#i wrote this in a fugue state

[sandsorghum]

wc: 1.1k (more drabble than fic tbh)

tags: Virgin Higuruma | Friends to Lovers (?)

a/n: Really just an excuse for me to spew unhinged thoughts about FirstTimeHiguruma...Suggestive but nothing really explicit. Kinda told in his POV. Dunno if I'll ever develop this into a full story but enjoy...whatever this is??

Maybe...maybe he's in his mid20s, 2nd year of law school. Is a little insecure and defensive because he's got a bit of that internalised misogyny. Just a smidge. What's the big deal anyway, why are people so obsessed with sex - those conversations aren't worth his time. Don't his peers have better things to brag about or bond over?

Keeps his head down and mostly to himself. Ignores the couples snogging under the shade of sycamore trees as he cuts across the quad, averts his eyes from insufficiently surreptitious fingers skimming up thighs in coffee shops - Even the damn library isn't a place of refuge; with people sneaking off to the dimly lit, dusty sections where the obscure maritime law tomes are shelved but no apparently he's the one committing an invasion of privacy when he just wanted to look up the applications filed at the Tribunal for the Hoshinmaru case (2007, Japan V. Russian Federation) and not get an eyeful of folks sticking hands down pants.

So one day the two of you are hanging out in his room and somehow the topic comes up and he goes on an amusingly/impressively feminist rant about virginity just being a sexist myth and concept contrived to make (women's) chastity a commodified fetish as if they were prized chattel and why would he want to acknowledge any part of that antiquated invention and he has better things to do and why are you looking at him like that when you both have a Commercial Law exam to mug for, isn't that why you showed up in the first place?

And umm do you want his jacket, seems like you'd be chilly in that loose hanging top - it's slipped a little off your shoulder by the way - and why are you stalking- walking towards him like that and hangonhangonhangonhey-

Now see what you've done! You made him trip backwards on his bed and you're still leaning in way too close and since when did you start wearing lip gloss - wait you aren't? And that's just the natural shade of your mouth? oh ok cool cool cool fine goodtoknow - huh? why's it good for him to know? No- no reason- no he hasn't been wondering all evening - and wait why are you dropping to your knees now, come on, stop, you're taking this joke way too far like always - can't you tell it's humiliating for the both of you - huh? Did you just say you've always found him cute? The adjective ascribed to marsupials? You're associating it with him??

You like seeing his cheeks this colour? It reminds you of his frostbitten face when the two of you were the last to leave the library last winter semester, trekking across the field with just his nose peeking out from the higgly-piggedly stacked layers of his scarf, still trying to crack jokes to make you laugh and it had worked because you remember the sting of your chapped lips long after he walked you back to your room?

And well that's um...quite a vivid portrait of him, he doesn't really have that type of memory - No, he didn't mean that - of course he remembers the first evening you and him met and quickly became study buddies, pals, friends - definitely friends - and uuuhhhh are you sure this is something friends do?

Because now you have both hands resting on his parted thighs, your head nestled on his knee, how can you look so comfortable like this, with your cheek nuzzling lightly into his lap, moving a little further and further up to the throbbing, pounding pitch in his pants with every passing minute that he doesn't push you away or tell you to stop, he's never ached like this before, not even in his hormone-swamped dreams of the cloying feverish adolescence he thought he'd left behind years ago, and he thought he'd given into those futile impulses often enough not to be controlled by them, but no, the stifling denim swelling rises faster and faster the more desperately he tries to fight it, till the tented fabric is just about sweeping your cheek and hell, you shouldn't look so pleased with yourself, having this effect on him just by looking up at him through dark lashes and a darker gaze, but something's midnight-bright in them, like starlight in the pitch of winter

Like that night you'd both clambered up to the roof, abandoning the cacophony of the house party below, precariously perched with a couple beers and a quarter of the vodka you'd snagged on impulse, and you'd clung so tight to him, scuffling on the shingles, burying your squeaks and breathy giggles into his nape, shushing his chastisements midway as you passed the swig of the bottle directly from your mouth to his, and he remembers this, a careless question he's pondered more often than he'd like to admit, how he'd been unable to distinguish if the lingering scorch was from the distilled juniper or your lips, puffing little white clouds in this cloudless, snow-crisped evening, with you pressed into his body heat, teetering on the ledge and looking up at the spray of diamonds embroidered into the velvet of night, pointing out patterns in the celestial tapestry, both of you feigning expertise in astronomy before bursting into laughter at the blatant fibs when one of you, he can't recall which of you, gestures at a cluster of seven stars and declares it "the Big Slipper" and who knows what other snarky quips and idle half-truths you exchanged that night, he only recollects your confession that you were actually pretty terrified of heights, the admission crystal clear in his memory because he remembers the evidence, remembers the way your pulse was embedded in his bones, the way his blood was thrumming with the wild thudding of your heartbeat until he wrapped his arms securely around you, your ribs rising and falling slowly into sync with his and some other memory splinters its way to the surface now, crackling through his subconscious, how the air froze in his lungs for no reason, no reason at all, when his eyes settled on you looking up, again with your lips looking a little chapped, enraptured by the stars above, murmuring how you wished this night with him could last forever...

And of course it didn't, winter thawed into spring, which crept into summer, which slouched into autumn, after hundreds of highlighted paragraphs on mens rea and thousands of annotations on procedural processes, after so many shots of espresso long past closing time at the on-campus coffee shop where he was a part-time barista, fuel you'd always insisted on paying for, although he'd raided innumerable cans of redbull from your dorm free of charge, and you said you didn't really like their taste anyway so then why did you always happen to have a full six-pack stocked in your fridge?

