#or whatever the fuck you people call it now i'm old

[delusion-mostly]

Regina George x Reader

Part 1/32 (yeah I know, right?)

Warnings: angst if you squint, name calling, suggestive wording

I wrote this a while ago, if you think I need to add anything else for this one, lmk!

Word count: 1,265

"What the hell are you doing on my ice, George? The hockey team already released the team list, we can't accept anyone else. Either way, we don't like drama."

"Actually, I'm not on the ice," Regina gives you a dirty look, pointing at the fact that she is right outside the ice, not on it, "and ew, this does not sound appealing. You look like a fridge wearing a knockoff dollar-store sports jersey. This also looks a bit rough." she makes a gesture at your outfit, and size.

Well, she was right. The school had a small budget for the women's team, and you tower over her. Your shoulder pads add to the size, you really are built like a fridge at the moment.

"Then what are you here for? To call me another slur?" You take your helmet off and lean your head down on your stick, smirking, "here for a good time?"

Regina fake gags, "Absolutely no. Gross. Quit speaking," she gives another dirty look, "I saw the poster that you needed a manager for the team. I can't play any sports and everything is so fucking lame. I can at least see fights here." She shrugs

"And why do you of all people want to be involved in anything  that doesn't involve pretty pink glitter and being a massive bitch?" Putting emphasis in the 'B' in bitch, you poke Regina with your stick.

"If I didn't have to I wouldn't," she shoves the stick off of her shoulder, "but my therapist is making me. I can't let last year consume me, and I have to be helpful or whatever."

You look at the clock and put your helmet back on then glide across the ground, your skates leaving gashes in the ice. Regina stands by the opening into the rink, dumbfounded that someone had just walked away from her. The clock makes a loud buzzing noise and pucks fly into the net and scatter the ice around it.

"Well, George, you gotta work up the food chain here," you get a smug look on your face, "Practice is over! We don't have to get the pucks tonight. Our lovely new manager Miss Regina George will get it for us. Won't you?" you skate up to the blonde, whose eyes sit wide.

The team leaves to the locker room before leaving the building as Regina nods. She could not believe that someone had actually spoken to her like that. You ask her shoe size, go to the locker room, and come out with a pair of skates. They are blue and gold, and old. Like, really old looking. The blade is sharp but the leather is worn and creased. You intentionally grabbed the oldest pair that would fit her. Queen Bee George wouldn't own the ice like she did the rest of the school. You drop the skates in front of Regina.

"You expect me to know how the hell to put these on?"

"Are you ACTUALLY kidding me right now George?" You don't get an answer, so you sit down in front of Regina, "wow you aren't. I will do this one time, and one time only." You hold up a one on your hand and Regina nods.

You lace the skates while Regina complains about how tight they are, then you describe why they had to be so tight, she finds some way to complain about your reasoning too. You lead her on to the ice, she isn't an awful skater, although she falls once. You teach her how to collect the pucks by scooting the net around the ice, then take her to the locker room.

"I really need to get out of these clothes, but as the captain it's my job to tell you what your jobs are. So I hope you don't mind," You start taking off your jersey, "so basically you will make sure the locker room and ice stays clean. You'll scrape the ice, make sure it's clean and pretty, get our stuff on the bus for away games, basic shit." you peel the outer layers of your gear off.

"So I don't have to drive the zimbabwe or whatever?" Regina asks, relief washing over her as she looks at you.

"No you will not be driving a whole ass country, honey," You look dumbfounded, "The custodial staff or our coach are the only ones who operate the ZAMBONI. And quit looking. I can't tell if you're jealous or you want me." You smirk over at Regina as she quickly rotates her head away from your direction.

You finish changing, she glances over at you one more time while your back muscles flex, pulling a shirt over your head. You throw on a pair of faded jeans and a red flannel. You pull your phone out and hand it to Regina on the contacts page.

"This by no means is asking you to ever speak to me outside of anything hockey related, or even hockey related, actually. Never text me," you smile and take the phone back from Regina, "this is just so I can add you to the team group chat."

Regina is left speechless, she has never ever been disrespected like that.

"You literally just met me, what the fuck is your problem? I will not let my year be ruined by your rude ass." Regina scoffs.

"My problem, Regina, is that my name was in that little book of yours. Right next to the words 'body count higher than points scored' and 'hockey lez'," you sit and stare at Regina, "I do not want to talk to you outside of this sport, and I will talk to you as little as I can here. I appreciate that you are getting better and working on your behavior after last years events, but this does not change the fact that words are mean. It didn't hurt, but I don't make company with assholes."

You walk out to your car, a 2015 Subaru Forester. You don't notice Regina's highly recognizable Jeep in the parking lot, and see her walk out of the building. She keeps walking past the parking lot, sprinkles of rain splattering the ground around her. You are an asshole, but not that big of one. You speed out of the lot and pull up next to Regina, who is walking down the side walk with her hot pink hood over her head, and roll your window down.

"Why are you walking? It's raining and you have a nice Jeep. This is ridiculous George." You shout.

"I still don't trust myself driving alone after the accident in case my back locks up, I like the rain, I'm fine." Regina keeps her head forward.

"Are you sure? As captain it is my obligation to make sure everyone get's home safe."

"Oh my God, you have already said you hate me, would you MOVE ON you fucking lesbo." Regina yells.

"Great choice of words when you are trying to better yourself Regina." You clench your jaw, roll your window up, and speed off.

This was going to be one great year, you can just feel it.

[dylanwritesgood]

Pretty Boy | Chapter 1

Slowburn Eddie Munson x Gareth, rated Explicit for (much) later chapters. All TWs in chapter notes.

This is a rewrite of my fic from last year, featuring trans!Gareth falling head over heels for his childhood best friend, Eddie. I could summarize this better, yes, but I won't. Slow to update, ask for a tag or subscribe on Ao3.

Read on Ao3 (account needed)

Tags: @resident-gay-bitch

[myname-isnia]

*wakes up*

*grabs phone*

*email notification*

*new comment on SotRL*

*throws phone to the far side of adjacent couch*

*goes back to sleep*

[thatdogmagic]

The first official step towards banning any and all LGBTQ+ art and literature has been taken.

This is what hypersexualizing queer topics was always leading towards. Expect this to be the signal flare that gets some state legislature barreling forward to enact this exact measure, solely so the bill can be struck down, challenged legally, then taken all the way to SCOTUS.

...

Repeating what I said on Twitter: This is a good time to remind people that just being LGBTQ in this moment in time can be considered an outright radical act, so anything less than going all-in on the life you want to lead is fucking pointless.

Put another way, if you're putting actual time and energy into respectability shit right now, do everyone *and* yourself a huge favor, and stop wasting your time.

You can't fucking negotiate with Christian Terrorists.

...

EDIT:

To be perfectly clear on this -- I made this post in the interests of calling attention to its inevitable end result. I thought (wrongly) it would be taken as a given/it would be implied that I fully think the bill, and any bills like it, are a bad thing, period, end of story. SESTA/FOSTA was a fucking disaster. Anything that further criminalizes sex work and pushes for divorcing people from their bodies/sexuality is just plain wrong.

I will be blunt, though, and say that the people saying 'it won't go that far' need to look again at Evangelicalism, and how far it's willing to go. The fall of Roe was orchestrated over decades of bills exactly like this, field tested in state and federal legislatures, over and over again. It starts here, but it ends with something far worse. And in this case, it's starting with an easy target: sex work. And as with Roe, it will inevitably wash up on the shores of even The Cishets, while the ruling class continues to do whatever the fuck they want, with whomever the fuck they want.

Now is absolutely the time to push back against this shit. Failing to do so just emboldens the people who introduce bills like this. Harsh backlash is needed, right now, against the rising tide of Christian Fascism/Terrorism, and if you happen to think otherwise, then, I'm sorry/not sorry: you're just not paying close enough attention.

EDIT: this is many many months old and it's going around again so I'm locking RTs, eek

[50c14lly4nx10u5]

i don't think some of my bandmates got the message that my Name Changed cuz before the concert i was asked 'are you excited, [old name]?' by one of platy's old friends

i never corrected em cuz i felt too awkward they had literally never talked to me b4 >_<

[writingouthere]

exboyfriend!Sukuna x f!reader.

cw: smut, outdoor sex, angst, controlling behavior.

Your date was a disappointment.

The guy wasn't an asshole or anything, but at some point he'd talked about cryptocurrency for ten minutes straight without you saying a word and there was no coming back from that.

"I had a great time," he tells you as you stand on the subway platform after finally escaping the restaurant. You nod noncommittally and wonder if this is the part where he asks for your number. You're calculating the risk/reward of giving him a fake number and having him potentially call it while you're still right in front of him when you hear a familiar laugh from behind you.

"I doubt it," the voice says and you close your eyes. Maybe if you wish hard enough you can develop teleportation and not have to deal with this.

"I'm sorry, who are you?" your date asks, his voice only wavering a little as he looks at your ex-boyfriend. Honestly, you admire him. The sight of the tall, heavily tattooed (alleged) criminal was usually enough to make people cross the street to avoid him but not this accountant? Investment baker? Dentist? Fuck, he'd talked about his job for thirty minutes and you had not been listening. You would have guilty if you weren't actively judging him for not even noticing your lack of engagement.

Whatever, he probably wasn't brave, he was probably just an idiot.

Sukuna seemed to agree as he laughed again and put his hand on your shoulder.

"I'm her boyfriend."

