a near pornographic moan at the feeling. You know he's just teasing from the way he jolts a little bit afterwards and giggles at your tense shifting, not daring to take your eyes away from him. Not now, not at that he knows he has your full attention. You'd rather just obey than tear your eyes away from him, and even though you shift to relieve some of the white-hot pressure in your groin it isn't enough to satiate the overwhelming need to just touch him. "No.", you strain out, and he smiles wider, his hand picking up it's pace a bit. "Then why don't you just ask for what you want this time instead of being a little perv about it, hm? Go on, ask." You bite down a retort at the comment but still narrow your eyes a bit, the flush on your cheeks darkening a bit once you realize he won't relent in this teasing until you've nearly humiliated yourself for him. It's almost enough to make you want to tell him to shut the fuck up, but it isn't enough to stop you from visibly gulping down your pride as you shift again, this time nearly ripping the couch with how tightly you're gripping it. "Please let me touch you, Gojo. Please.", you rasp out, adding on the extra plea to try and garner some sort of sympathy from him. And apparently it works enough for him to laugh again, spreading his legs a little wider as he releases his dick from it's hold and motions for you to come over. He cocks his head to the side as he sits up fully now, watching you with need as you nearly lunge at him like a hungry animal, letting you roam your hands over his body as he breathily chants "Good boy." into your neck.

[ THANKS FOR READING! REBLOGS ARE APPRECIATED :] ]

[weeb-polls-with-pip]

Autistic Anime Boys Prelims - Propaganda Division - Group 2

Propaganda:

Kyouya -

"what's there to say? you know him. you love him. vote kyoya."

Rinnosuke -

"Rinnosuke Morichika lives in an overly-cluttered curio shop, and has a special interest in making magical inventions. Since he doesn’t live in a modern setting— but a pocket dimension slightly disconnected to the outside world— whenever a modern item shows up in his shop via spiriting away, he can obsess over it for extended periods of time. He is quite blunt without realizing it, even to people he cares for. He also has a special ability to generally understand the name and use of any item he touches (though this backfires sometimes, he thought a Gameboy was a doomsday device once)."

Fuuta -

"okay look theres so many fucking signs hes autistic. he cannot tell tone and often doesn't know how to react to stuff which is a major point in his character id say. he was asked if he remembered his victim's name (hes a murderer. oops!) and his response was something along the lines of "Of course I do. I saw it everywhere." because he did not understand that they wanted to know what it was since it wasnt directly stated. im convinced that hoodies are a comfort object of his because i genuinely have not seen him without one except for one time. also hes canonically a chronically online twitter user. also he gets really passionate about his interests. also not really related but everyone in the fandom agrees hes transgender but no one can agree on what way. ive seen every single gender hc for this dude. vote kajiyama fuuta for this sopping wet poor little meow meow of a man."

Hansum -

"He's just a very odd and strange lad, can't remember names well, is an alien (mild spoiler), he's very popular, obsessed with Doritos and becomes their mascot, just refers to everyone as humans which is a mood, and is completely socially oblivious."

Miyuki -

"Relatable neurodivergent-Gifted Child syndromeTM case with all the superiority-inferiority complex that results. A chronic show-off and scheming strategist with a lowkey hopeless romantic dramatic aspect to him, silly cool and pathetic in a very hilarious way. Shirogane has a trademark glare purely thanks to his eyebags as he runs on coffee everyday having to support his family with multiple jobs in addition to class, on top of student council president duties. He's kind and an obsessive perfectionist who fills his entire wall with the weirdest motivational posters. Shirogane is very devoted to his love. He likes penguins (Kaguya and him is peak asd4asd and bi4bi btw)."

Kirito -

"He's autistic and bisexual as hell, and there's a good bit of trans coding in him 🥺

Autism coding: Bro's literally got a sword and swordfighting hyperfixation where, despite playing a game that focuses around guns, he still chooses to use a sword!! We also see him completely missing Asuna's flirting at first (he tells her she could have just checked her friendlist to make sure he was alive, in response to her tracking him down to see him)

Bi coding: Dual wielding swords is literally a euphemism in Japan for bisexuality; and Kirito initially tries to hide the fact he can dual wield out of fear of how the people he's close to will view him (and once he reveals it to them and they accept it, he begins to be more open about it.) Also in the Underworld arc he becomes very close with Eugeo to the point of living with him (and sharing a bed on occasion), and there are several parallels between Eugeo and Asuna, and they're so gay for each other that despite the anime having only a toned down version of it, they're still very affectionate (Also of note is that Eugeo is the only guy in SAO canon to consistently have a 'laying in bed with Kirito' talk CG in the spinoff games) (There's more but it's spoilers and this is a shortened version)

Trans coding: Kirito is very trans coded in the light novel (which shows Kirito's thoughts in much greater detail than the anime) Aincrad arc reveals that Kirito explicitly Does Not Like his real face, and dislikes how feminine it looks (he mentions that its led to him and his cousin being mistaken for sisters) And in Phantom Bullet arc, he's visibly uncomfortable at being mistaken for a girl due to his avatar's appearance, and in response to being misgendered he briefly panics and checks to make sure his chest flat (at least in the anime adaptation) 🏳️‍⚧️"

Shirou -

"Has one goal in life and ignores almost everything in favor of trying to fulfil that goal."

Keith -

"Speaks in a way that is seen as weird and has mannerisms others think is funny. He struggles with not being taken seriously by others because of this and many of the things others say goes over his head. He struggles to connect with other people because of these things. His entire arc in the second film is about him deciding that the people who don't accept him for who he is aren't worth it and that he's going to continue being himself."

Junpei -

"for other fans of this series, I know the more obvious representation here may be Luou, Junpei is So Good. his special interest is ballet and he has so many hangups involving how his family sees him and how other boys his age interpret him to the point that his idea of masculinity is extremely narrow and he enforces social rules on himself to mask and keep people from realizing that he loves something that Isn't Manly. he misinterprets social cues and takes things literally, like assuming that when Miyako asked him to dance with her she meant Right This Minute rather than as a pair in the studio. for some reason the point where he cuts his hair super short to prove his devotion to ballet is also sticking with me, I think maybe it's the combination of the way it's normal for boys/men in Japan to do that, yet Junpei didn't realize that kind of attitude/action didn't suit ballet at all? he wasn't aware that the context was completely different. Junpei also doesn't act or pretend very well, he's gotta put his whole entire ass into his roles, which he then proceeds to get TOO into and cause a lot of trouble, without giving too much away! he's really relatable to me as someone who's socially anxious but very skilled at masking, and seeing him become more comfortable with himself and start to show how he really feels is so inspiring to me."