Just another mystery he's never given much mind, with all the case studies the both of yall have had to cram in your heads instead, and after losing count of the stacks of flashcards blurring in your hand and the smirks you'd flashed him every time you scored a few points higher than him on a pop quiz, and now you're here, in his room, on your knees, having pulled the Milky Way galaxy into your gaze, dragging a comet up through his belly, pillars of fire erupting in his lungs as he witnesses the moonrise of your mouth, soft lips curving crescent sharp around a question, a question just for him, both the sincere desire - the hunger - in your eyes and lilt in your tone makes his pulse leap to his throat, makes his blood plummet south as you ask, just this once, if he trusts you to make him feel good too?

And he's trembling, as is the answer on his tongue, only the familiarity of your audacity grounding him somehow, because you're asking it with that smile, the smile which has been wrapped and squeezing around his head, for longer than you could possibly know...

© sandsorghum. 2025

[maybethepongpongdripsthrough]

https://archiveofourown.org/works/64527445

The brainworms have grown too strong so I am joining the legion of saxloch sideblogs. I bring an offering of a fic I wrote a couple weeks ago, hopefully will write more soon!!

[gutsby]

Bigger in Texas

Pairing: Joel Miller x Reader

Summary: Joel won’t fit.

Warnings: 18+. Unprotected p-in-v. Size kink (seriously, don’t read if you hate big dicks / disgusting descriptions) Penis and pussy pronouns. Virginity loss. Age gap. Praise kink. Daddy kink. Joel ‘hung like a fucking horse’ Miller is a soft dom and also a good teacher. Competence kink (?)

Note: Somebody made a fic challenge to use penis pronouns, and I can’t for the life of me remember who it was. If y’all find them please show them this and tell them I love their brain 🫠

Update: @sp00kymulderr you’re a legend for this. Dick pronouns are engrained in my brain, and I’m forever grateful.

Word count: 2.3k

This wasn’t the life Joel Miller had pictured for himself.

The dead coming back to roam the world and eradicate most of its population, for one. The cold. Finding his baby brother way out here in Wyoming with a wife and a child on the way. The looks he was getting these days. It’s not like he’d asked to get mixed up with a girl your age. It just happened. And since damn near every-fucking-thing that had “happened” to him since outbreak day fifteen years back had been bottom of the barrel, full-blown nightmare territory, the second he saw a good thing fumble across his path, he’d seized it—you.

You, who were young enough to be his daughter.

You, who’d never seen a man fully before meeting him.

You, who hadn’t squeezed so much as a finger in herself.

But much like his past, Joel Miller was a sordid and sick kind of man, and he had the cock to prove it: presently weeping precum at the site of your softest, tightest hole, smearing the pearly-white slick through your folds with a sound so sweet it was nauseating. Begging for entrance.

“Oughta have a boy your age pop your cherry, kid.”

It was simple.

“Ain’t right havin’ a man my age all in your guts.”

And true.

The head of his cock made another wet, sickening noise through your folds, and as though instigated by the sound, your eyes flitted to the source. You smiled.

“Probably. But I want you,” you answered. Soft.

Joel got harder, and he hadn’t thought that was possible. His gaze joined yours, and the sight nearly finished him.

Beneath him, your legs had spread wider, showcasing that perfectly glistening seam alongside the head of his cock. He looked huge. Or you looked small. Or perhaps it was both, and he was old, and he really shouldn’t be doing this at all, but then his hips stuttered a bit and his length pushed in. Joel hissed and seized the headboard.

It wouldn’t even go in. The tip just stretched the rim.

“Baby, fuck—” Joel whimpered.

“He’s so big.”

Three little words from your lips, and it almost did him in.

Again.

You wriggled your hips and flashed another happy grin.

“He wants in, daddy. I can feel him pulsin’ like I am.”

You volleyed a look up to Joel as if to say, ‘So that means we’re ready, right? Will you let me have him?’

And, strangled by guilt as he was, Joel couldn’t resist.

He let his big, bulbous, leaking head sink in the tiniest bit, and he let out a groan. Your walls were so tight. This was him, too—his tip was oversized, just like the rest of him—and when it notched in an inch, Joel could see the pain flash quick in your eyes. His hips moved to retreat.

But then your heels were lifting and digging in his ass, and though strained, your voice made it out, weakly:

“Don’t, daddy. I want him.”

Joel couldn’t dream of refusing.

And his vision blurred more at that word, him.

“I-I know. He wants you too, baby—”

Another quarter-inch.

“—so, so bad.”

“Daddy!”

Joel had to blink to try and wake from his daze. His tip was so warm, hugged so perfect and snug and wet, that he didn’t even realize that was all that fit. He was stuck.

You whimpered again.

“‘S’too big, daddy. Just make him go in.”

Your eyes rolled with indignation and overwhelming pleasure alike, and your hips squirmed again. This time, you tried to nudge him in deeper, but your body simply wouldn’t budge; you’d reached the widest part of him.

“Honey, it’s—”

“Hurtin’! I need you inside me.” you cried, impatient.

“Just takes a little time to get there, darlin’—”

“Well, get to it, then. A tip ain’t enough.”

Joel’s face flushed. He might’ve been forced to bite back a laugh under any other circumstances, but this was your virginity. His bed. Your naked bodies, together, tonight.

He wasn’t about to rush it now and fuck everything up.