Your date looked at him, looked at you, and seemed to be weighing if this was worth one mediocre date. He seemed frozen for a second until Sukuna took a step forward and the guy's previously dormant survival instincts seemed to awaken and he booked it down the train platform.

Once he was out of sight, you took Sukuna's hand and dropped it off your shoulder like a fallen leaf that had got stuck on your jacket.

"Are you following me, now?" You wouldn't have put it past him. You turn to face your ex who looks not only unrepentant for his little routine but vindicated. Or maybe he just looks vindictive, you can never tell.

"Are you going on dates with any loser that asks?" He tosses back and you roll your eyes.

"You didn't even meet him."

"So, he wasn't a loser? And you weren't deciding if it was worth giving him a fake number and having him call you right then?"

You hated that he knew you so well.

"He seemed the type to call," you concede and Sukuna scoffs.

"Absolutely, that fucker is. Women have been giving that dumb fuck fake numbers since he was begging for them with his little Nokia flip phone."

"Is Nokia still a thing?" you ask and Sukuna glares at you.

"Do I look like Google to you? Hey, don't try to district me, princess. We were talking about how you seem to have gotten it into your mind that you can cheat on me with any guy with a pulse."

"I'm not cheating on, we're not together," you tell him as your train pulls up. You don't bother protesting as he follows you on it, even though you know the old apartment you used to share is in the other direction from your new place.

"The fuck we're not," he seethes. The other riders look at you and you see one or two guys deciding if it's worth trying to get involved but you're more concerned about the teenage girl who looks ready to fight this asshole for you. God, you loved women.

"You're making a scene," you tell him and he looks ready to make the scene Oscar worthy before you give him the look that used to make him not call your friends' babies ugly when you went to birthday parties.

"Where can we talk then?"

"I'm not taking you to my place," you say and he sucks his teeth.

"Then let's go home."

"You mean to your home."

Sukuna looks furious but you're not in the mood. You had just spent the past two hours on a terrible date, which made you think about how dating was just going to be like this until you found a new boyfriend or gave up, which then made you think about your break up and how up until a few months ago, you thought you would never go on a first date with anyone ever again.

You hated that Sukuna had put you here and you hated that you still loved him.

"I'm not leaving until we talk about this."

"There's nothing to talk about."

You're so tired, Sukuna is so close and it's been so long since you got to smell him or feel his warmth. Your apartment was still barely furnished but everything in it was new and it still didn't feel like home. The one sweatshirt of his you'd let yourself take had stopped carrying his scent weeks ago, and just being close to him now, it made something in you relax. Like you were finally home.

"There fucking is," he hisses and now he's so close you can make out the scar on his jaw and the fullness of his lips. You used to tease him that you'd never met a man whose lips were as soft as his. He may have looked like tough shit, but you would never catch him out of the house without lotion and chapstick.

You wondered if he was still using the cherry chapstick you had bought him at the grocery store the week before you'd broken up.

"Are you going to marry me? Are you going to give me a baby?"

"Princess-"

"Then there's nothing to talk about," you say and you thank whoever's watching that the train is pulling up to your stop. You get off and Sukuna is right on your heels.

"You don't even want those things right now, why the fuck does it even matter?"

"I want them eventually and if you're not willing to give them to me, then I just don't think I need to keep wasting my time."

You're roughly dragged into a nearby alley and tossed against a brick wall. Sukuna's hand cups the back of your head, taking the force of the slam and you hate that he watches out for you even when he's being a controlling jackass.

"Being with me is wasting your time? Who the fuck do you think you are?"

"Not your girlfriend," you snap back. "Let go, I want to go home."

"Fuck you," he tells you and you're about ready to fight him, grown scary man or not when he leans down and his lips are on yours.

They taste like cherry chapstick.

His hand on the back of your head tightens, his thumb pressing against your neck and making you shiver. His other hand is pressed tight to your jaw and when you gasp against his mouth, he presses down as if he can hold you open and consume you so you can't leave him again.

His muscled thigh is in between yours and you can feel the rough texture of his jeans, the same pair he wore to work, the same pair you'd put through the washing machine a thousand times, rub against where your legs are only covered in tights. The shorter than usual skirt meant to entice your date, and instead it was being taken advantage of by your ex-boyfriend.

Sukuna let go of your face so he could put his hand underneath the fabric of your skirt.

"New outfit?" He teases as his hand slides to the top of your tights.

"Got it for my date," you snap and he growls at you before he rips the seams of your tights. Before you can complain, he's dragging them down your thighs and diving into your panties so he can get to your cunt. The underwear is new too and a pained noise leaves you at the sensation of them snapping against your inner thigh, both at the pain and the thought of how much they cost.

"I still have those blue ones you like at home, the ones you wore for my birthday last year," he tells you as he slides his finger down the seam of your cunt. You're wet and it annoys you because orgasming has been a bitch to achieve since you had to start giving them to yourself again.

"You can keep them," you tell him and he bites your lower lip between his teeth, they'd always felt too sharp for a man and you know you're a twitch or a less than playful nibble away from a busted lip.

"They're not really up for wearing anymore anyway."

You want to ask him what he means by that as he kisses down your neck and thrusts one finger into you, the slide almost unholy.

"So fucking wet, your cunt was always better at talking than you were."

The sensation of being filled even though it's not enough it's not enough begins to itch at your need to be satisfied as your mind fills in the gaps of his previous words.

You can imagine Sukuna in the bed you used to share, the dark blue sheets and the comforter covered in a black pattern that had reminded you of the marks that covered his body. One hand holding your favorite pair of panties and the other his big cock, that sometimes you missed even more than him.

Did he use the panties to jerk off with, the fabric just an expensive tissue for his cum? Did he hold them to his nose and pretend he could still smell your pussy on them in the bed that used to smell like both of you? You had tried watching porn and reading smut, the stuff you had relied on before you were together, and nothing compared to what it felt like to come from his fingers, his tongue, his cock.

The only times you had touched yourself when you were together were when Sukuna had wanted to watch, his commentary pushing you to the edge. He had always known what to say.

Good girl, now try two fingers for me. Not enough? Do you need my cock? Fucking slutty princess, eh?

No matter how demeaning his words were, you had never felt true shame because his desire for you was always apparent. Sukuna never held back praise where he felt it was deserved, and he had always been quick to let you know that what you were doing was pleasing him.

"Pay attention to me, princess. I'd hate to think I was boring you." The words are laced with cruelty and the added pressure of a second figure is harsh, too soon, and still not enough.

The hand in your hair tightens, but the grip still careful not to mess it up beyond repair. Something you'd been adamant about in the beginning days of your relationship. The gentleness of it, of him, makes you cry out.

Since Sukuna was the only one who still seemed cognizant of how you were in an alley, only a right turn from being on a public sidewalk, he was quick to catch your moan in his mouth. Nearly purring in reply, a ridiculous thing for a ridiculous man to do.

"Fuck, that's it. No one else can make you feel like this, this cunt is fucking mine."

"Yes," you hiss out in agreement. Pleased with your concession, Sukuna's thumb swipes over your clit as he continues his punishing rhythm with his fingers. You can hear how wet you are as it echoes off the brick around you. Even though it's cold outside, you feel almost too hot between the warmth of his body shielding yours from the world around you and the heat that's continuing to build up in your core.

"So close, I know you are. Beg me, princess and I might let you come," he whispers in your ear and you would feel embarrassed of the whine you let out if you weren't so close.

"Please, Sukuna. Please, let me come!"

"I don't know. Not sure if I should reward you since you've apparently being going around giving this pussy to fucking anyone."

You shake your head. "No, I haven't slept with anyone since we broke up."

Sukuna kisses you so hard, you're grateful for the hand behind your head because you know his knuckles must be bruised from the force he kisses you with. Sukuna pulls back, a string of saliva connecting his lips to yours and you hate that you find that hot. That this whole thing is hot.

For a second, the softness in his eyes takes your breath away and you almost forget about where you are and what you're doing and why it's the worst idea you've ever had. He's just Sukuna, the love of your life and you miss him so much.

You think he might say something crazy like he loves you or even propose but then the softness is gone and he just grins at you.

"Alright, come then, you've earned it."

With permission granted, Sukuna focuses his attention on your clit in just that way you like in the way that only someone who's done this hundreds of times could do. He's definitely leaving hickies around your collarbone and neck, but for now they feel good and when you come, you bite your lip knowing it will be bruised. A reminder of how you're an idiot when you look at it in the mirror tomorrow.

Still soft with your orgasm, you reach down to return the favor but Sukuna grabs your hand.

"I'm not walking around with cum in my jeans," he tells you, kissing your palm. Typical of him, to end something crass with something sweet. You sigh as he puts you back down on the ground. You pull up what remains of your tights, the fabric uncomfortable on your quickly drying thighs. Your ripped panties lie on the ground and Sukuna looks at them forlornly before shaking his head, dirty alleyway panties apparently being too much even for him.

Sukuna grabs the bag you'd dropped when he'd kissed you and gestures for you to exit the alley. A few passersby give you strange looks but you figure if you were going to be arrested for public indecency, it would have happened already.

"I guess we're going to mine," you say. "I live like another two blocks this way."

"I know," Sukuna says already heading that way.

You blow a piece of hair out of your eye. "Of course you do."

When Sukuna actually types in the passcode to your building you almost lose it, but you're tired and honestly you had kind of expected to just come home to him already in your apartment at some point. Sukuna had never been great at respecting boundaries. Or the law.