Kazuma -

"He may be (wildly) misguided but his intentions are good kinda! He’s just the Guy of all time idk how to explain it."

[corpseidol]

🩸- anon here with a few more silly ideas. (I’m a masc person so most of these are from a masc perspective:((( )

Logan and Goth older brother reader, kind of like Sunshine X Cerberus, but in the phantom realm? Readers the terrified one. And then Logan takes the protective role of :3

Ashlyn with a tap/acro dancer, friendly competition of different dance styles. Or a martial artist, I say this because if you’ve ever been in a dance studio that does multiple styles, the friendly beef is CRAZZYYY

Ben with either really short chaotic reader or a reader who’s taller then him and is the dad friend, bro is prepared for everything^2

Tyler with a Shakespeare quoting theatre kid, overly flirty and all (with consent ofc) they’re so gay for eachother

I literally can’t view Taylor dating someone who’s masc, but best ship I think is girlboss (Taylor) X girl failure, like fem reader is clumsy, bad at school, but in phantom realm? She’s the one hunting the phantoms down

Aiden… GOD AIDEN WITH A CHILDHOOD FRIEND HE TRIED TO MIMICK? BC HE WAS JUST SO COOL, AND AIDEN WANTED TO BE COOL LIKE HIM??? AUGHHH

no idea if this is a request, i assume not. but i’ll involve this with the misc list since i throw in my own ideas and a whole ass rant.

LOGAN. sunshine x cerberus would be the funniest thing ever because it reminds me of rodrick heffley. so lots of bonus points if goth older brother is a HUGE tease and does music. i feel like it’d be fun for goth!reader and aiden vs tyler with that personality i’m going for. just imagining goth laughing and encouraging taylor to record them; even provoking aiden and tyler when they’re all grumpy. but side effect: VERY IGNORANT PERSON if they were not involved with the phantom world, they would tease logan about the whole thing; even in public. which would cause serious problems like accidentally outing them and causing suspicions. if they were involved with the phantom world, they would react the same way tyler did but start a whole argument with tyler using tons of different insults. (bonus: actually very loving towards logan. does not care if their teasing goes too far but would protect logan with his fucking life.)

ANOTHER BONUS! in the band au, goth!reader would def help logan with his eyeliner (only did it when he noticed how half-assed logan’s make up was.)

ASH. at first, would most likely find the competition weird. if you made playful competitive jokes when you first meet her, she’d most likely be confused with your tone. are you making fun of her? are you trying to fight? are you joking? honestly kind of like another aiden x ashlyn if he was a dancer.. turns into a taylor x ash dynamic if we make this competitive little fella a good comforter. that’s absolutely adorable. at some point ash will find the playfulness easing her; sometimes irritated when you accuse her of “cheating” in the playful competition which is… most definitely not possible. if sbg were to be a musical, just imagine these two having a song where ash has to keep up with tap/acro dancer; most likely a “the other side” from the greatest showman type of song ngl.

BEN. would have such a fun personality if there was another dude who was way taller and was more of a dad figure. huge idol for ben honestly. yk the scene where ash compliments him for his good “first aid skills” or wtv and he blushes? imagine him always blushing everytime dad friend!reader compliments him or pats him on the head telling him that he did such a good job and that he’s proud. ben would hate showing his anger issues more towards dad friend!reader because he feels something in him that he doesn’t want to disappoint dad friend!reader. when they first met, he’d be way more timid because i like to think dad friend!reader would be a yapper but more of a calm one. would find it absolutely awkward being around dad friend!reader but finds so much comfort when dad friend!reader does something father-like (finds himself agreeing with dad friend!reader a lot and mindlessly following him while also throwing in his ideas.)

BONUS: picks up random habits that dad friend!reader does

TYLER. would find it absolutely ridiculous if a kid were to quote Shakespeare to him. but get this guy in a grumpy mood and tell him a shakespeare quote him? now you’re just being annoying. THOUUGHHHHH this guy seems to be keeping those words? oh m ygod just imagine reader getting upset and he pulls up with a shakespeare quote and he gets all shy when you tease him because he just gave out that he thinks of you when he sees ANY quote at all. proceeds to say “it’s just a one time thing” but uses quotes you have said to him to motivate him in the phantom world.

TAYLOR. she SCREAMSSSSS bisexual in denial. just imagine her blushy face when she sees how strong reader is in the phantom world, constantly defending her n shit. bandaging her own brother can be hard, but bandaging you??? YOU????? WHAT ARE YOU TRYING TO DO WITH HER?? MARRY HER??? BECAUSE SHE ISN’T SAYING NO!! just imagine ash having to divide the group for a plan and taylor immediately volunteers to go with you because holy shit. shy clumsy girl who’s good in fighting? no need for more info, she NEEDS that number. just imagine taylor teasing you and when you get all blushy and laughy, she sees your face and turns into a TOMATO. despite you being the clumsy one, she feels like she’s the clumsy one around you; becoming uncoordinated and messy when she sees you wipe a bloody nose and breathe heavily. bonus points if shy clumsy girl actually did martial arts and has a uniformed (person in the army) father who is HELLA STRICT WITH HER. more bonus points if the shy clumsy girl is actually really slim and her body aches after experiencing high amount of adrenaline

this is very self projecting because im literally describing myself. sorry guys.

btw just imagine being the clumsy girl and running into taylor in a garage where she’s wearing a white tank top with oil all over. ohMY RHAOJCOCJOWWMOANSODMDDJQOWMSODMDO HELDOFOPSPWP

AIDEN. huge angst here idc i love aiden angst! just imagine his childhood friend being aiden’s BIGGEST friend but suddenly lost all contact when they moved houses, and aiden just loved them so much he thinks of them everyday; doing things that his friend would’ve done and likes videos that reminds him of them. despite him learning to be able to live without them, he has so much loyalty for them. just to run into them at the school and seeing that they refuse to interact with him until they were forced into the group bc of that TEACHER. huge slowburn due to their unknown want to avoid from aiden. bonus points if aiden tries to push them (like how he was pushy the first few eps) by reminding them of things they used to do when they were kids or showing them things that remind him of their childhood.

u’ve been fed.

[doofus-and-dragons]

Thoughts on Malevolent e1:

Starting off strong with amnesia

Who is this echoed robo Stanley parable mother fucker I like him?