“This tip’s about to paint your pretty insides white and make you wait til next week to try again if you keep it up.”

That made you go still.

You shook your head while Joel released the headboard from his grip and took your hip in it instead. He grunted.

“Sweet pea, you gotta see—” he resumed, voice low, “—it won’t feel good for you or me if I just…push right in.”

You sighed, feeling his hold tighten.

“Tongue and fingers only do so much. You gotta learn.”

You whined, digging your feet in deeper when his tip drew back to your entrance. Looking a bit squeamish.

“Be brave…and patient for me.”

From the look in your eyes, Joel could tell you probably hated him right now. That was just fine. He adjusted his hips to a more comfortable place, and then he pinched your hip bone. He nudged you back, and he let you wait.

Then, right when you opened your mouth, he sank in.

Joel thrusted with only his tip, the size of a small lime, and he fucked your hole gently. Back and forth. Shallow.

It did enough. You squeezed both his forearms.

“Oh, daddy.” Your bottom lip trembled as you said it.

With his free hand, Joel smoothed your hair back.

“Yeah, what is it, baby?” he murmured, dulcet as ever, “Thought you said the tip ain’t enough for you, sugar.”

His words came slow. His strokes were delivered quick, though tenderly. Your brain appeared to be in a fog, or a trance, as your chin dipped down toward your chest, and you watched him breach the first inch of you repeatedly.

“Curious little thing.” Joel couldn’t fight the chuckle now.

“He’s so…” you trailed off.

You squeezed his arms, and he squeezed your hip back. He let you watch him fuck you with only his tip, and when your head began to tilt back from the strain, he reached up with his other hand and held the back of your neck. He felt you clench at that, and you both groaned.

“So…big,” you finished, eyes glazed.

“I know.”

This went on for the longest time: Joel stretching the first precious inch of your pussy with the head of himself, you watching and breathing deeply, whimpering occasionally, and him holding at the nape of your neck like a softer touch might lose you to him forever. Was this teaching? When you clenched again, he reckoned it was.

“That’s it, honey. Watch her swallow me.”

“Stretches real pretty for the tip, doesn’t she?”

“Bet she can’t even fit another inch of this cock.”

Suddenly, your head was jerking up under his hold.

Eyes flaring with a hot, juvenile kind of anger: “I can!”

Joel clicked his tongue against the backs of his teeth and pretended not to hear. He also had to feign indifference when your walls tightened and all but choked his head and a wave of new pleasure surged up through his body.

“She can, Joel, I’m serious!”

Another two seconds of this and Joel sensed he might see tears. Though his gaze had trailed up to yours, and the look in his appeared stern, deep down, he was just as quick to want to cave. He just hid it better than you did.

“You think so, sweet pea?”

“I know so. I need it.”

“Need him?”

“Y-Yes.”

How sweet you seemed. How naive you must be.

Joel might’ve been mean, but he wasn’t cruel. He also liked teaching lessons as much as he enjoyed showing you the way, so in the next second, he obliged. He took the last shallow thrust of his tip and sank into your cunt.

As he filled you, you whined. It only took an inch or two.

“Da-a-ddy. Please.”

You must’ve been begging for lenience. Joel retreated.

Then, much to the man’s surprise, you kicked your feet. Not in relief but in protest, shaking your head up at him:

“Put him back. Please. D-Deeper.”

It was as though Joel’s brain had exited through the back of his head and all rational thought escaped him, for the moment. The only voice he heard was yours. It was pleading. And in between your legs, you were soaked.

So drenched to allow him another inch. Then another. Then another. Joel fucked in gently and felt a seismic wave of pleasure seize his limbs—and likely yours, as well. It was as though in two blinks, you’d forgotten the pain altogether. You were suffused with need instead, eyes wincing and lips curling and sounds leaving your throat like an animal in heat. Want him deeper, please.

Joel sawed back and forth with just those five or so inches and made you writhe underneath him. Felt you clamp down on his thick, slippery cock and heard the remnants of your shared arousal making sounds as your body accepted him. Stretching wider. Getting wetter. Bringing him closer to the edge with every breath.

“She’s doin’…so good f’me,” Joel told you, brainless.

His thumb drifted to your clit. He rubbed it gently. No sooner had he finished the first circle around that nub when your hips were stirring again—this time incensed.

“Daddy.”

“I know, baby. I know.”

Joel kissed the top of your head, thumb insistent. When his eyes met yours, he was surprised to find them wet this time. Tears pooling and streaking down to your temples while your body bounced gently beneath his thrusts. A whimper trembled out, and Joel slowed.

He could tell from that look you didn’t want him to stop, though. It just felt so good. So, instead of dropping his pace too much, Joel cupped your chin in one hand, and with the other, he kept thumbing at your clit. Humming.

“Poor thing’s never had something this big in ‘er, huh?”

You shook your head. Cried a little more.

Joel kissed the tears on one side, lips smiling as he did.

“I can tell, baby. But she’s taking it so well.”

“Y-Yeah?”

His hips sped up a little. The thrusts were still shallower than they normally would be, given your state, but they seemed to be working well enough. You winced again.

Joel kissed the other side of your face to take more tears.

“Uh-huh,” he answered, “Openin’ up real nice for daddy.”

It was like his words worked as well as his thumb on your clit. You whimpered again, lips parting a little wider now, and the sound that came out was as desperate and feverish and fuck-drunk as Joel had ever heard it.

“S-Say it again,” you pleaded.

“Say what?”