You unlock the door to your apartment, it takes everything in you not to ask if he already has a key. You don't want to know. He follows you in and the two of you sit at the dingy two person table you have set up by one of the only windows.

"Cozy."

"Fuck you." He smirks in that way that has always made you want to punch him and you're reminded that you're currently wearing shredded tights.

"Sukuna, you wanted to talk. So talk."

The smirk leaves his face and he looks at his nails, pressing his thumb against the one on his pointer finger and then looking through the 'o' formed there. "You left."

"I did."

He looks at you. "Why?"

"You know why," you say, tired again.

"Sure, you want to get married at some point. You want a baby at some point. I don't see what that has to do with us, right now."

"Because right now leads to that some point. It doesn't just happen. There are things I want, that are important to me. If they're not important to you, then I need to find someone who has the same priorities as me."

"Because I'm not your priority," he says and this is the rehash of an argument you'd had a thousand times. Sukuna was selfish and possessiveness and while that had always granted you a certain security, it had also been a chain you'd constantly worn around your ankle. You weren't going to defend your time at work or with friends to your boyfriend. That belonged to a different time, to different women and it had been a nonnegotiable early in your relationship that he figure that shit out with himself.

"Sukuna, I love you but I'm not going to give up what I want for my future because you don't want it. You don't have to want it, in fact I appreciate that you've been honest about it-"

"So appreciative, you left me," the words are almost snarled and you sigh.

"That's not fair. You can't be mad I want something else, the same way I'm not mad that you want something else. It's not a character flaw to not want to get married, or to not what kids. It just means you have a person out there for you who shares that view. Because it's not me."

"Why can't it be enough to just have a life with the two of us?"

"It's not about whether or it's enough, it's about me wanting something else."

There's a pause. Sukuna claws at the dents already in your battered table and deepens the grooves as you try not to flinch at the sound of his nails bearing down on wood.

Finally, he responds. "You know, I spent my childhood, my teens and a lot of adulthood raising Yuuji because our piece of shit parents couldn't be bothered and let me tell you. It's fucking hard. It is constant and they need so much for you. I didn't do anything but work and watch him for almost two decades and I don't want to do that again. I want my own life."

"I understand," you tell him. "That was a lot, even if you did a great thing by taking him in."

"It wasn't because I was nice. You seem to be forgetting that I'm a murderer. And you want me to fucking watch Bluey with some brat."

"You may not be nice but you do right by the people you care about. I also don't think you've murdered a baby, it would probably be okay."

"That's more incidental than a conscience choice," he says and you know he has to hear how ridiculous he sounds.

"Alright. I respect your decision but for what it's worth, we're not kids anymore and you wouldn't be doing this alone. I think Yuuji turned out pretty great because he had you, and I think any kid of our would be lucky to have you as a dad."

"You would really do all that with me," he says and his voice is as close to wonderous as you've ever heard it. "You really are a lost cause."

You try not to react, remind yourself that this is always how Sukuna responds to affection. He'd laughed at you the first time you'd told him you loved him. You'd punched him and broken your hand on his chin. He'd told you he loved you in the ER as the attendant resetting your hand looked on in horror.

"I think that's enough for today. Thanks for stopping by and for the orgasm, appreciate it," you say, rising from the chair. You walk the short trip to your door and open it. "Hope you have a safe trip home."

Sukuna stays seated. "That's it?"

"Yeah, Sukuna, that's it."

"And if I said I could do this, I could give you those things."

You think about it and look him over. How his hands twitch as if only his ego is preventing them from clenching. The clear trauma that was informing his previous stance.

"I'd say take some time and maybe talk to someone. I don't want to do this with someone who can just bring themselves to bear it. I want them to be as excited as me."

"That's asking for a lot from a guy."

"But someone will do it." Sukuna looks angry again and when he steps in your space, you push him gently away with your hand. He goes to hold it and even the familiar scrape of his calluses against your skin can't make you waver.

"Bye, Sukuna."

Sukuna looks at you, waiting for you to give in you know but you won't.

He leaves without another word.

When the door to the stairwell slams shut, you finally let yourself cry.

----------

It's been a month since you've seen Sukuna and you're on another date.

The guy is unoffensive. He gave you a hug when you met up and he'd made a joke about the plethora of other couples at the restaurant. You two started playing a game where you tried to guess how many dates each couple had been on?

"Three, she's finally figured out she can't put up with how he chews no matter how nicely coiffed his hair is," your date says as you take another sip of your drink.

"That's a second date, his chewing is a commit or quit type of deal and she looks ready to go. Bet they didn't eat together on their first date."

"Is he telling the plot to Dune, he has not stopped talking since we sat down," he says and you giggle despite yourself.

You've just started on the couple both looking determinedly at their phones by the window when your phone rings.

"Sorry, I need to take this," you say and he smiles.

"No worries, I'll let you know how many times she misses her mouth while looking at her phone."

You wave as you go to stand outside. You take a deep breath and then answer.

"Hey."

"Hey, princess. Bad time?"

"No, just, what do you want?"

"Well, I'm planning this first date with this girl and I'm having trouble figuring out how to explain something."

You want to throw up, what kind of test is this?

"What do you want to say?"

"Well, I've heard that it's important to be straightforward with your intentions, so you don't waste anyone's time."

"And what are your intentions?" You manage to spit out and he laughs, his smugness almost seeping out the phone.

"Well not anytime soon, but eventually I think I'd like a little brat. You know, prove to Yuuji that he wasn't a fluke."

You heart is pounding and you hate him. You love him.

"Uh huh."

"And I guess it would probably be easier to do that if we just got married. You know, taxes, healthcare, I still don't have healthcare but my wife will and I've heard you can add people to that."

"This proposal is the fucking worst one I've ever heard," you say, trying to ignore the fact you are now crying in front of a restaurant. People walk by giving you pitying looks, probably think you got stood up.

"It's not a proposal, it's a framing of intent."

"Why do you talk like such an old man, we are almost the same age?"

"Why do you talk like such a brat?"

"You know-"

"Probably," he says and you laugh despite yourself.

"So when is this date?"

"Tonight," he says. "You can wear that dress you're wearing, it looks perfect on you."

"Are you fucking here, you creep?"

"That's no way to talk to your future husband and no. That place is a shithole, I'm at our usual."

"Good, I've missed it. No one makes my drink the way I like it," you tell him and he hums.

"Well, it will be waiting for you when you get here. So get here soon."

"Alright, I'll see you soon."

Sukuna hangs up and you stand there. There's a perfectly nice guy inside. One who makes you laugh and who maybe one day you could grow to love.

But there's another guy across town who is sitting at your favorite restaurant, ordering your favorite drink. His lips taste like the organic chapstick, he claims to be too tacky to be worth wearing but keeps it in his pocket anyway. He built all your furniture and let you paint your bathroom green even though you live in a rental. He's held your hair back when you were sick and cleaned it up even as he bitched at you for the mess and done a rather cruel impression of you retching.

There's another guy that you love.

So you go back into the restaurant to tell your perfectly nice date that something has come up.

Maybe you're a fool, but what else could you do?

Maybe this will be a series, idk. Being an adult is weird. This is def ooc but you know, let me work through things and call them fiction. That's what this account is for.

[rowarn]

bizarre thought.....shadow entity!ghost..... @sgtgarricks is responsible for this!!!

i already want to write another part to this LMAOOOOOOO

part : two

when you first moved into your new house, you knew it was old and had been vacant for a looooong time. it had a bizarre history of people living there and moving out months, even weeks later. most people declined offering a reason for their quick move but others would just vaguely supply that the 'energy was dark in that house', you weren't bothered.

it was a nice, big, house and for damn cheap too. you weren't about to look a gift horse in the mouth.

your first nights in the house, you understood what they meant. there was something off about the house for sure. at random times, you would feel the hairs on the back of your neck stand up, as if alerting you to danger. when you would turn around, there was nothing there. but it would leave you with sweaty palms and a racing heart.

it wasn't until a week into your new life that the first weird thing happened. it was like something from a stereotypical horror movie. you heard a strange sound and got out of bed to investigate. when you got to your kitchen, all the cabinets and drawers were open and your kitchen chairs were placed on top of your table -- which had also been moved across the kitchen.

you tried to take some deep breaths to calm yourself as you returned everything back to normal. you went over and over in your head for some kind of explanation for the event before finally landing on the fact that this house was fucking haunted.

strange events kept happening after that. lights would turn on, your kitchen cabinets would be open, sinks and showers would turn on, doors would slam from across the house. you were losing sleep over it. every single night you'd be woken up by some strange event and you were beginning to understand why the past tenants had moved out so fast.

this was a rotten way to live.

the final straw for you was the night the activity really seemed to ramp up. whatever spirit was haunting you wanted you out now. multiple doors slammed, jolting you from your sleep -- your heart racing from how hard you had been startled from your dreams. you got to your feet and turned on your lamp only to find it wasn't working.

next, you tried the overhead light. same thing.

fuck. it had caused the power to bust.

now you were really scared.

you grabbed your phone, using the flashlight to navigate your way out of the bedroom. the floorboards creaked beneath you, considerably louder without the hum of electricity.

you were halfway down the hall when you heard it. quiet at first, but definitely there. footsteps. mimicking your own, as if echoing after you took your own steps, making sure you knew it was there.

you spun around, shining the light upon nothing. you let out a heavy breath, noticing the way the flashlight shook from how hard you were trembling.