Rip Arthur

"What is it?" "A book" Thank you Narator who's voice keeps getting progressively deeper

Arthur seems pathetic little man he's cute

WHO IS THIS ANGRY ROBO BITCH GODDAMN THE MAN HAS NO MEMORIES CHILLAX

"Your whimpering is awfully distracting" Maybe don't posses a pathetic little bitch (lovingly)

Bound? Seems kind of gay if you ask me

WHO ARE YOU GAY ROBO BITCH

Watch it there's a... piano? Angry keyboard dog?

I need Arthur carnaly. First episode and he whimpers. WHIMPERS WHILE BEING TOLD WHAT TO DO BY AN AGRESSIVE VOICE

AND HE PLAYS PIANO

HE WILL BE MY WIFE

Ah yes, best first date idea: hide the body of your busniess partner and best friend while plotting a possible murder together.

Eddie is fair. I would also be suspicious of this whimpering buffoon.

Who the hell is this demon robo dude? He's kind of toxic and I love him.

"Look at him" "I cant" Dude forgot he took Arthur's eyes XD

Arthur baby I love you so much please don't let Eddie beat you up

"Look in the mirror I want to look at you." Kinda gay bro

"I do not like to be pushed around." Sound like something a guy who likes to be pushed around would say

"...noted." note the sarcasm in that echoed tone.

Demon voice, you seem like you keep forgetting Arthur is a very good detective.

Oh? Lore drop already? Fucking awesome

YES INTRODUCING ALTERNATE TIMELINES ALREADY! IM SO EXCITED FOR THIS SHIT!

DEAD VOICE GUY YEEEAH

ITS 1934!?!? FUCK YEAH!!!!

Someone is avoiding the questioooon

Mayhaps it is because ye voice has trauma?

Oh yeah. Trauma dump already.

It must be 1934, taxi fair is less than 3 bucks. Damn

"Describe everything to me." Arthur you are so cute.

Yessss 1934 music! I love it.

This voice guy is really trying to push his emotions down and it isn't working that well. Babygirl we can all tell you're troubled. Do you need a hug? A cup of cocoa?

"Crouch low and put your back against the ckunter." "Arthur: *old man groaning sounds*" babygirl that's not very sneaky

"Relax. That was a close call. it won't be the last." That's reassuring.

That "well done arthur" sounded awfully suspicious

Arthur is so smart and this traumatized voice keeps forgetting that.

Oh shit he already has an enemy he doesn't know. This escalated quite quickly

These two are already bickering.

This guy is surprisingly angry about him not helping the police investigate a murder he was already investigating the disappearance of the victim. Chill out dude he's a PI not a criminal investigator.

"Arthur it's another small room!" It sounded so aggressively excited that I had to stop because I started laughing that was so cute what.

Hm. Sounds creepy...and hot.

What was that name again??? Asking for a friend ofc.

Dint turn random stones have you learned nothing from horror movies? Oh, wait, 1934. Right.

Arthur would be the horror movie girl who survives because she wants nothing to do with the stupid false solutions.

PORTAL TO HELL PORTAL TO HELL PORTAL TO HELL!!!

AAAHH THAT WAS SO FUCKING GOOD!! HELL YEAH!!!

[4wkjun]

daddy sim | sjy

Chapter 01: is this code for gay? ➥ Contains: a little bit of humor, insinuations of homosexuality, mentions of alcohol, and swearing. ➥ Word count: 2.3k

masterlist | next

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April 2nd, 2021 Friday

“Wonnie, do you like living with Yunjin?”, you asked sitting down next to your best friend. Chaewon pouted, confused.

“Yeah, why? Does she want to move out and hasn’t told me?”

“Nah”, you scoff. “It’s just a little unbearable to keep my flat right now. I thought maybe we could find a place for the three of us?”, you said, more of a question than a statement of your thoughts.

“Yeah, I think it’ll be fun”, she shrugged and smiled a bit. “Do you want me to talk to her or you’ll do it?”

“I can do it”, you smiled.

“Do what?”, Jay asked dropping his backpack in the chair in front of you.

“Good morning, Mr. Park”, Chaewon mocked.

“Sorry, Ms. Kim. Good morning to y’all!”, he said in a weird tone bowing. “Now, what you’re gonna do, y/n?”

You sighed, rolling your eyes.

“You’re such a gossipy guy, for Christ’s sake”, you chuckled. “I’mma ask Yunjin if I can move in with them.”

“Why would you do that?”, Jay chuckled back, sitting in front of you two.

“It’s getting a little hard to keep my bills around my flat”, you sighed. “I’d be nice to share everything.”

“I have a friend who needs to move out”, Jay said raising his eyebrows, as if he just remembered that. “He hates his dorm, maybe you could see something together.”

“He? As a man?”, you raised one of your eyebrows.

“Yeah, but he’s a good guy. He just really needs to get the fuck outta there and maybe you could be friends, huh?”

“What is your mom gonna think?”, Chaewon mocked again. You laughed, slapping the back of her neck.

“As if I could care more”, you rolled your eyes. “What’s his name?”

“Jake”, Jay responded. “I think you met last year, no? At my birthday party or something?”

You pouted, trying to picture anyone named Jake. You shook your head, not capable of thinking of anyone named that.

“I don’t think so”, you said. “But maybe I could talk to him. I really want to shove my flat keys up my landlord’s ass.”

Jay laughed, searching for his phone inside of his pocket.

“I’ll text him. He’s majoring in physics, I believe he’s already there”, Jay pointed to the window. The block next to yours was the exact sciences block. “What do you think about meeting him after class? Maybe during our break?”

“Sounds good”, you smiled.

“Ugh, just when I thought I was gonna live with my girlfriend”, Chaewon pouted with a fake crying expression. You laughed, hugging her side.

“Don’t worry, I’ll always be your lab partner.”

“You better be!”

“At least you have a partner”, Jay sighed dramatically while staring at the empty seat next to him. The duo-sitting dynamic is really helpful when you’re majoring in biomedicine since it’s always nice to have someone to double-check your work. (Un)luckily for Jay, his partner only showed up three times the last month. You couldn’t help but laugh.

“Hey”, Jay smiled looking behind you. You and Chaewon were sitting across Jay in the cafeteria, along with your journalism friends: Sunghoon and Yunjin. Sunghoon lifted his eyes next to Jay, smiling when he focused on the person behind you.

Oh. That’s Jake.