“That he’s…stretchin’ me open. Makin’ me his.”

The soft, slick resonance between your body and his seemed to amplify even more—you were getting wetter, and Joel’s thrusts all but shook the bed with their force.

His eyes darkened when he felt you tighten again.

“Yeah? You like hearin’ all the filthy fuckin’ things your daddy’s doing? The way he’s breakin’ you in for him?”

You nodded. Your throat constricted with a moan.

And, just when a fresh set of tears seemed to be close on the horizon, Joel lowered himself to you. He held you to his chest, hips working relentlessly, and he watched your face screw up in pleasure. A trace of pain surfaced again, but it was soothed with a kiss. Joel grinned against you.

Between your thighs, his cock was throbbing with a feeling just as big. He knew he couldn’t keep this up much longer. Hurting and aching and needing as you were, he had to make sure that you would cum first.

When his cock grazed a fleshy, sensitive patch inside your walls, he knew it wouldn’t take much. He went on:

“C’mon, sugar. Daddy’s split you open on his cock so nice, least you can do is cum for him. Can you do that?”

His nose brushed yours. His thrusts sped up. You nodded, quickly, and when he shifted in the bed with his thumb still on your clit and his lips and his stubble grazing your mouth with every push of himself, he felt it.

It was a small pulse, at first.

Joel thought you might be adjusting—clenching—again, when the lips that were trembling against his own parted more. Your arms wound around his neck, and suddenly the throb of your walls around his member got tighter and tighter and tighter. One more second and your cunt might’ve squeezed the hot, sticky seed right out of his body and flooded your insides with it, but then came release. The ‘o’ of your mouth let out a shriek, at last, and your body went soft around him, beneath him, whining in turn, ‘Daddy, daddy, please’ while the muscles once taut and unflinching gave him reprieve. Fluttering repeatedly.

Joel fucked you through it. He talked you through it.

He stroked your hair, and he held you tight. Called you his sweetheart, pretty thing, perfect girl, you’re doin’ so good f’me. Keep going. That’s right, cum all over daddy. He told you to take what you needed, and without another word, he felt just that. Your cunt spasmed around him, and you consumed every inch he gave and drank every drop of spend shooting out in thick spurts.

You fell boneless on the bed when all was said and done.

You looked happy, and that made Joel even happier.

He stroked your cheek, and you leaned into it, clearly drained while your gaze held his in a weak sort of look.

It was soft. Loving, even. It could’ve been romantic.

Then Joel’s hand slipped down to the nape of your neck again. Your muscles were limp, like all the rest of you, but somehow, he was able to hold you up. Tilt your chin a bit.

Make you peer down between your shaking legs, where his cock was still sheathed inside you—partly, anyway.

Your eyes widened. Joel grinned.

“You did great, baby. Ready for the other half of him?”

can y’all believe this image is what inspired this fic HA

it’s only Thursday i’m sorry 😔

[writingadjacent]

“I’m tired of this,” Steve said, his eyes a little bit glazed over. He had taken a single drag of the join in Eddie’s hand so he couldn’t be that high. But the feeling of warmth was probably jetting through his body. “Of feeling like this.” 

Eddie, sitting next to him on the grass by the quarry, turned to look at Steve. The joint in his hand puffed in the air. “Feeling like what, Steve?” 

“Tired. Feeling tired and achy,” Steve said, reaching for the joint and inhaling deeply. The smoke exhaled his mouth in swirling tendrils, Eddie found it to be the hottest thing he’d ever seen. Every time he saw it was hotter than the last. “And just… done. I want to wake up rested.”

“It’s been so long since I woke up rested,” Eddie mumbled, his eyes moving from Steve’s silhouette to the horizon line. The trees were dark and the stars in the sky were sparkling in a way that Eddie was sure wasn’t real and was more a reflection of what Eddie wanted to see than reality. 

Steve nodded. “I want to sleep well and I want to wake up feeling invigorated. Is that something I’ll never get again?” 

Shrugging, Eddie took the joint offered by Steve. His hand shook for a second, simply from the tension Eddie was carrying in his hands. They just did that sometimes. 

“Dunno.” 

Eddie really didn’t. Who in the world would know the answer to that? It was something so unknowable about yourself that it was impossible to try and figure out someone else's. He wondered, for a second, his eyes on Steve’s profile, if maybe he could fix it for Steve. If he could figure out what was wrong about sleeping and fix it. 

“What sucks about sleeping?” 

“What?” Steve asked, turning to look Eddie in the eyes for a quick second before looking away just as Eddie’s skin started to crawl from the attention. 

“Like, what makes sleeping not right for you?” 

“Sleeping is right, it’s nice. It’s the only time everything is quiet and I get to be nowhere. I don't really know what’s wrong that makes me tired all the time,” Steve said, responding with a bit of a sigh. He looked back out over the quarry and Eddie followed his line of sight. 

It was just dark trees and the soft orange of the sky in the direction of the town. It wasn’t real light pollution, not like Indianapolis’ yellow in the sky. But it was the small-town equivalent. “So you don't know.” 

“Nope.” Steve exhaled roughly. Eddie watched as Steve just, gave up on holding his body up and flopped down on the blanket they sat on. His hair framed his face like a halo, beautiful and heavenly. Eddie’s brain always thought Steve was angelic when it was high, probably because Steve was, angelic. “How could I, I’m asleep when it’s happening.” 

“What if you slept next to someone who could tell you?” Eddie said, his voice probably a little rough as he took a drag. 