"a-alright, ghost," you called into the empty house, too scared to feel stupid that you were talking to nothing, "i-i'll admit i'm pretty scared right now. i-i know you probably want me out of your house. this is your house, i get it. bu-but i already sunk all my damn savings into moving in here s-so i can't leave!" you swallow, a loud gulping sound that would be funny if you weren't about to piss yourself, "s-so if we could just live together for a little while longer. i-i promise i'll get out the second i have the money!"

there was nothing but tense silence. you felt like an idiot the more seconds that passed. were you trying to make a deal with a fucking ghost? a spirit of someone who probably died in this house? what kind of shit had your life become?

you peered into the inky blackness of the hallway, blinking as you try to futilely see. it takes you a moment to realize you're not just staring into the darkness of your hallway. it's something else.

pure darkness. a dark entity taking form in the blackness of the night. you want to step back, primal fear coursing through you like you never felt before. whatever fear you were feeling was primordial in nature -- as if this entity was something you were born to fear.

the darkness began to swallow up the hallway, eating away at the light your flashlight had created. the air felt heavy and oppressive, making it difficult to take in oxygen.

you swear you could feel hands on you, grabbing you and pulling at you. the longer you stared into the darkness, the more you thought you could see things. eyes. hundreds of eyes. but when you blinked, the images vanished.

then, all at once, the entity was gone and your light was shining down the hallway again unimpeded. after another second, the sound of the electricity slamming back on filled the house and you collapsed to your knees.

whatever that was, it was dangerous. you knew that now.

but it didn't hurt you. perhaps it agreed to your terms and would leave you be now?

oh how wrong you were. sure, it wasn't nearly as scary as that night but now you saw it.

around every turn.

you could see the shadow take shape from the corner of your eye but when you looked, it would be gone. you would be brushing your teeth and when you looked in the mirror, it stood behind you, making your heart leap out of your chest. when you would turn, it wasn't there.

you were no longer woken up in the night, at least. but you weren't sure if you preferred the regular haunting stuff to seeing the ghost or not. you were on the fence about which was worse.

after another scare from the ghost, you jumped so hard that you almost fell over, "alright you -- ghost! will you quit scaring me like that!?" you found yourself shrieking.

to your abject horror, you heard laughter in return.

the shadow shit was fucking laughing at you. like it was enjoying this.

it wasn't evil laughter either. it sounded like pure enjoyment.

you suppose it wasn't out of the realm of possibility for a ghost to make sounds but it didn't make it any less horrifying.

you started talking to it more after that. once you heard its voice - sort of- it became easier. the fear also dissipated in time. sure it would jump scare you from time to time to get a laugh but other than that, it became like living with a really annoying roommate.

"will you get out of my mirror!" you snapped, mouth full of toothpaste with you facemask on. its disappearance was marked with its mirthful laughter.

you also noticed as the days and weeks passed, it stopped looking like a shapeless shadow and more like a person -- a big one at least. well over 7 feet tall. if you looked for long enough, you could almost make out what you think is a skull where the face would be on a human.

one night, you're laying in bed, comfortable. there's rain pelting outside on your window and distant thunder, too nice of weather to sleep away. so you just choose to relax and listen to it.

"ghost?" you find yourself calling into the darkness, "are you there?"

its silent but you feel the air grow heavy and you know that it's arrived. it seems to have...consciousness, you realized. it reacts to you and listens to you. there's one thing that's been plaguing you that you want to ask, though you're not sure if it will answer -- if it can answer.

"you're not really a ghost are you?" you ask.

you're greeted by silence for several, long seconds before you hear it. it's deep and masculine, a whisper of an echo following its voice when it speaks as if multiple things were speaking but only one voice was amplified, "no."

it's the answer you were expecting but that didn't mean you liked it. you swallow harshly around the lump of anxiety in your throat.

"are you going to hurt me?" you ask it, dreading the answer to this one. just because it's been toying with you doesn't mean it's not still dangerous.

"no," it responds again. you can hear footsteps, the entity walking closer and closer to your bed.

you let out a relieved breath at that. though, you're not sure if you should actually believe the dark entity that lives in your house. but at this point, you've really got no choice except to take it's word for it.

"what's your name?" you find yourself asking it.

"ghost," it responds quickly.

you laugh at that, "no, you're real name."

"ghost," it insist, "you gave me a name."

a lightbulb goes off over your head.

"is that why you're being so nice to me?" you ask, not sure if 'nice' is the appropriate word to use.

"i wanted a name," it answers, "you gave me one."

"a name in exchange for living in this house," you muse, deciding to roll over in bed, "alright then. goodnight, ghost."

"rest well," it responds before vanishing, freeing the room from that oppressive feeling.

you close your eyes and will yourself to fall asleep, briefly wondering where ghost even came from and what exactly it was.

this is unedited i wrote it in a fury of inspiration i hope u enjoyed it regardless of how WEIRD this was LMFAOOOOOOOOOO

[imsobadatnicknames2]

How can you consider yourself any sort of leftist when you defend AI art bullshit? You literally simp for AI techbros and have the gall to pretend you're against big corporations?? Get fucked

I don't "defend" AI art. I think a particular old post of mine that a lot of people tend to read in bad faith must be making the rounds again lmao.

Took me a good while to reply to this because you know what? I decided to make something positive out of this and use this as an opportunity to outline what I ACTUALLY believe about AI art. If anyone seeing this decides to read it in good or bad faith... Welp, your choice I guess.

I have several criticisms of the way the proliferation of AI art generators and LLMs is making a lot of things worse. Some of these are things I have voiced in the past, some of these are things I haven't until now:

Most image and text AI generators are fine-tuned to produce nothing but the most agreeable, generically pretty content slop, pretty much immediately squandering their potential to be used as genuinely interesting artistic tools with anything to offer in terms of a unique aesthetic experience (AI video still manages to look bizarre and interesting but it's getting there too)

In the entertainment industry and a lot of other fields, AI image generation is getting incorporated into production pipelines in ways that lead to the immiseration of working artists, being used to justify either lower wages or straight-up layoffs, and this is something that needs to be fought against. That's why I unconditionally supported the SAG-AFTRA strikes last year and will unconditionally support any collective action to address AI art as a concrete labor issue

In most fields where it's being integrated, AI art is vastly inferior to human artists in any use case where you need anything other than to make a superficially pretty picture really fast. If you need to do anything like ask for revisions or minor corrections, give very specific descriptions of how objects and people are interacting with each other, or just like. generate several pictures of the same thing and have them stay consistent with each other, you NEED human artists and it's preposterous to think they can be replaced by AI.

There is a lot of art on the internet that consists of the most generically pretty, cookie-cutter anime waifu-adjacent slop that has zero artistic or emotional value to either the people seeing it or the person churning it out, and while this certainly was A Thing before the advent of AI art generators, generative AI has made it extremely easy to become the kind of person who churns it out and floods online art spaces with it.

Similarly, LLMs make it extremely easy to generate massive volumes of texts, pages, articles, listicles and what have you that are generic vapid SEO-friendly pap at best and bizzarre nonsense misinformation at worst, drowning useful information in a sea of vapid noise and rendering internet searches increasingly useless.

The way LLMs are being incorporated into customer service and similar services not only, again, encourages further immiseration of customer service workers, but it's also completely useless for most customers.

A very annoyingly vocal part the population of AI art enthusiasts, fanatics and promoters do tend to talk about it in a way that directly or indirectly demeans the merit and skill of human artists and implies that they think of anyone who sees anything worthwile in the process of creation itself rather than the end product as stupid or deluded.

So you can probably tell by now that I don't hold AI art or writing in very high regard. However (and here's the part that'll get me called an AI techbro, or get people telling me that I'm just jealous of REAL artists because I lack the drive to create art of my own, or whatever else) I do have some criticisms of the way people have been responding to it, and have voiced such criticisms in the past.

I think a lot of the opposition to AI art has critstallized around unexamined gut reactions, whipping up a moral panic, and pressure to outwardly display an acceptable level of disdain for it. And in particular I think this climate has made a lot of people very prone to either uncritically entertain and adopt regressive ideas about Intellectual Propety, OR reveal previously held regressive ideas about Intellectual Property that are now suddenly more socially acceptable to express:

(I wanna preface this section by stating that I'm a staunch intellectual property abolitionist for the same reason I'm a private property abolitionist. If you think the existence of intellectual property is a good thing, a lot of my ideas about a lot of stuff are gonna be unpalatable to you. Not much I can do about it.)

A lot of people are suddenly throwing their support behind any proposal that promises stricter copyright regulations to combat AI art, when a lot of these also have the potential to severely udnermine fair use laws and fuck over a lot of independent artist for the benefit of big companies.

It was very worrying to see a lot of fanfic authors in particular clap for the George R R Martin OpenAI lawsuit because well... a lot of them don't realize that fanfic is a hobby that's in a position that's VERY legally precarious at best, that legally speaking using someone else's characters in your fanfic is as much of a violation of copyright law as straight up stealing entire passages, and that any regulation that can be used against the latter can be extended against the former.

Similarly, a lot of artists were cheering for the lawsuit against AI art models trained to mimic the style of specific artists. Which I agree is an extremely scummy thing to do (just like a human artist making a living from ripping off someone else's work is also extremely scummy), but I don't think every scummy act necessarily needs to be punishable by law, and some of them would in fact leave people worse off if they were. All this to say: If you are an artist, and ESPECIALLY a fan artist, trust me. You DON'T wanna live in a world where there's precedent for people's artstyles to be considered intellectual property in any legally enforceable way. I know you wanna hurt AI art people but this is one avenue that's not worth it.