Now that you saw his face you remembered: he’s one of Jay’s best friends, even though he never hangs out with the rest of you during breaks and after class. You indeed met him at Jay’s party - and if you remember clearly, you developed a quick crush on him. He looked so hot at the party, his (longer at the time) hair falling over his pretty face, a kiss t-shirt and ripped jeans may sound boring, but he managed to make that look good.

However, now, he looked so cozy. Everything ran across your head way too fast and you almost scrunched your nose at the thought. Cozy? What are you thinking?

“Hi, bro”, the guy – Jake –, smiled before quickly hugging Jay. “My boy!”, he chuckled while walking towards Sunghoon. They weirdly shook their hands and you held a laugh. Boys.

“Take a seat”, Sunghoon said smiling.

“Wow”, Yunjin said. All of you looked at her. “I didn’t know Sunghoon could smile.”

You laughed while Jake sat between his two friends, in front of Chaewon.

“Didn’t you know Jake’s his true love?”, Jay mocked.

Oh, is that what he meant by a “good guy”? Is this code for gay?

“I didn’t, in fact”, Yunjin laughed. Sunghoon frowned, threatening to throw his bread in her head.

“So, why did you need me out of my comfort zone?”, Jake funnily asked Jay, raising his eyebrows quickly.

“Comfort zone? You mean the exact building? That looks like a madhouse”, Jay mocked. “My friend here”, he pointed at you “needs someone as desperate as she is to move out.”

You awkwardly smiled at Jake, not knowing what to say. You thought Jay would be a little less direct to the point.

“Hi”, you said in a weird tone. Your girlfriends laughed. “I’m y/n.”

“I remember you”, Jake smiled softly. “I hope you’re not doing this because Jay told you I’m miserable”, he laughed.

You scoffed, shaking your head.

“Nah, I’m desperate to move out.”

“Good, we could... talk and see if we get along?”, he asked a little shy.

“Sure!”

“Wow, the two of you are so easy going, what the fuck?”, Chaewon laughed.

You shrugged, chuckling a bit. “That’s called necessity, darling.”

March 7th, 2022 Monday

“Jake”, you called knocking on his bedroom door. “Get up, lazy-ass!”

“I’m coming”, he groaned behind the closed door. By his groggy voice, you knew he wasn’t getting up.

With a sigh, you softly pushed the door, staring at Jake through the dim room. His blinds were closed all the way and you had to admit: that bed must be really comfy. You walked towards him, trying to adjust your eyes to the lack of lights.

Jake was lying on his stomach – shirtless, even though it was just the beginning of spring –, his hair falling around his face and pillow. The air conditioner of his room was way too cold for your liking and you wondered why he slept in such a cold room with his blankets on.

“Get up, Jakey”, you said as softly as you could, running your hand across his soft hair. “First day of school, remember? Last year, just two more semesters and we’re done for good.”

“You and I?”, he mumbled.

“Yeah.”

“So you’re breaking up with me?”, he mumbled again, still not opening his eyes.

You laughed, still caressing his scalp.

“How could I break up with the best roomie I ever had?”, you responded, thinking of that whole situation as funny.

Jake lazily opened his eyes, pouting. You took your hand off his head, crossing your arms under your chest. He stretched his body on the bed, trying to get rid of his sleepy state. The movement made his blankets shift on top of him and you could see the hem of his boxers. That’s when you looked up to the ceiling and said:

“Get ready, I’ll cook us breakfast.”

“‘kay”, he moaned. Jake sat up in his bed just in time to watch you move your ass out of his room. He bit his lips at the sight of your pretty ass tightly hugged by the fabric of your jeans. “Not the right time to be a perv, Jake”, he groaned.

Forty minutes later, you and Jake were miserably sat at the bus stop right in front of your apartment building. It was a little late, but you still had plenty of time. Jake would say random shit all of the time, making you laugh while waiting. God, he could die just by looking at your smile.

“Your hair is so long right now”, he said softly.

“I know, right? I haven’t cut it in like... a year?”, you agreed, looking at the ends of your hair. If your eyes weren’t down, you’d see Jake’s eyes shining bright as stars while staring at you. “Do you think I should cut it? Maybe like... shoulder length?”

“I... I think you’re pretty anyway”, he shrugged. You chuckled.

“You’re adorable, Jakey.”

“You’re more adorable”, he mumbled to himself.

“Huh?”, you asked, not being able to hear him.

“Nah, I’m talking to myself”, he sighed. “Look, it’s our bus.”

You looked toward the direction he pointed, nodding. You got up with your backpack along with him. Your dear roommate.

April 23, 2022 Saturday

“I’m glad you came, bro”, Jay told Jake as they sat down next to him. Jake was sitting on the yard bench, looking at the pool. Jay’s house was filled to the brim with his friends - and he had a lot. Well, you can’t turn 25 every year, right? So he had to throw a big-ass party. Drinks, food, pool, loud music... how could you and Jake say no to that invite? Oh, and being best friends with Jay, obviously.

“I wouldn’t miss your birthday for the world, dude”, Jake chuckled. His eyes found you sitting on the edge of the pool, your hair dripping water down your waist and hips after a dive. He took a long sip of his beer, trying not to stare at your pretty breasts covered only by the thin material of your bikini.

Jay’s eyes followed Jake’s, only to laugh when he realized who he was staring at.

“Are you ever gonna confess?”, Jay asked. Jake’s head turned fast with his eyebrows furrowed.

“What?”

“Don’t play dumb, Sim Jaeyun”, Jay scolded playfully and Jake scrunched his nose at the sound of his full “real” name. “It’s been what? Almost a year?”

“That we moved in together?”

“Yeah.”

Jake hummed, looking at his cup half-empty. He felt embarrassed. What kind of guy likes to open his heart to his best buddy during a party? It was almost three p.m., he should be drinking beer out of a hose and having fun. But he couldn’t. Not while you were drinking and having fun. What if some weird guy tried to do something with you? Jake needed to be able to protect you.

“Really, dude. You should tell her.”

“Tell her what?”, Jake asked, looking at you again. You were laughing almost uncontrollably at something weird Yunjin said next to you. He held the urge to smile at your smile.

“Tell her you love her or something”, Jay shrugged. “She’s out there, maybe even looking for fish in the ocean. You could be with her right now. For almost a year.”

“She told you she’s looking for someone?”, Jake asked, staring at Jay again. Jay sighed while rolling his eyes.

“No, I’m just saying. You never know.”

Jake hummed again.

“Go on, talk to her.”

“She’s drunk.”

“Pretend you’re just as drunk. If something goes wrong, blame the alcohol and move on with your life.”