“Sure.” 

Well, Eddie wasn’t sure what he’d just done. Did he agree to something? Did he proposition something? What just happened? The sky was dark and Eddie lay down next to Steve. “Sleep at my place tonight, or we could go to yours, whatever you want. I’ll tell you if you’re, like, sleeping weird or something.” 

“Yeah, okay. Tonight?” Steve asked, his voice sounding kind of far away.

Eddie shrugged, “Why not.”

[madaqueue]

18+ MDNI - m!reader x sub!satoru

glassy blue eyes stare up at you, unfocused.

pinching his reddened cheeks, your roughened fingertips force his lips apart, allowing your saliva to land on his tongue. he swallows automatically.

tilting your head, you release the grasp on his face. “what do you say, satoru?”

it takes him a moment to respond - it takes him a moment to think at all.

“thank you.”

his words are airy, spoken more from practice than a response to anything you’re doing at this point. right now, he’s too occupied with the way you stretch him out, the way he feels so fucking full, the indents your shortened nails leave on his hips, the strain in his thighs from his legs being tossed over your muscled shoulders.

you see it, of course, as his jaw slacks open, drool pooling at the corner of his lips. placing a gentle peck to his cheek, the cool scent of aftershave lingering on his skin, your hand settles along his jaw.

“aww, you sweet thing,” you coo, “can’t even think, huh, baby?”

he just nods - when you laugh, his mouth twitches into a smile, just at hearing the sound (because it means you’re happy, it means he’s doing the right things, it means he’s being good).

with each thrust of your cock into him, his head gets heavier and heavier, the feel of your skin against his lulling him into ecstasy. ‘the strongest,’ now reduced to nothing more than a pliable toy for you to play with. and he’s never been happier.

“that’s okay,” you hum - the warm rasp in your voice makes him melt into the sheets, “i’ll take care of you. i love you, y’know that, ‘toru?”

his blue eyes have never been brighter as he nods.

a/n: i need to fuck him in a way that would concern others

teehee >:) @teddybeartoji @musouie @quinnyundertow

[sweetberry-roebuck]

Hey y'know when the current moment is transcendently beautiful and meaningful and true, but you know that it is temporary and you can't help but feel existentially haunted by that fact. You know when you are experiencing beautiful heartrending art and you feel lost in the moment and then its over. You know how you'll experience art or human connection or a walk on a nice day and you know the sunlight on your skin will fade and you'll forget how it felt to be this warm.

You know in video games when there is one experience-definingly gleeful or touching or viscerally emotional moment that soon ends and leaves you with something more complicated, more doomed, more cyclical? You know? You know how it feels to dig your claws and teeth into a moment and try as hard as you can to feel it and to remember it and to make it part of yourself? Do you know??

[chdarling]

bahahaha get fucked alodie

[jetblxck]

Pov: i just took you back to my place for some freaky deaky. we burst into the bedroom unable to control ourselves. as you start getting undressed you realize there are hundreds of pictures of gerard and frank from the american rock band my chemical romance all over the walls. you turn around and there standing is a life size cut out of gerard way, singer of said band with a silly hat on. you are confused, but intrigued and keep getting undressed.

[shitouttabuck]

don’t wanna let you love somebody else but me

buck/eddie | 14.7k | rated t

“Well, we’re doing a fancy dinner and mini golf and karaoke,” Buck says, “and those are kinda date activities anyway, right?” “Right,” Eddie says slowly. “Except it’s Chim’s bachelor party, so we can hardly bring dates along, even if we could find them. That’d be weird.” “Well,” Buck says, “I was thinking… what if we were each other’s dates?” Eddie’s brain bluescreens for a moment. Buck must take his total lack of reaction for disagreement, because he hurriedly says, “Like, a pretend date. That way we could test out our, like you said, moves on each other. And then be totally truthful about whether they worked or not. So we get honest feedback and we don’t have to worry about finding someone to try them out on and we can still make it to Chim’s party. And then give Chris some advice before Sunday. Right? Does that make sense?”

or, chris wants dating advice and it turns out taking your best friend on a pretend date to practice being as romantic as possible is not a good idea in theory or in practice, considering the pesky being-in-unrequited-love of it all

read on ao3

[thegatheringdust]

I think Regulus died calmly. When those cold, corpselike hands dragged him under, he wasn’t scared. He knew he made the right choice. In those last moments before the water filled his lungs, Regulus thought of the people he loved most, of James and Sirius. He wanted to protect them from the danger he knew was coming, from the looming threat of a man who feared death so much that he was willing to go to the most monstrous ends to escape it.

Regulus knew some things were worth dying for. His sun and his guiding star—they were worth dying for.

[jaggedteeth]

𝔰𝔩𝔞𝔰𝔥

teen & up | lawlight | 1695 words

The one where Light gets caught reading Kira/L smut.

[arrowheadedbitch]

Hermes, rushing into the classroom like an over excited puppy that can fly, surprising everyone: Hey, did you get my letter :D it's really important, I gotta take you now

Kaminari: You mean the one you left on my desk while I was out of the classroom less than three minutes ago? Yes, I read it and for the last time, I have SCHOOL

Hermes: That lame thing? Just tell them it's important or whatever!

Kaminari: I can't just ditch school anytime you wanna start a fight or get icecream or whatever!

Hermes: No, it's fine! I'll just talk to your school's king-

Kaminari: Principal.

Hermes: Principal, and tell him you have to leave!

Kaminari: How about you just wait outside the building and I can tell you why this is a horrible idea then, kay?