Especially worrying to me as an indie musician has been to see people mention the strict copyright laws of the music industry as a positive thing that they wanna emulate. "this would never happen in the music industry because they value their artists copyright" idk maybe this is a the grass is greener type of situation but I'm telling you, you DON'T wanna live in a world where copyright law in the visual arts world works the way it does in the music industry. It's not worth it.

I've seen at least one person compare AI art model training to music sampling and say "there's a reason why they cracked down on sampling" as if the death of sampling due to stricter copyright laws was a good thing and not literally one of the worst things to happen in the history of music which nearly destroyed several primarily black music genres. Of course this is anecdotal because it's just One Guy I Saw Once, but you can see what I mean about how uncritical support for copyright law as a tool against AI can lead people to adopt increasingly regressive ideas about copyright.

Similarly, I've seen at least one person go "you know what? Collages should be considered art theft too, fuck you" over an argument where someone else compared AI art to collages. Again, same point as above.

Similarly, I take issue with the way a lot of people seem EXTREMELY personally invested in proving AI art is Not Real Art. I not only find this discussion unproductive, but also similarly dangerously prone to validating very reactionary ideas about The Nature Of Art that shouldn't really be entertained. Also it's a discussion rife with intellectual dishonesty and unevenly applied definition and standards.

When a lot of people present the argument of AI art not being art because the definition of art is this and that, they try to pretend that this is the definition of art the've always operated under and believed in, even when a lot of the time it's blatantly obvious that they're constructing their definition on the spot and deliberately trying to do so in such a way that it doesn't include AI art.

They never succeed at it, btw. I've seen several dozen different "AI art isn't art because art is [definition]". I've seen exactly zero of those where trying to seriously apply that definition in any context outside of trying to prove AI art isn't art doesn't end up in it accidentally excluding one or more non-AI artforms, usually reflecting the author's blindspots with regard to the different forms of artistic expression.

(However, this is moot because, again, these are rarely definitions that these people actually believe in or adhere to outside of trying to win "Is AI art real art?" discussions.)

Especially worrying when the definition they construct is built around stuff like Effort or Skill or Dedication or The Divine Human Spirit. You would not be happy about the kinds of art that have traditionally been excluded from Real Art using similar definitions.

Seriously when everyone was celebrating that the Catholic Church came out to say AI art isn't real art and sharing it as if it was validating and not Extremely Worrying that the arguments they'd been using against AI art sounded nearly identical to things TradCaths believe I was like. Well alright :T You can make all the "I never thought I'd die fighting side by side with a catholic" legolas and gimli memes you want, but it won't change the fact that the argument being made by the catholic church was a profoundly conservative one and nearly identical to arguments used to dismiss the artistic merit of certain forms of "degenerate" art and everyone was just uncritically sharing it, completely unconcerned with what kind of worldview they were lending validity to by sharing it.

Remember when the discourse about the Gay Sex cats pic was going on? One of the things I remember the most from that time was when someone went "Tell me a definition of art that excludes this picture without also excluding Fountain by Duchamp" and how just. Literally no one was able to do it. A LOT of people tried to argue some variation of "Well, Fountain is art and this image isn't because what turns fountain into art is Intent. Duchamp's choice to show a urinal at an art gallery as if it was art confers it an element of artistic intent that this image lacks" when like. Didn't by that same logic OP's choice to post the image on tumblr as if it was art also confer it artistic intent in the same way? Didn't that argument actually kinda end up accidentally validating the artistic status of every piece of AI art ever posted on social media? That moment it clicked for me that a lot of these definitions require applying certain concepts extremely selectively in order to make sense for the people using them.

A lot of people also try to argue it isn't Real Art based on the fact that most AI art is vapid but like. If being vapid definitionally excludes something from being art you're going to have to exclude a whooole lot of stuff along with it. AI art is vapid. A lot of art is too, I don't think this argument works either.

Like, look, I'm not really invested in trying to argue in favor of The Artistic Merits of AI art but I also find it extremely hard to ignore how trying to categorically define AI art as Not Real Art not only is unproductive but also requires either a) applying certain parts of your definition of art extremely selectively, b) constructing a definition of art so convoluted and full of weird caveats as to be functionally useless, or c) validating extremely reactionary conservative ideas about what Real Art is.

Some stray thoughts that don't fit any of the above sections.

I've occassionally seen people respond to AI art being used for shitposts like "A lot of people have affordable commissions, you could have paid someone like $30 to draw this for you instead of using the plagiarism algorithm and exploiting the work of real artists" and sorry but if you consider paying an artist a rate that amounts to like $5 for several hours of work a LESS exploitative alternative I think you've got something fucked up going on with your priorities.

Also it's kinda funny when people comment on the aforementioned shitposts with some variation of "see, the usage of AI art robs it of all humor because the thing that makes shitposts funny is when you consider the fact that someone would spend so much time and effort in something so stupid" because like. Yeah that is part of the humor SOMETIMES but also people share and laugh at low effort shitposts all the time. Again you're constructing a definition that you don't actually believe in anywhere outside of this type of conversations. Just say you don't like that it's AI art because you think it's morally wrong and stop being disingenuous.

So yeah, this is pretty much everything I believe about the topic.

I don't "defend" AI art, but my opposition to it is firmly rooted in my principles, and that means I refuse to uncritically accept any anti-AI art argument that goes against those same principles.

If you think not accepting and parroting every Anti-AI art argument I encounter because some of them are ideologically rooted in things I disagree with makes me indistinguishable from "AI techbros" you're working under a fucked up dichotomy.

[cutebat]

You know what, fuck it. I'm going to write my own neglectful yandere batfamily cause everyone else is doing it, but I'm going to do it in a different way.

Yandere Batfam x Neglected, but Defiant Reader

Prologue (Diary Entry)

Warning(s): Mentions of yandere themes, neglect, emotional abuse, mentions of physical abuse, forcing to drop out, attempted guilt tripping, reader is just venting out her feelings

(I made this in the reader's POV to make the whole 'diary entry' thing more sense.)

~~~~~

July 22, 2024

It's funny when someone tells their story.

Only to be told back that it's unrealistic.

Almost as if they're afraid to believe it's real...

Oh, God, that sounded dark.

~~~~~

For everyone who doesn't know,

Bruce is a billionaire who's also a shitty dad

Dick is a dick, like actually

Jason uses his trauma to let all his frustrations on me

Tim is a delusional bitch

Cass was okay until she knocked me to the ground

Damian is just a thing who you want to burn to ashes

Alfred... I guess is just Alfred

~~~~~

I was basically raised as what people would call a 'black sheep'. Kind of like... actually, I don't need to explain all that.

Basically, I was adopted by the infamous Bruce Wayne when I was ten for whatever reason. After the first day of living with him and the family and giving me the new role of Batgirl, everyone just pretended as if I didn't exist.

I tried to interact with every one of them and all I got were "sorry, can't talk right now" and "can you shut up".

Like, WHAT THE FUCK DID I DO TO THEM?!

Is it because I'm prettier than all of them and had barely any trauma in my past? Seriously, why are people so jealous about these kinds of things?

Bruce really signed all that paperwork for nothing.

Of course, my little ten year old brain would think that if I tried to impress all of them with what I could do, maybe I could gain their attention.

So by the time I was twelve with my ten year old mindset goal in my head, I did nine different after school activities, won over fifteen awards for my achievements, and went out to patrol at least six nights a week.

And none of that worked! Those fuckers wouldn't even spare me a glance!

~~~~~

After a while, you don't see a point in trying your best.

I dropped out of most of the clubs I regret joining, I just laid back in my classes, and most of all...

I quit being Batgirl.

I didn't want to, but like I said, where's the point in that?

So with that, I just gave up on everything and just... stopped trying.

~~~~~

But then one year all of that almost changed?

For the first time ever, I found myself suddenly really pretty, and after a month I entered eighth grade, I was suddenly asked out by one guy, then two, and all the way up to ten!

It was like really cool!

The popular girls became my best friends, more guys would ask me out, and the teachers started pointing out that I was their favorite student, even the ones who weren't my teachers.

It felt like I was on top of everything. That I was special. The world is revolving around me.

Finally, I was in a place to build a great reputation.

And then life was like FUCK THAT!

~~~~~

After the first semester of eighth grade, Bruce was weirdly in my room and he said wanted to have a 'talk' with me.

So, during this talk, he was basically talking about the last three years of me being neglected by him and his family. To be honest, I forgot everything he told me, but honestly, I don't really care.

He also told the others about all this and now they suddenly feel bad which I don't give a shit about. But, I knew he was doing all this to guilt trip me, which was honestly so stupid.

Now, after he dropped that bomb, he told me that I had to drop out of school to do some "bonding time" with the others along with him and the people who actually cared about me didn't really matter at all!

I JUST GOT SETTLED IN!