“That’s the shittiest advice you ever gave me”, Jake sighed while standing up.

“Then why are you getting up?”, Jay laughed.

“‘Cause I have no better idea”, he responded before walking away.

Jake carefully walked towards you, trying not to slip into the wet pool edge.

“Hey, y/n”, he called calmly. You looked at him with a smile, your damp hair moving across your shoulder and splashing a little bit of water on his legs.

“Hi, Jakey!”, you chanted. He chuckled.

“Can I talk to you?”, he asked. You nodded.

The silence felt loud.

“... Alone.”

“Oh!”, you said, laughing. “Sure, help me up.”

You turned around, your legs now out of the water. Jake’s feet were damp now since you caused a mini-tsunami with your feet. You reached your hands towards him and he gladly pulled you up.

“Bring her back!”, Chaewon yelled from the inside of the pool. Jake laughed and gave her a thumbs-up while carefully guiding you through the crowd of Jay’s friends.

The two of you found a spot to sit down next to the barbecue, a little far from the pool. It was still loud, but a lot less than next to the pool.

“What’s wrong, my beloved?”, you asked, softly smiling at him. You sat on one of the stools in front of the counter that separated the barbecue area from the eating area. Jake sat next to you, sighing deeply.

“How drunk are you?”

“Enough to have fun”, you winked at him. Jake laughed.

“Uh...”, he mumbled.

“What’s wrong?”, you repeated, still smiling. 

“I’m trying to find the right words”, Jake laughed under his breath. You nodded, weirdly patient for your tipsy-self.

“It’s just me. You can say whatever you want”, you shrugged.

Jake lowered his eyes, trying to avoid yours. The fact that your breasts were between your face and the floor was just a detail.

“I’m afraid this might ruin our friendship, y/n”, Jake mumbled.

“Not possible!”, you responded.

“Alright, close your eyes then”, he said. Without a word, you obeyed. Jake thought it would be easy to say he liked you a lot if you weren’t looking. However, it seemed a lot easier to do something else.

Jake leaned in and captured your lips with his. You were taken aback, so you suddenly opened your eyes and moved away from him.

“Jake...”, you started.

“Shit”, he groaned. “I’m sorry. I shouldn’t do this, I was gonna tell you I-”

“Aren’t you gay?”, you asked, confused.

Jake stopped, completely shocked. He stared at your face, looking for signs of a joke.

“What?”

“I thought... You and Sunghoon... No?”, you said, tilting your head.

“Fuck, no!”, he responded, his eyes big now. “He’s my best friend. And that’s all! I’m straight, y/n, for fuck sake!”

You laughed out loud, just as surprised as him.

“Well... In that case...”, you shrugged.

Jake was about to ask what were you gonna do, but this time your lips met his.

[bigwishes]

A Twink-ling Jewellery Choice

a trade for my buddy  @yffrit

Working your ass off at the gym recently you had finally started to see results on your already athletic body. Your muscles had started to become well defined, so much so you were comfortable to say you weren’t just athletic anymore but you were becoming a proper jock.

Walking home after your latest hard workout session you decided you should treat yourself for all the hard work you had been putting in, but what to treat yourself with?? a box of donuts? nah you’d be over the sugar after one or two, maybe those nice compression shorts you’ve been eyeing? nah, you should do something for yourself that isn’t centred around fitness, this is meant to be a reward for sticking to your goals not an outfit to achieve your goals in.

You walked down the street looking at shop windows when something caught your eye. A nice little ear stud, shining in the window of a jewellery store.

That was the perfect treat you thought to yourself. It’d look nice, just something nice and small, a little accessory you thought, something to change your look up a bit. You went inside and asked for the stud in the window. The woman running the store looked you up and down and wondered why a guy like you would want to change himself like that, after all the hard work you put into your body. But you just shook it off as the older generation being a bit rude. The woman walked over to the window

“if this is what you really want”

Within seconds it was one and done, a quick jab and you were on your way back home. You felt a slight pulling on your earlobe but just thought it was a slight pain from the piercing being fresh.

------

You arrived home and quickly went to the mirror to check yourself out. turning your chiselled jaw to look at the jewel sparkle on your ear, you smile and laugh, loving the way it looks. But suddenly the tingling came back, tickling your earlobe you feel the tickling sensation travel from your ear to your neck and it shot down your body to your waist. The tingling spun throughout your entire hip bone almost causing you to giggle when suddenly *SWOOOMP* your waistline went from a rectangular toned waist to a skinner almost hourglass waist.

You began to breath heavily, the muscle had shrunk away leaving a skinny little frame standing in front of you.

‘Wha- WHAT” you yelled to yourself in the mirror as your watched your waist tighten and shrink. The muscle definition began to fade leaving just enough to shape your body. 

The tingling in your waist zapped down to your dick and began to see it twitch, it felt better than jerking off and you began to moan. your jockish voice had began to change from a grunting to an almost whimpery moan, going up an octave with each breath.

“uhh huh, huh, hunn, nnn, nnnya, aaaa, aa” your voice completely changed to a high pitched gay voice

as you moaned you felt the tingling in your dick begin to shrink, and with it along with your dick, You watched as it shrunk down and became like a limp balloon

“aaah, like, oh my gawd, my body” you covered your mouth realising you were sounding like the most stereotypical twink.

Suddenly your jock body had been completely replaced with the bitch body of a twink. You ran through your house to your front door, you were going back to that store and getting your old body back. You pranced on your tip toes with your hands waving at your sides like the little bitch you are. You swung open your front door ready when suddenly.

“Sup” “Sup” “Sup”

Three built frat bros stand at your front door.

“Heeeeeeeey bro, I’m Jackson, he’s Jaxon and he’s Jaxson” “Sup” “Sup” “We’re from the frat that just moved in next door”

The tiniest tingling left in your dick suddenly shot backwards through your waist and into your ass, You feel it suddenly expand in an instant into a massive bouncy bubble butt causing you to bend forward as the force almost pulled you backwards.

“aaa, heeya” you say biting your lip staring at the 3 jocks in your doorway. All of your passion and drive to get your old body back began to fade, the feeling of popping candy on top of your brain tickled you and left you giggling. You no longer even remembered what your old body looked like, all you really cared about anymore was being a living sex doll for any frat jock who knocked at your door.

You stepped to the side allowing Jackson, Jaxon and Jaxson to enter your house to use you however they want.