Hermes: No time! I'm a busy guy, you know that, Denks!

Kaminari: THEN DO YOU'RE OTHER JOBS FIRST!

Hermes: Come on! It's a matter of life or death!

Kamimari: Maybe for me! I have a feeling you're not in any danger and won't be in the near future.

Hermes: Exactly! You could die! All the more reason to come!

Kaminari: No! No, it isn't! The fact that going with you means I might die is absolutely not a good argument!

Hermes: Oh, please, like you don't have buddies down there anyway. Come on, we gotta goooo!! I don't want to be in this boring room any longer!

Kaminari: It is truly bone-chilling that I'M the responsible one around you.

Hermes: I know, right? I hate it, I like you more when you're reckless.

Kaminari: Of course you do, now GO AWAY! Go wait in the dorm's lounge or something. Just don't get me in trouble.

Hermes: Oh, we both know I'm not capable of that.

Aizawa: What the fuck is going on here? And you, get OUT of my classroom!

Hermes: Jeez, touchy much? Fine, I'll wait outside, and you have to deal with this guy every day?

Aizawa and Kaminari: GO!

Hermes: Okay, fine! Geez, way to make a guy feel welcome!

The rest of the class: 👁👄👁

[stuffandsundry]

Chapters: 1/1 Fandom: Transformers - All Media Types Rating: Explicit Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply Relationships: Megatron/Starscream (Transformers), Soundwave/Starscream (Transformers), Shockwave/Starscream (Transformers), Megatron/Shockwave/Soundwave/Starscream (Transformers) Characters: Starscream (Transformers), Megatron (Transformers), Shockwave (Transformers), Soundwave (Transformers) Additional Tags: Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Sex Toys, Plug and Play Sexual Interfacing (Transformers), Xenophilia but Humans are the Xeno, POV Megatron (Transformers), Bottom Starscream (Transformers), "what if YOU could be sex toys" asked nobody ever Summary:

Megatron turns to look at Starscream and he— gapes. “What is that?”

Military jets are highly specialized for specific atmospheres, so the entire Air Force is constantly undergoing minor reformats on every new planet they land on. Nevertheless, some things always remain the same. For Starscream, that means an orange tinted cockpit, and a red torso. White arms with bright blue on the servos and legs that go on for forever and a half. Windswept white wings with a single, bold red stripe.

The frame that Starscream is currently wearing… technically has all of these components. Yes.

or: Starscream watches human porn and gets terrible, delicious ideas.

[madaqueue]

gn!reader - 18+ MDNI (lots of hand-mouth fuckery)

some are born performers, made to be perceived, intrinsically commanding attention. everything about sukuna drew the spotlight, every pair of eyes landing on him another step he took higher in his ever-ascending ego.

so it came as no surprise that he adored when you watched him pleasure himself.

he knew his own body well, an intimate understanding of exactly where to touch, grab, pinch, bite. every place his fingertips grazed was purposeful, a slow, tantalizing path closer and closer and closer.

when the flesh of his palms opens to reveal sticky, drooling tongues, he guides them with ease along his skin, tracing the deep lines of his tattoos, following their paths down between his legs.

a gentle lick to the tip of his twitching cock.

lips wrapped around his heavy balls.

before you can believe it, saliva coats his skin, mixing with the precum rolling down his length, reflecting in the low light of his bedroom.

candlelight glimmers behind your eyes, traveling over the contours of his chest, unable to stray from his movements. he hadn’t even touched you, and yet you found yourself panting, skin burning hot.

his own gaze is locked on your face, the utter awe behind it. through a smirk, he lets out a low grunt - and you, you can’t help but whimper at the sound (just the reaction he was hoping for).

you don’t even need him to touch you anymore - you need to touch him.

against your better judgement, your arm extends towards him; it’s not even hesitant, you know what you need, it feels foolish to deny it when he’s right here, within arm’s reach-

but sukuna can’t let you interrupt the show. he immediately smacks you away with one of his free hands, silently scolding you, as if you should know better.

(and you do - but you just couldn’t help yourself. it’s not even your fault, not really - not when he looks so fucking ethereal, shadows dancing along the flexing muscles of his arms as they circle his cocks, abs tensing with each purposeful motion of the tongues writhing from his palms)

by now, there’s drool pooling along the corner of your own lips. sukuna is quick to point out just how ravished you already seem with a chuckle. “enjoying the show?” his low voice easily fills the space, as though he was the only thing you’ve ever heard, the only thing you’ll ever need to hear again.

your mouth is dry as you nod. within the kimono draped over your hips, you futilely attempt to adjust your position to quell the ache growing inside you, legs rubbing together as you shift along the comforter.

maroon eyes flit below your waist - perhaps the sign of your arousal was more visible under the dim light than you anticipated (or perhaps he can simply read the eagerness on your face).

he sighs through a sly grin. a free hand reaches to your place on the bed, before a sudden wetness licks up your inner thigh. you shudder in expectation as he purrs, “but what’s a show without its audience, after all?”

[gerogerigaogaigar]

Phineas and Ferb fascinates me from a structural standpoint. I'll admit I haven't watched the show front to back, but I've caught the odd episode here and there and I certainly get the gist of it.

The first time I saw P&F it seemed charming but unremarkable, the second and probably third time it became obvious that it was a clever but formulaic show. At some point it clicked. Children's shows are usually formulaic, Dee Dee will destroy Dexter's invention, Elmer Fudd will fail to hunt the Wabbit, He-Man will defeat Skeletor, and Sisyphus will roll that boulder up that hill. Phineas and Ferb asks not just that we imagine Sisyphus happy, but that we imagine that he is ecstatic to see that boulder roll down the hill.