All I said was "FUCK YOU" and just stormed out of my room with the only thing that I took was my diary that I had for quite a while that I never used before.

~~~~~

So, yeah. I'm currently in the attic, venting my feelings all out on this stupid glitter diary with a random pen that I found on the ground.

But whatever.

It doesn't matter.

Nothing matters...

My life is just a game.

A sick, hopeless game.

[moondirti]

back on my bullshit soapgaz x gn! reader

Kyle has his tongue halfway down Johnny's throat when the petulant knocking previously on the other side of the wall migrates to his front door.

It's not like he didn't hear it before. Just that he didn't care. And really, if it were up to him, he'd continue rutting their leaky cocks together until he were gratified enough to deal with whatever bullshit problem the neighbour's have this time. Being pent up off the end of a bad mission does that to you, you see. Wears you down until you're all instinct, aggression, sybaritic once you taste death on the barrel of an M-16. He doesn't have any propriety left in him. No patience.

But that's exactly what does it. The banging gets too loud to ignore, and Soap, bless his heart, isn't exactly quiet either. His moans meet the cacophony of knuckles rapping on wood. In the clamour, Kyle's remaining sanity wears infinitesimally thin. His nerves spark like frayed electrical wires. His balls ache with a climbing release that only grows steeper. And he's running on frustration that's been impossible to burn off. (It was his fault the op went to shit, no matter how his team insists otherwise.)

His fault. His fault.

God, can they fucking shut up already?

He rips away. A thread of spit still tethers him to Soap, swollen lip to lip. The man in question is flushed, blue eyes more watery than usual. Dazed, briefs shucked halfway down his lap, his shirt creased in all the commotion, exposing the hair-dusted planes of his muscled abdomen. Kyle can tell he isn't as bothered by the disruption. For all his acumen, Soap's always been the first to loosen up. All it takes is a hand down his pants by someone he trusts not to stab him.

He looks up at him now, blinking stupidly, saying nothing when Kyle gets up and steps into the closest pair of sweats. Wider pant leg, shorter inseam. Johnny's. The lining is soft enough not to chafe his balls as he scrambles for the speaker remote, and he thinks he starts to understand the appeal in going commando.

The knocking persists until he pauses the music.

When he swings the door open, he expects to find Agnes, or Gerald, or one of the other ten geriatric tossers living on his floor. They all like him well enough. Sending them away would be as easy as promising a day's worth of labour, dusting the shelves they can't reach, or some other menial task he can drag Soap along to do with him.

What he doesn't expect is you.

You. Pointedly not old, endearingly unkempt, and enraged enough he's surprised there isn't steam whistling from your ears.

If he's in any way moved by the novelty, he doesn't have the energy to show it. In many ways, he feels like an expanded version of the vein throbbing at your temple. Whatever complaint you have, he's sure he can match it with a hundred more, each distinctly worse.

"What?"

"Have you no fucking courtesy?" You snarl, twisting a sore fist in the scratchy fabric of your scrubs. Your knuckles look raw, scratched up. He half wants to kiss 'em better, half wants to huff a serves you right. "You're not the only person in the world! You share walls with three other people, and I'm sure you know how thin they are! That music is way too loud to even defend! You'll go deaf by 50, you bloody lemon! And that's not counting what you're doing to the poor sods who have to share a space with you, since you've clearly demonstrated a lack of care in that regard! Honestly, I should just call the cops to deal with this. Or the landlord, see how you like blasting your shitty playlist on the streets!"

The words don't mean much to him. Perhaps they would, if he properly digested them. But you're way too cute when you're mad for him to take you seriously. Your lips purse in a way that screams put my mouth to better use, and his fingers itch with the urge to pinch your nose shut, shut off your airflow, as your nostrils flare with heat. In the end, the only response he can muster is a lame:

"I've never seen you around before."

"I don't live here!"

"Then..." He trails off, looking back at Johnny on the couch, then the speakers, then you.

"I'm Maureen's caretaker. You know, your next door neighbour? Her Alzheimer's makes her sensitive to the racket, and she hasn't been able to calm down all day! Because of you! I've about had it up to here–" You raise a hand above your head, waving it wildly to emphasise your point. He has to bite his cheeks to stop himself from smiling.

"That's unfortunate." He says, and tries really hard to mean it. It seems you have a keen ear for apathy, though, because you cross your arms and tense your jaw and harden your glare until he's sighing, all dramatically, "Fine. Music down. Got it."

He means it, too. Despite all the awful things he's done — twisting a knife into the throat of a soldier pleading for their mum and using their corpse as a shield through the ensuing crossfire, most recently — he isn't heartless. He knows he isn't the only person in the world. The casualties that fell on his hands in the past month alone will haunt him to a point where he remembers that fact like it's a second skin.

But you turn your nose up, up, all self-satisfied, downright pompous if you ask him, and that brief flame of empathy flickers out like a candle held under rain. It's made worse when you walk away without so much as a thank you, and you really do need to be taught a lesson, don't you?

He never liked Maureen, anyway.

Malicious compliance is an ugly game, but to his credit, he doesn't turn the music back on.

Soap hasn't moved an inch, though his briefs lay over the arm of the couch now. One scarred, rough palm cups the mass between his spread legs, kneading his balls carelessly as he waits for him. Pillow princess. Kyle wonders if he's this laid back with Ghost, or if their brutish lieutenant makes him work for a fuck.

"They're bonnie." He hums, hugging his knees up and apart when Kyle slides a finger between his cheeks.

"And you're loose."

"Aye. Ye didnae think Ah’d turn up without gettin’ maself ready for ye, did ye?" Soap smiles crookedly, cocking his head to the side in that way he does. It narrows the gap between human and dog to an uncanny degree, and he's struck with the realisation that yeah, Ghost probably gives him whatever he wants with enough whimpering.

"Slut." Kyle says, without malice.

"Yet ye're pumpin' me."

He's got him there.

His hole is slippery, hot around his finger. He could probably get away with fucking him like this, no extra prep needed, and the Scot would enjoy whatever burn comes as consequence. But he uncaps the lube anyway, squirting it between the iron-firm canyons of Soap's ass and a little over the head of his own cock before lining them up.

And as he pushes in, he swoops low to whisper in his ear.

"Be loud."

Johnny loves a good challenge.

It's part of the reason they get along so well. Kyle seeks stimulating experiences like Icarus to the sun, and no one rises to the occasion better than his twin sergeant. He'll be the first to place bets over a deck of cards, or contribute to trivia nights at their frequented bar, or hop on the game with him when neither can sleep. He's even down to test all those sick fantasies that frighten birds off. Including, it seems, exhibitionism.

And Lord is he good at it.

Kyle is almost embarrassed, despite being the one to start it. Soap, on the other hand, has left shame with his shoes at the door. The air hangs heavy with sex and noise, the lewd slaps of skin on skin, his balls swinging to hit the cleft of his ass, just as his cock hits the same spot within him. Over and over.

The Scot moans with abandon, head thrown and back arched. He really doesn't need to slam his fist into the wall repeatedly, the mangled sounds tearing from his throat (an arbitrary pattern of Gaz, fuck, ye're huge, jist there, dinnae stop) more than enough, but it's a nice touch. By now, it's practice that assures him he's hitting the right spot (the dramatics are appreciated, not reliable). He knows just how to angle himself, where exactly Soap likes it, to make this worth both their time.

Though, with the way his cock is twitching untouched, he looks to be getting off on this too.

His mind is split between the delicious sight underneath him and an imagined picture of you. Are you more furious or turned on? Is your charge giving you a tough time for their transgressions? Did you sneak off to the bathroom to relieve your frustration in a productive way? Fuck. He wonders what you look like when you cum, drawing a picture with the very limited references he's been given.

Your brows scrunched, lips twisted, eyes screwed up. Still in your uniform, undershirt rolled up to your elbows as you slip a hand down the waistband of your pants. Unable to let yourself go completely. Shamefully indulgent. Fingers tensed over the lip of the sink, goading yourself along, pulling out and washing up the second you cum. Refusing to ride out the waves of your orgasm, but going home with a sticky mess between your legs.

Equal parts furious and turned on, he decides.

Soap grabs his hand to force it around his dick.

"You gonna cum so soon?" He asks — more shouts, really — even though it's a stupid question. Whatever helps you paint the scene...

"Uhuh! Uhuh!" Soap catches on, huffs trailing into whines as Kyle tightens the grip over his tip.

They're both one corny porn line away from bursting into laughter (which, the more he thinks about, the more he's sure Johnny is parroting the last film they watched together). He has to bite his tongue to keep the amusement from making itself known, jacking the length in his hands to the same tempo of his thrusts.

"Then cum, you needy whore. Make a fuckin' mess of yourself."

And it's terrifying how well they execute it. As though previously rehearsed, Johnny shoots ropes all over his chest, ending his act with a loud, punchy "fuck!"

Kyle follows not too long after, pulling out to coat the back of his thighs. Cum gets everywhere. That's fine. His couch is overdue for a wash, anyway.

"Good work," He chuckles. Quiet this time, the praise genuine.

Soap grins. "Steamin Jesus, ye'r th' best shag A've ever had!"

"Alright, enough." He taps his cheek in a mock slap, smearing their combined fluids all over the stubble he'd begun to grow. The man is undeterred, sticking a tongue out to polish his palm. "That's overkill."

"That's gonnae git ye leid. Jus' watch."

"Us laid." Kyle corrects, because who would he be if he didn't grant his best mate a portion of the prize?

In the afterglow, he forgets all about his anger.

It's late when you come by again.