[mrsaltieri-real]

Good Boy, Meeks (Mickey Altieri X Randy Meeks)

Words: 2.8k

Warning/s: language, smut, slight dom/sub dynamic, handjobs, blowjob, teasing, cum eating, cum play, filming/sex tape, hair pulling, Randy’s a nervous wreck, Mickey’s a teasing ass, implied stalking, frenemies to fuck buddies.

A/N: SO this is my first fic that is two canon characters. No reader insert, no OC. Just Mickey and Randy. The Film Bro’s™️. This was ridiculously fun to write, I’m definitely going to do stuff like this more often. I love them so much. Thank you @bisexual-horror-fan for beta reading and editing! You’re such a massive help dude!

I hope you guys enjoy reading this as much as I enjoyed writing it!

Mickey had always found Randy sweet.

In a lot of ways, they were the same. Film geeks with an unfiltered passion for cinema and the art surrounding it, constantly looking for a deeper meaning, both there and in real life. Then again, they were more different than similar.

Randy was a small town boy still reeling from the series of murders that rocked him a year back. He never showed it, but he lived in a constant state of unease, glancing over his shoulder and never letting anybody but Sidney in. Even then, he couldn’t talk to her about this stuff. She was healing, getting better. He was happy for her, but when she began dating Derek, he realized that he truly was all alone.

Mickey, on the other hand, was from the city. Eager, outgoing, confident. He wasn’t scared about people finding him arrogant or full of himself, he lived his life with no regrets. He was being bankrolled through college by Billy Loomis’ mother to help her finish the job he and Stu Macher couldn’t. Mickey was violent, in more ways than the obvious. His ambition made him all the more magnetic, especially to Randy.

They had a fun frenemy vibe going for a while, though they both knew it was more affectionate than anything. Mickey liked Randy, he thought he was simply adorable. Randy liked Mickey, he enjoyed arguing with him even though most of the time he knew he was just saying opposing views on cinema to get a rise out of him, like when he’d sat in front of him and blatantly said that Superman 2 was better than Superman 1. Randy could see the amusement in his eyes as he argued back, but decided to roll with it.

Anything to stretch out the conversation.

Randy wasn’t gay. He knew he wasn’t gay, he’d been in love with Sidney since before he even knew what love was. But sometimes, just sometimes, he’d glance over at Mickey in class or in the cafeteria, watch his head tip back as he laughed, the dimples in his cheeks. His eyes would drift to his strong, muscular arms, watch his huge hands run through his hair or drum against his thigh, and it was almost impossible to look away.

But no, he wasn’t gay, he wasn’t bi, he was straight. Right?

“Randy!” Fingers snapped in front of Randy’s face, and he blinked, shaking his head before his blue eyes tentatively met light brown. “You okay, man?”

“Fine, why?” Randy cleared his throat, adjusting himself in his seat and looking down at his paper. He and Mickey had been paired for a project on cinematography in horror, and it bugged Randy that the moment their names were spoken out one after the other by their professor, he’d felt his heart flutter a little.

“Well, I was talking to you and you were just… Staring at me.” Mickey’s tone was light, almost playful. He didn’t look away from Randy, his grin spreading wider as he saw the rush of colour flood to the boy's cheeks. How cute is that?

“Fuck off, Mickey, no I wasn’t.” Randy scoffed, shaking his head. “Stop fucking around, what were you saying?”

“C’mon, Meeks! Tell me what you were thinking about.” Mickey leaned forward in his own seat, his hand reaching out and playfully pushing Randy’s shoulder. Randy swatted at his hand, only making Mickey chuckle and hold his hands up in surrender. “Okay, okay!” He shook his head, still smiling as he grabbed his camera from his desk, flipping the small flap open and holding it up. “Don’t wanna tell me? Tell the camera.”

“Mickey, I swear to God, fuck off.” Randy held up his hand, turning his head to the side and burying his face into his shoulder. “You’re such an ass, dude.”

“Aw, I know.” Mickey didn’t drop the camera. His eyes were fixed on Randy through the tiny screen, his head tilting just slightly to the side. His smile had changed into a somewhat affectionate half smile, watching as Randy peeked up at him. “What?”

“You like me, don’t you?”

The question took him by such surprise, Randy let out a laugh that was a little too loud, a roll of his eyes that was a little too dramatic and stood to his feet, pushing the chair back a little too hard. Mickey watched the ordeal with an amused expression and a cocked brow, the camera still focused on Randy, “I think you’re a dick.”

“And I think that you think I’m blind and stupid.” Mickey retorted, finally looking up from the small screen, his eyes settling and Randy’s awkward stance. “It’s okay, I won’t tell anyone. I wouldn’t do that.”

Randy looked away, as he says, “I don’t like you. Not like that.”

Mickey presses, “Like what?”

“Like- Oh, shut up.” Randy muttered, beginning to walk toward Mickey’s bathroom.

Before he could get past him, Mickey’s large hand that Randy had so often admired shot out, wrapping around his forearm easily and holding him next to him.

“Don’t make it weird, Meeks. We can fuck if that’s what you want.”

Mickey said it so matter-of-factly it took Randy a little by surprise, his eyes shooting to Mickey, who still gripped the camera in his other hand, the band around his wrist and his arm resting beside him.

“But you’re not…” Randy’s voice trailed off and Mickey let out another laugh.

There is that infuriatingly dazzling smile as he asked, “I’m not what? Gay?”

Randy stumbles over his words as he responds, “I mean… Yeah. I’ve seen you with girls and stuff.”

“Yeah, so? What, you're a film major and think people can’t branch out a little?”

Randy frowned, this isn’t as simple as making a movie in a different genre, at least not to Randy. His eyes darting from Mickey’s hand wrapped around his arm and to his face. He couldn’t deny, when Mickey touched him, he felt an uncomfortably strong wave of arousal flow through his body and stab him straight in the stomach.

Fuck, he hated that Mickey made him feel this way. Fucking Mickey Altieri of all people. It was no surprise really, though. Randy had seen first hand, he could pretty much fuck anybody he wanted. He was outrageously attractive, magnetic and just downright charming. He couldn’t deny he was attracted to him, and had been for a pathetic amount of time. And now, here he was, telling him he wanted him.

Randy didn’t move, caught in a hesitating limbo, so Mickey helped him, tugging on his arm and pulling him in front of him.

He had no idea what he was doing. He’d thought about this, this moment more times than he cared to admit whilst he was fisting his cock in the shower, thinking of Mickey. His hands, his arms, his smile, his cock, and more often than not, his lips. He was always filled with guilt after, wondering how Mickey would feel if he knew that Randy touched himself to thoughts of him on his knees with Mickey in his mouth.