Where the status quo is an unspoken rule of older cartoons it is the explicit law of the P&F universe. There is a roadmap to every episode, you probably already know it but I will spell it out regardless. Phineas will say the phrase "I know what we're gonna do today" thus kicking off their project for the episode. Candace will try and fail to get them "busted". There will be a musical number. Meanwhile Doofenshmirtz will have made an -inator that Perry will be called upon to destroy. Perry will get caught, Doofenshmirtz will explain his plan, Perry will escape, destroy the -inator and the ensuing chaos will clean up Phineas and Ferb's backyard shenanigans just in time for their mom to get home. Ferb says something at the very end, often his only line in the whole episode. The end.

There are stock lines that must be said. "I know what we're gonna do today" "I wonder where Perry is" "Busted" "🎵Doofenshmirtz Evil Incorporated🎶". The show doesn't just have a cartoon status quo, the universe operates off of the laws of cartoon status quo to the extent that characters actively notice when the cycle doesn't complete correctly. The characters seemingly know that their world operates on cartoon physics, but to them it's just physics. In P&F a giant whirlwind carrying away a giant backyard amusement park is as natural as gravity.

Candace's place as the character who knows this is all insane must be a tortuous existence considering the whole world is conspired against her. Not out of a cosmic meanness but a deep thematic kindness. Candace is the only character whose intent is to cause purposeful harm and the universe will not let her get away with it.

Truly this is one of the most unerringly kind shows I've ever seen. It is unreal how much faith it puts into wordplay, running jokes, and raw absurdity to carry itself while never stepping into the realm of cartoon cruelty.

You know cartoon cruelty. It's why Tom gets punished for Jerry's actions and why the Trix rabbit can never eat his own damn cereal. At its best cartoon cruelty manifests as Ed, Edd n Eddy or the Looney Tunes short Duck Amok where there is catharsis in seeing the characters hoisted by their own petard. At its worst you get CatDog which is so intensely cruel to the character of Cat that I can't comprehend what the writers were going for.

The confident lack of irony is part of what makes Phineas And Ferb work. The show is a parade of cartoon cliches and dad jokes and it never it never winks at the viewer or lampshades how silly this is. It just has absolute faith that the corniest jokes ever really are that funny. And so they are. I actually laugh out loud every time they do the "Aren't you a little young for this?" "Yes, yes I am" bit. Maybe it's the delivery, maybe it's just the confidence in the bit. Probably a bit of both. I am smiling to myself just thinking of this dumb running joke.

But what this all amounts to is what every bit of fandom wankery amounts to. I am of course talking about shipping. For my money the best bit in the show is the romantic framing of Doofenshmirtz and Perry's rivalry. This is where the show's cartoon logic and unrepentant kindness synthesize perfectly. The homoerotic undertones of the spy/supervillain dynamic are an extremely tired observation and are usually only emphasized in an ironic sense to poke fun at pieces that never intended the gay subtext. P&F flips this joke by not being even a little bit ironic about it, but still adhering to the unspoken nature of the gag.

The end result is that Perry and Doofenshmirtz's status as a romantic couple is tacitly understood to be part of the shows status quo, but never commented on. The world of P&F is too inherently kind to be homophobic (homophobia being a key component of the joke) but it still has a joke shaped hole to fill. So it does the funniest possible thing and fills the hole with nothing. The joke is the lack of a joke. The expectation of a joke that is met with a shrug from the show's own internal logic. And that's really funny. An evil scientist and a platypus are in a loving relationship that happens to also be a hero/villain rivalry. Don't worry about it. It's not the weirdest thing happening in the tri state area I promise.

[ragsy]

The Hole to Nowhere in Your Kitchen Floor (2nd Edition)

This morning, you find a hole.

It's not huge-- about the size of your fist, punched straight through the kitchen's yellowed vinyl tile and underlying subfloor. It's dark inside this hole; a dense, viscous black that suppresses any chance of seeing the bottom. Loose crumbs from the floor, nudged into the gap, make no sound when they drop. Especially curious, given that you're pretty sure there should be another apartment below you.

You add it to your growing pile of concerns: Dishes. Food. Rent. Medical bills. The hole to nowhere in your kitchen floor.

You kick a rug over the hole to nowhere in your kitchen floor and finish getting dressed. In a flurry of shoelaces, jangling keys, and slammed car doors, it is forgotten.

But later, at work, your mind wanders to the hole to nowhere in your kitchen floor. Was it there yesterday? Was it something you did wrong? Did it happen on its own? Will it get bigger? Are you going to get billed for this?

You had only given it a cursory glance. Maybe you were mistaken. It's probably not even a hole to nowhere in your kitchen floor, it's just a a hole to your downstairs neighbor's kitchen ceiling. This wouldn't be the first time they've had a reason to complain about you. It probably won't be the last.

Suddenly it's six in the evening. You barely remember the drive home.

Inside your apartment, you kick off your shoes and toe away the rug over the hole to nowhere in the kitchen floor. You stare into it. You sit next to it. You trace it with your finger. It could almost be a natural, like an animal burrow or a knothole in a tree. You think about measuring it, telling people about it, you want to drop small objects down its throat. What would happen? Doesn't everyone want to know? You want to know.