Well. Not late for anyone with a healthy circadian rhythm, but he's been living at his Nan's old place long enough to know that light's out is 1800 hours. Maureen is definitely asleep by now. And even then, the timing is odd. They've both bathed, stripped the couch of its cushions, ordered takeout, played a round of Mario Kart, finished the last of their reports, and emptied an old vape cartridge (after running out of cigs).

It's been hours since the last time they made any significant amount of noise. Your appearance is unfounded.

The knocking is subdued this time. One, two. Pause. The shadow beneath the door retreating, then waddling back again. He watches it occur over a minute or two, fond of making you wait, before rising from his place on the floor.

The door swings. Hinges squeak. You look worse for wear.

Kyle pouts, mustering every condescending bone in his body to suppress the true pang of sympathy he feels. "Awe. What is it this time, baby? Turned down the music, didn't I? And we've been so good all night."

"Y-You're... A foul, despicable human being. You know– i-it didn't mean– I didn't need to–" Your eyes squeeze shut, but that doesn't stop a hot tear from leaking down your cheek. "If you get off to making people miserable, then congratu-fucking-lations, you're one of 7 billion."

He listens. Takes you in, properly this time.

Blotchy face. Stained scrubs. Plain hands. Messy hair. Heavy backpack. Beat up sneakers. And a darling little face that really shouldn't be so affected.

Unless it's in pleasure, his brain supplies.

"Rough day at work, huh?" He pushes his shoulder off the doorframe, opening his stance up to something more sincere. Maybe it feels wrong to rub it in your face any further. Maybe it's because he recognises the signs a little all too well.

And it must be bad too, seeing as you don't resist. Nodding weakly, you keep your eyes shut and take deep breaths. He's worked his frustrations out already, patience back in stock, so he waits as you wrangle back the waterworks.

"No thanks to you." You whisper hoarsely, crossing your arms and looking down at his shoes.

"I'm sorry." He says, and actually means it this time. Johnny comes up behind him, body heat a flame to the fuel coursing within him. It's all the confidence he needs to ask: "Allow us to make it up to you."

And the way you look up — a little too quick, hopeful, pretty — he knows you know what he means.

You really were there, then. Listening.

"Really?"

"Yeah." Kyle smiles, sharp-toothed, careful not to appear too eager. "I know just the thing to help."

[yutasbellybuttonpiercing]

slowly, i'm going down

access full masterlist here!

pairing: song mingi x reader (no pronouns mentioned, reader has female anatomy)

au/genre: college!au, tutor!reader, mingi does not give a shit about studying, smut

word count: 4816 words

warnings: voice kink (AHHHHH), oral and fingering (reader receiving), reader is a little mean, kitchen sex, anime references, cringe, a joke about adhd, dirty talk... um..., oh right Mingi has a big dick (wbk), everyone's a little silly, unprotected sex (boo ‼️👎🏻), premature ejaculation almost, creampie, cum eating... (not reader...), i think that's it. NOT PROOF READ YET!!

synopsis: mingi hates studying, but what he hates way more than that is being perceived as stupid. what mingi loves on the other hand, are pretty people getting flustered about his voice

or

mingi shows you exactly what he hates and loves.

a/n: i was almost ready when i saw this tiktok and it completely blocked my mind because it's SO FUNNY, but at the same time, it's men being dudes, dudes being bros, and that kind of made it hard for me to continue. i apologize for the 24h delay 😞

taglist: @byuntrash101 @goquokka @ashwoodforest @choisansnotsolegalwife

Mingi is not one to sit there and look at books. Or papers. Or anything that doesn't move and feed his brain with bright colors and his ears with noises, really. He prefers to vibe, and studying is definitely not the vibe. Sadly, studying is a part of his life as a university student. Yes, he chose this path for himself and yes, he was aware that it would involve studying. Still, now that it's really happening and is not just an obstacle to overcome in the far, far future, Mingi kind of wishes he'd chosen something else to do with his life. It's just exhausting, why would he waste the precious time he has left on planet earth on something that doesn't get the serotonin floating? He's pretty sure he has some undiagnosed ADHD simmering up there, but who is he to judge that? He's certainly not studying to become a doctor or whatever.

Anyway, given the fact that Mingi doesn't like to study, he's not had much experience with it in the first place. He's barely gotten his way through school, but uni is a different level. Hence, he needs someone to 1) teach him how to study and 2) make him study, or rather: have a judging eye on him while he is supposed to study, so the fear of being called out on it may light a fire under his ass and force him to bury his nose between the stinky pages of an old library book (on that note: he also needed someone to show him how to check out books from the library).

And that's why you are here, every Thursday afternoon, sitting at the sad excuse of a kitchen counter slash dining table in Mingi's scandalously expensive apartment given its size, growling next to him every time you catch him analyzing the bumps on his wallpapers instead of the letters on the pages.

Mingi generally likes you, even though you are a bit scary, he has to admit, or maybe that's the appeal. You are polite, but you have a way of looking at him that makes him feel like he's getting mansplained by your eyes. Your taunting gaze on him makes him feel small, and he doesn't like that at all. It makes him feel like all these years of drinking milk to make him stand at the 1.84m he is at today were in vain. You always have that one expression on your face, and maybe that's just Mingi's subconsciousness telling him to STUDY HARD FOR GOD'S SAKE, but in the way your eyebrows would scrunch together just the tiniest bit, he reads: God, he is fucking stupid.

He doesn't know which (since he did not pay attention in biology class, nor is he even sure they teach that in biology class) chemical in his brain suffers an allergic reaction every time you look at him like that, but there has to be one. There is nothing that Mingi hates more than being called stupid. Well, except for studying, maybe.

Call him lazy, call him a scalawag, call him witty for being able to get through all of school without reading a single one of the set books if you must, but do not call him stupid.

The only problem is that you haven't, well, called him stupid per se. It's just how Mingi interprets your stares. Also, he desperately needs you because he doubts there will be many other contestants that are okay with getting paid as little as you are (which is all Mingi has left by the end of a month full of Pokémon trading cards). So Mingi just has to sit back and relax and simply take it because, apparently, that's what he gets for not studying his entire life.

A loud ringing wakes Mingi from his peaceful afternoon nap - one that he has really earned this time around, he managed to look through his study notes for a full 20 minutes during his lunch break!

Disoriented, Mingi raises his head to make out his location and what year he is in. It rings again. Slowly, Mingi recognizes the shrill sound as his door bell. He slowly gets up, a quick glance in the mirror tells him that his hair is an absolute mess (which is really a crowning achievement given his buzz cut length) and he has imprint marks from his blanket all over his right cheek, but his sleepy mind doesn't even take it in. Mingi furrows his brows and shakes his head. Who would dare to disturb his peaceful slumber at this ungodly hour (4pm)?

The answer, of course, stands right in front of his door. With your arms crossed and the tip of your shoe drumming a dent into Mingi's "come in if you're a silly baka"-door mat, you raise an unimpressed brow at the sleepy shell of Mingi that blinks one eye after the other.

A few seconds pass until Mingi finally realizes who you are, and his mouth forms an 'o'-shape. Immediately after, he furrows his brows once again, his body slumping forward a bit because: why on God's green earth are you here? Then, it hits him like a truck, the aftermath of the collision blowing the remaining sleep out of his eyes: it's Thursday afternoon!

"Sorry," he says and sheepishly scratches the back of his head, then steps aside to let you enter.

"It's fine, it's only freezing cold outside," you stare at him before stepping in, shudder as you kick your shoes off, slip into Mingi's guest slippers and hurry inside. Mingi's brain does not register the sarcasm drenching your words.

"Let's get to it, shall we?" You ask as Mingi finally manages to follow you into the kitchen. You sit, take out a few sheets of paper from your backpack, then look over questioningly as Mingi has not even moved a millimeter, but instead started yawning like his life depends on it. Your eyes drift down his body. "Or maybe after you've put on some pants?"

Mingi freezes, looks down to confirm that, indeed, he's not wearing pants, but Naruto boxer shorts, then covers his crotch with his hands and buzzes off into his room.

Minutes later, Mingi reenters the kitchen, a pair of sweatpants hanging low on his hips that, yes, he checked twice if he's wearing them the right way around. As mentioned, he is generally unable to properly focus on his studies, but today, it's exceptionally bad. Of course, you'd notice.

"Mingi, are you okay?" There's worry in your eyes – a sight Mingi has not seen. Ever.

"I'm fine, just tired," he mumbles, eyes unfocusing as he stares ahead.

"Yeah, you are? Why?" Mingi's tired mind cannot question why you suddenly seem so interested in his well-being. He also doesn't put any meaning into why you're scooting closer to him, your forearm accidentally touching his.

"I studied during my lunch break," Mingi informs you, a little, proud smile tugging at the corners of his mouth. Something tingles inside his chest as you carefully place your hand on his arm. As he looks over at you, you smile at him, and he notices your gaze flickering down to his lips for a second.

Hold on. Mingi's mind suddenly snaps out of its hazy state and works on overdrive. He might be the type to vibe, the type to just let things play out, but he'd be damned if he didn't notice when someone likes him like that. He suddenly notices the way you started creating skin-on-skin contact with him, the way you want to be closer to him, eyeing him even more than you ever did before. Just... why? Is it because you saw him in his Anime panties?

A few moments pass, and you sit back, then pat your pencil against the book to remind him of the reason why you're actually here. Mingi groans, admittedly a little dramatically and unreasonably erotic, brushing a hand through his hair to flex his biceps right in front of your face. You seem unimpressed.

"Well, fuck me," he chuckles deeply, the rasp in his voice more evident than usual due to his nap. It's then when you tense, he notices from the corner of his eye. Oh. Okay. So it's the voice?

"I'm really glad you're tutoring me, you know?" He purrs, throwing in a little praise to get you extra bothered, and you simply breathe out nervously.