This was fucking unbearable.

Mickey’s brown eyes were fixed on Randy’s torn expression, watching the vast array of emotions pass over his face. Suddenly, it wasn’t so amusing.

“Nod if you want me.” Mickey said, his voice unnaturally soft and tender.

Randy’s final thought was simple.

Fuck it.

He nodded his head, eyes, watching as Mickey released his arm and gently palmed over himself. Randy hadn’t noticed before that he was already half hard. Did he know? This entire time that Randy wanted him this much? Did he want it as long as he did, too?

Mickey didn’t speak, but he stood to his feet, placing the still rolling camera down on his desk, the lenses facing them, a light smile on his lips as he leaned forward, his hand moving from his own aching bulge in favour of Randy’s. The two of them were wearing sweatpants, and Mickey smiled in satisfaction at how fucking hard Randy was for him. He could feel his heat, feel the throbbing before he even made contact.

Mickey’s other hand cradled Randy’s flushed cheek, finding it sweet how panicked Randy looked, as if he was afraid this was all some big joke to his expense. But this wasn’t, Mickey wanted Randy, had done since the first day the little geek challenged him in film class.

Randy found that focusing on the beauty spot just beside Mickey’s eyes calmed him down slightly, humanizing the other boy a little more.

Mickey wasn’t going to kiss Randy first, however. He felt like that was something Randy had to do, and it didn’t take him anywhere near as long as he expected.

The minute Mickey’s head ghosted over him, Randy bit the bullet, closing the space and pressing his lips against Mickey’s with a passion that took Mickey by surprise. Randy let out a shaking moan into his mouth, pushing himself greedily against Mickey’s hand in desperate need for friction, to which the other boy eagerly obliged, his hand moving to frail his fingers down Randy’s happy trail and slipping smoothly into Randy’s sweats and boxers, eagerly kissing him back as he did. Mickey tasted like mint, his lips were unbearably soft and something about them seemed like home, the rough feeling of Mickey’s stubble scratched against Randy’s face, so satisfying and just how he dreamed it would.

The moment Randy felt Mickey’s well worked hand wrap around his cock, he was worried he was going to cum then and there. His hips thrust a little as he gasped into Mickey’s mouth, feeling him smile against him as he did. Randy’s hands were fast and eager, but he was stopped sharply by Mickey, who pulled back, shaking his head.

“Oh, God I- I’m sorry, fuck, I-“

Randy began rambling, his face flushing a deep red. Mickey simply rolled his eyes, bending down to pull Randy’s sweats and boxers down before pulling his own shirt over his head, tossing it to the side. “Shut up, I thought it would be easier this way, no?”

This was the first time Randy had seen Mickey shirtless. He momentarily marvelled at the hairs on his chest, his toned stomach, and swallowed thickly.

Before Randy could reply, Mickey kissed him, deeper and with more vigour than last time. Randy’s leaking cock pressed between both of their stomachs. Mickey’s hands gripped Randy’s hips, pulling him even closer to him and forcing him to grind against him before he pressed him firmly up against the wall, his lips beginning to drift from Randy’s lips, to his jaw, to his throat.

“F-fuck.” Randy’s moan was unsteady, his hands unconsciously moving to knot in his thick dark hair, his hips beginning to grind against him by themselves. The friction felt incredible, but what felt even better was Mickey’s hand beginning to slowly pump Randy’s cock as he kissed his neck, the sensation making goosebumps rise on his skin.

Mickey used Randy’s pre-cum as lube as he allowed the boy to messily thrust against his hand, his simpering whimpers and moans fucking music to his ears.

“You have no idea how many times I’ve thought of you like this, Meeks.” Mickey breathed into Randy’s ear, twisting his hand expertly and relishing in the gentle whines flooding out from Randy’s lips. “A leaking fucking mess just for me.”

“Just for you.” Randy echoed Mickey’s words, his hands gripping his hair even tighter as his pace began to steadily increase.

The feeling of his rough hand gliding up and down his shaft, his messy cock aching and throbbing, it was nothing like he’d had before. His first and only time with Karen Kolcheck back in Woodsboro seemed pretty much laughable compared to how Mickey was making him feel right now with just his hand. Randy knew he was close, his balls were aching, and he could feel himself ready to unload all over Mickey’s stomach, but he didn’t want to. He knew that once he did, it would be over.

Fuck, he didn’t want this to be over.

“You gonna cum for me, Randy?” Mickey asked. Randy let out a soft whine, flinching in effort to avoid doing just that.

“N-no.” He groaned out, the grip on Mickey’s hair tightening.

Mickey let out a breathy laugh, his hand slowing to a gentle pump. “Why not?” He asked.

Randy didn’t answer, his head falling forward, so his forehead pressed against Mickey’s shoulder.

Mickey wasn’t having that. He pulled his hand away from Randy’s sloppy cock, knocking his arms out of the way so he could pull Randy’s head back before gripping his chin between his long fingers.

“Why not?” He asked again, his tone a little harder.

“Because I don’t want it to be done.” Randy blurted out. He felt Mickey cock twitch against his from the confines of his sweats and briefs and felt an overwhelming desire to touch him too. Mickey looked at the hungry expression on Randy’s face and smiled affectionately, releasing Randy’s jaw and sliding his hand into his hair.

“Okay, on your knees then.”

Before the words were completely out of Mickey’s mouth, Randy was on his knees, pulling down Mickey’s remaining clothes.

Randy had only seen his own dick and dicks in porn. No pornstar cock would ever compare to Mickey’s. The only word that came to mind was mouthwatering.

After Mickey spent a little time talking Randy through it, Randy took him greedily into his mouth, moaning at how delicious he tasted, his eyes fluttering closed.

“Fuckkkkk.” Mickey groaned, his head tipping back and one hand still resting on the top of his head. He glanced at the camera, picking it up and focusing it down on the adorable sight before him; Randy greedily sucking his cock as if his life fucking depended on it. Randy made a sound of disapproval at the sight of the camera, but Mickey shook his head. “Thought you might want to watch this back when you fuck yourself thinking about me.”

A brief thought of how the fuck does he know I do that? Crossed his mind for the briefest of moments before he forgot all about it, focusing on the feeling of Mickey’s thick, heavy cock in his mouth. He bobbed his head obediently, feeling Mickey begin to thrust harder, pushing his way down Randy’s throat.