Your cat winds around your ankles. She touches her paws to the edges of the hole to nowhere in your kitchen floor; You swat her away and conceal it with the rug again. Somehow, it's after midnight. Your stomach churns. You don't sleep. You resolve that tomorrow, you'll tell your landlord about the hole to nowhere in your kitchen floor.

In the morning, you find the rug heaped in a rough pile at the opposite end of the room. The hole to nowhere in your kitchen floor lies naked. Is it bigger?

A warm, humid breeze wafts out of the hole to nowhere in your kitchen floor. You text your landlord. Mold problem, you suggest.

The vinyl flooring curls away from the edges of the cavity in tiny waves. The hole to nowhere in your kitchen floor sits stoic, silent, and empty. You want it gone. You want to be part of it. Is it bigger? You could probably fit your head inside it now. You should eat. A firm headbutt from the cat reminds you that she should eat too.

You pour her some kibble. You resume your place by the hole to nowhere in your kitchen floor. Maybe it's hungry too?

You blink. That's stupid. It's just a hole. You haul yourself to your feet.

You search in vain for the rug, and with an unceremonious clunk drop a baking sheet over the hole to nowhere in your kitchen floor.

You go to work.

You come home.

You go to bed.

Once again, you don't sleep.

At dawn, you find yourself crouched at the precipice. Is it bigger? The emptiness inside it smells just as warm and wet as it did yesterday. You could definitely shimmy your aching body in there now.

You nudge one of your shoes over the edge. You watch as the darkness swallows it whole. You wait for the echoing impact that will never come. For good measure, you prod the other shoe in after it. Hate to waste one of a pair.

You drop more objects into the hole to nowhere in your kitchen floor: a spatula, a lamp, a family-size bottle of ibuprofen, canned goods from your pantry. You imagine the rush they would feel as they fall. You're beyond embarrassment of your envy of that can of peas.

It's two in the morning, and you drag yourself to bed. Has your stomach ever hurt this badly? Did the cat even bother you for her dinner?

You don't sleep. Your sheets are saturated with cold sweat. A rumble echoes through your apartment.

As objects around your room vibrate themselves from their shelves, a chorus of crashes and shatters and sweet farewells accompany the thrumming.

In the morning, the hole to nowhere in the kitchen floor is waiting for you. You pour a dustpan full of broken figurines into its mouth. Breakfast.

You pull up a chair and sit in its company. Does anyone else have a hole to nowhere in their kitchen floor? You perish the thought. You never get to feel special.

Later, your fatigue draws you from your seat and onto the ground. Later still, you lie, face against the sticky vinyl, next to the hole to nowhere in your kitchen floor. It's only a little wider than you are tall. You could slide inside it with little effort. You still can't see its bottom. Maybe it's rude to be looking for one. You close your eyes.

The rumbling, like a monstrous purr, soothes your body. Occasionally, the ground quakes. Somewhere in your apartment, a framed picture crashes from the wall.

The day passes. Crawling to bed, you collapse just inside your bedroom door. For once, you're blessed with sleep.

When you stir, the hole to nowhere in your kitchen floor meets you at the threshold of your bedroom; its yawning gullet now having consumed your fridge, your stove, your pots and pans. Water gushes from severed plumbing, jetting out gallon after gallon that glitters in the morning sun before dropping silently into the void below. Your tongue is dry on your cracked lips.

Now, you seat yourself on the edge of the hole to nowhere in your kitchen floor. You dangle your feet into darkness. You can just barely make out the tips of your toes; everything beyond them falls away from view. You note the set of small, frantic claw scratches that are trenched into the floor along the edge. She's fine, you tell yourself. There's no bottom, after all.

A knock at the door, and your attention returns in a snap. Your muscles and joints are sore. How many hours have you been sitting there for? When did the hole to nowhere in your kitchen floor swallow your dinner table? Just as well, you hadn't needed it recently anyway.

There's that knock again. You wait for it to go away. The ground before your door crumbles, and you watch as the doormat slides helplessly into the hole to nowhere in your kitchen floor.

You hear the rattle of a key entering the lock, and then the clack of the deadbolt. When the door swings open, your landlord is silhouetted against the hall lights outside your apartment. What is he yelling about? Why is he here, again? He should just leave. Can't he see you're busy?

The floor beneath you tremors. You lock eyes with him. He's saying something to you. He's reaching for you. Your lips move, but your words are lost to your ears. The color drains from your landlord's face, and he takes a step backward in fear. His footing slips. Arms flailing, key ring launched from his grip: From the edge of the crumbling floor, he topples headfirst into the hole to nowhere in your kitchen floor. His scream is cut short as he is engulfed. It's like he was never here.

You release your held breath. Lucky bastard. Maybe your cat will bother him for kibble as they fall together.

Alone again, you lie down next to the hole to nowhere in your kitchen floor. Your body trembles and your limbs are leaden. The ground convulses violently beneath you. Across the chasm, your living room wall has just fallen in.

You fill your chest with the warm, humid air. You extend a hand toward the ink-black brink of nothing.

Meanwhile, our couch is consumed, followed by your TV. Your coffee table tips over the edge after them.

You inch your body toward the precipice of the hole to nowhere in your kitchen floor. The rolling growl chatters your teeth. Your heart skips several beats.

Your front door collapses. Long tongues of hallway carpet dangle into the opening, soon joined by toppling chunks of drywall.

You close your eyes.

You slide yourself forward, past its jagged incisors, down, down, into its embrace, into nothing, into everything.

If there's a bottom, there's nothing left of you when you find it.