“Yeah, good boy. Look up into the camera with my cock in your mouth, Meeks.” Mickey instructed, voice heavy and dripping with arousal. Randy did just that, feeling Mickey begin to twitch in his mouth as soon as he did. “Mm. You wanna get off?” He asked, smiling at Randy’s muffled yes. “Go on.”

Randy quickly took his own sensitive cock into his hand, realizing quickly his pre-cum had dropped onto Mickey’s hardwood floor. Mickey angled the camera, zooming in on the sight and watching it intently, his hips snapping against Randy’s face urgently.

“Fuck, I’m close.” Mickey grunted, halting his movement. Randy’s nose pressed against Mickey’s skin for a moment, beginning to splutter slightly as Mickey began to release hot ribbons of white down his throat, before pulling back to fill up Randy’s mouth.

The delicious taste, along with Mickey’s gorgeous expression, his head back and his chest heaving as he came, sent Randy into a convulsing mess, cumming all over his own hand, stomach and the ground beneath him. Mickey pulled out of his mouth quickly, relishing in the sound of Randy’s gasping moans as he finished.

It was silent between them for a moment, Randy trembling on his knees, not looking Mickey in the eyes. Mickey still had the camera rolling, looking fondly into the small window of it, before he glanced down at Randy pointedly.

“You made a mess, Meeks.”

Randy let out a sigh, relieved at the broken silence, before he asked, “What?”

Mickey nodded down beneath him at the cum staining the floor. Randy blushed, moving to shakily to stand up, only to be stopped by Mickey’s large, grounding hand.

“Clean it up.”

“I- I was going to. Was gonna get some paper towels and-“

“No, Randy.” Mickey cut him off, the cheeky smile back on his face as he knelt down in front of him. Mickey’s finger dipped into the impressive pool of white, before he raised it to his own mouth and licked it. Randy watched intently, his once softened cock twitching at the sight. Fuck.

“On your hands and knees-“ Mickey stopped, moving the camera and angling it down at the mess. “And clean. It. Up.”

Randy stared at Mickey for a moment, before nodding his head, and doing exactly what he was told.

He got on his hands and knees, dipping his head down, and began to lap up his own cum from the hardwood floor. Mickey watched through the camera, teeth sinking into his bottom lip at the sight.

“Good boy, Meeks.”

[asdeloppa]

Lance was doubtful. A date with Allura, such a long-awaited date, seemed completely wrong to him now. The falling in love probably passed almost immediately, but throughout almost their entire journey he held on to this thought, so as not to think that he did not love her at all. That's why Lance made stupid advances towards her, made all these jokes, made compliments, was jealous of Lotor, jealous of Keith, jealous even of Shiro, knowing that he was gay.

Now he finally realized that he was attached to her on a deeper level. Like a close friend, or maybe even like a sister. I realized that it was rather devotion and gratitude.

There were two hours left until the date.

– Funny outfit, – Keith jokingly commented on Lance’s look. – Did you rob the kitchen, or? – Keith didn’t have time to finish.

– Koran helped me get ready for a date according to Altean customs. – Lance was... Weirder than usual? Normal Lance is an active and playful guy, but now a thoughtful Lance stood in front of Keith, as if he was in a trance. – I have a date with Allura. – Lance says in some unreadable tone.

- Oh, so can I congratulate you? – Keith smiled warmly, his voice sounded so sincere, as if it was not Lance who would have a date with the object of his adoration, but himself.

The conversation with Keith was a little awkward. Lance couldn’t tell him the truth: that he doubted whether he needed it, did Allura need it? At least some of them. He simply didn't know the answer to his question.

Already at dinner, something stabbed in Lance's heart when Veronica asked to introduce her to Keith. "Never". A little rudely, very impulsively and quickly, he rattled off that he definitely wouldn’t go for it. Later he finds out that through Keith she wanted to meet that beautiful alien.

Kiss. The kiss with Allura was pleasant, Lance felt how much tenderness was put into it, but it was completely not what he wanted.

Allura's goodbye kiss was painful and bitter.

He didn't know that losing someone hurt so much. Yes, as a child he attended the funeral of his beloved grandmother, but it was not as painful as losing practically his sister. He thought he was prepared to lose anyone on the team because that's what the job is like. Every day is filled with risks of losing a team member. But the loss of Allura... You can’t be prepared for this.

Keith. He was there all the time. Not so much of his own accord, but rather Lance simply asked him to stay with him a little longer than was allowed for just “comrades.”

Since their last mission, Keith has been constantly flying out on rescue missions. For dangerous rescue missions. Lance was scared every time, because Keith, like Allura, might simply not return from the next flight.

After his first kiss with Keith, an extremely drunk kiss that left Lance immediately crying (and Keith began to calm him down as best he could: he hugged him, stroked his back, saying that “Everything is fine, don’t worry. Calm down” - stupid, but as best he can, and most importantly with his soul), he finally realized what was wrong. More precisely, he did not understand, but finally accepted the thought that had haunted him since the beginning of his training in the garrison. He is in love with Keith. He love he. All these “enemies” were just a way to escape from these thoughts, from these feelings.

The worst thing about this whole situation was that Lance was stupidly afraid of Keith's thoughts. “What if he thinks that he’s just a replacement for her.” From the outside it seemed so. At least that's what he thought himself.

Keith didn't make things any easier either. He and Lance spent a lot of time together when Keith was on the ground, free from his missions and rescue missions. Every night invariably ended with kisses: they were both initiated. But every morning Keith pretended that everything was fine and they were just «bros». This made Lance both angry and frustrated, and gave him time to come up with another brilliant plan to seduce Keith. It gave him time to let Keith know that he was him and not her replacement.

The conversation and confession were scary, difficult and overly emotional. Lance cried, Keith kissed his face and hugged him, laughing a little, because “I kept wondering when you’ll make up your mind. Don’t get me wrong, I didn’t want to put pressure on you,” for which he received a comic, but slightly painful punch to the stomach from Lance.

The first real dates were awkward but filled with love: they made cookies, after which the entire kitchen was covered in flour and cinnamon, but everyone loved them; a walk along the beach, after which they washed themselves off the sand for a long time, but during which their hands were intertwined the entire time; a trip to the cinema, the plot of which they did not remember, but their lips burned scarlet.

When they told their loved ones about their relationship, they were not surprised. Everything was obvious: burning eyes, awkward glances, hands that they did not open even in the company of friends. Everyone was happy for them.

And they were happy for themselves.

I ask you to pretend that there are no mistakes here(or point out errors in the comments, I’ll be glad). I remind you that English is not my native language and I am just learning it.

enjoy the klans, I hope you like it <33