"Heh, no worries," you brush him off. Mingi decides that, for now, he's made you suffer enough and keeps quiet. Instead, he focusses on his studies, although he's already planning his next step to terrorize you with the sultry rasp his vocal cords are gifted with.

"Mingi, focus-"

"No, I get what I have to do, the contents just won't stay in my head." Mingi reasons, his voice unusually, but not by chance, high pitched, eyebrows scrunched as to why the hell he has to do this before doing that only to do whatever next when it wasn't like this for the other exercise he had to do minutes prior. He is not stupid (!), he does understand how this works. It's just that it doesn't make sense, and that is surely not his fault.

"Are you stup-" you start, but shut your mouth before you're even able to call him the dumbest fucker you've ever crossed paths with. Mingi inhales sharply. Oh, oh, you're lucky he is patient, and you're lucky he knows that as soon as he growled a few dirty words into your ear, you'd slam your upper body on the counter without regards of caution, pushing your panties down under your skirt and begging him to take you right there - or at least, that's what he imagines.

Yes, Mingi is super patient, that's just what comes with the entire vibe-personality package, so he does not dump your cute sorry ass on his baka-door mat, but simply closes his pen, lays it on the table and looks at you. A fabulous idea plops into his mind.

"God," he groans as deeply as he can, stretching his arms over his head, "I guess I'm just a little" - he throws in a little moany sigh - "a little distracted today."

"A-are you?" You nod, biting your lip subconsciously. Mingi looks at you without moving his head. "Why?"

"Well, just stuff, you know?" Mingi enjoys how the rumble in his voice makes his throat and - obviously - you feel. "There's just a lot, going on. Like big... big stuff. Stuff that just keeps coming and coming, in and out, just like that. Ugh, I wish I could just let all this frustration out you know, all this pent up stuff." He watches for your reaction.

Unmistakably, your hand holding your own pen in a relaxed manner mere seconds ago now desperately grasps the poor objects until your knuckles turn white, your breathing is uneven and loud as if you'd just ran the entire way from Mingi's place to the next convenience store (seriously, why the fuck is he paying so much for this godforsaken apartment?). And - Mingi's favorite reaction to him ever: you're pressing your thighs together.

Oh, how Mingi loves himself a good reaction like this.

"Big stuff, huh?" Your voice trembles as your nervous eyes search for his. "H-how big?"

"Oh, really big. Just really fucking big," Mingi confirms with a slight smirk. He loves how you just fold easily like that. One second, you're over there feeling superior on your little throne of knowledge that Mingi lacks, and the next, you're making a little mess in your panties just because Mingi so much as spoke. Absolutely incredible. People should start calling him "the rizzler".

"I think-" you clear your throat, "I think I should head home then?"

Mingi smiles to himself as soon as you turn away to pack your stuff into your backpack. His hands automatically reach out to play with his pen, his long, slender fingers toying with the object, inevitably drawing your attention to the movements. "Already?"

"Mhm." You stare a second too long, gulp, then hastily stuff your belongings into the big compartment of the backpack, Mingi listens to the sweet melody of stressed breathing and papers crunching.

As amused as he is, he decides that it is time for the big reveal.

"Keep it in your pants, baby" he looks over, his eyebrow halfway raised, and stops rocking back and forth and fiddling with the pencil as you freeze in your tracks and stop packing. "What?"

Slowly, you turn your head to look at him. "So you know?" You manage to squeak.

Mingi smugly pushes his tongue into his cheek. He loves how you're basically vibrating out of nervousness. "Oh, I know."

You sigh, hands finally letting go of your stuff and motioning defeat. He wonders what's going on in your mind right now. Are you afraid he's going to call you out? That he's going to make fun of you? That he's going to call you a needy slut and send you home? Or are you wondering if he's going to give you what you want? Mingi loves this game.

That's why he decides to make your situation a little more miserable.

"I also know that you think I'm stupid," he explains calmly, trying his best to no longer show any excitement, smugness, or any emotion whatsoever on his sharp facial features to really confuse you. Well, that's what you're getting for (almost) calling The Song Mingi stupid. Just a little payback, is all. He's not going to go so far and make you cry. No, no, Mingi can't handle when people cry, much less so if it's because of him.

Nevertheless, your breath hitches. Oh, you're fully aware that he didn't like you calling him that at all. Oh, how the gears are turning behind your forehead as you're trying to figure out what's going on, and what's going to go on in the next minutes.

"Thought so," Mingi deadpans. Yeah, that's right. Look how smart he is now! Super smart! He's got you all figured out. He knows exactly what to say and how to act to make you feel - and, fuck, does this feel like redemption - stupid.

"I'm sorry-" you start, back facing Mingi's form, but Mingi is not here for it. Mingi has gotten what Mingi wants. Mingi feels as powerful as he imagines a lion to feel, like, every day.

"Dumb fucks good," he simply states, just putting it out there, throwing it into the room for you to do with that statement whatever you like. Mingi's mind is already satisfied, his ego stroked because he's just proven that he isn't dumb. Although... he wouldn't mind a little diddling because, if he's being honest, you're hot as fuck and seeing you react to him in this way- well, he's also just a man!

"What?" You probably think you must've terribly misheard him as you whip your head around to face the confident Mingi smugly leaned back in his chair. Your eyes meet his, and he is sure that you now realize that, no, you definitely did not mishear him. That was exactly what he said.

In the blink of an eye, Mingi feels your presence on his lap, a last final look into his eyes before he feels your lips against his, desperately chewing away the remaining air separating his spit from yours. It's messy, lips colliding, too much teeth and tongue, but it's all raw and desperate. Mingi gets the vibes that you may have had some pent up want for him, but that's honestly the last clear thought he can muster before you grind your hips against his.

A deep groan escapes Mingi's lips, inevitably echoing against your own quiet gasps that just turn louder with every movement of your hips, your hands frantically trying to touch him everywhere at once to the point where he has to grab your arms and pull you back. Your eyes, wide. And confused, but somehow lidded and hazy at the same time struggle to take in Mingi in front of you. Yes, Mingi is aware of the effect of his siren eyes.

For another moment, he simply enjoys seeing how destroyed you look already, but honestly, there is just one thing on his mind.

"I'm gonna eat you out," he informs, waiting for you to nod frantically, whine and scramble off his lap for him to keep his promise. And you do, allowing Mingi to grab your waist with his large hands and lift you onto the counter. Of course, he can't resist getting another taste of your lips, almost losing himself in the soft pillows that frame your pretty mouth, but the hardness creating a tent in his sweatpants reminds him that he should possible attend a little lower.

Hence, he kisses his way over your cheek towards your jaw, then over your neck and down your collarbones. Mingi is not sure what your opinions on love bites are, so he just hopes you can remember him being right here and here and here even without visual proof, he can save that for next time.

Okay, Mingi admittedly was not able to hold himself back completely, his teeth only gently nipping at your skin on his way down. He simply hopes for the best, but your sounds seem to imply that you do not mind him one bit. Instead, you sound as if you wouldn't mind him taking a few bites more.

Impatient as you are, you assist Mingi in pushing your shirt out of the way, the straps of your bra automatically falling down your shoulders to reveal more of you to his hungry eyes.

And as much as Mingi would like to spend hours playing with your chest, he keeps it down to a minimum, kissing the soft flesh while gently pushing the remaining material out of the way for better access. His lips wrap around a nipple, his hands meanwhile busy with massaging the other and carefully holding your waist. God, Mingi loves boobs. But he might love the way your fingers comb through his hair and gently pull on it a bit more even.

Finally, the time has come, and Mingi kneels down on the floor. Pushing your skirt up, hands caressing your thighs, he creates eye contact with your eyes glazed over by lust and want. It doesn't even faze him that he hasn't cleaned these floors in weeks, honestly, he is in so deep he probably wouldn't even realize if the stove was on, lighting his study notes on fire.

He wants to tease you more, make you wait, maybe make you beg even, but he just feels too hungry to keep waiting. His fingers hook into the hem of your panties, pulling them down your legs as quickly as possible before spreading your legs and groaning in anticipation.

Throwing your thighs over his shoulders, he pulls you forward a little further, chuckling as you almost lose balance and smile at him. Okay, maybe Mingi feels a little tingle, and maybe that is not a horny tingle, but that's something to worry about later, if ever. Right now, he has a mission: dive in.

So that's what he does, obviously, planting a careful kiss right on your clit to wait for your reaction. And you do not disappoint, gasping slightly at the first sensation before getting louder and bolder the more Mingi tastes you.

His tongue gently parts your folds, getting a first taste of your juices. You basically cry out as his tongue prods at your hole, carefully easing its way inside to caress your walls.

Automatically, your hands fly to his hair, gently pulling at the roots to find a way to ground yourself, the feeling assumingely overwhelming, Mingi thinks, not to brag, but-

Mingi's eyes roll back at a particularly hard tug at his hair, paired with the way your hips grind closer until you're basically riding his face. Fuck, how are you so hot? Mingi's fingers grab hard at your thighs, loving the way the soft flesh feels in his hands.

To experiment a little more and, first and foremost, to get more rewarding reactions out of you, Mingi lets his mouth wander back up to your clit, gently sucking the nub between his lips, his tongue carefully flicking as not to overwhelm you. At the same time, a fingers sneaks its way over to circle your entrance.

Your throat coughs out a broken moan at this, your eyes switching between looking at Mingi's eyes and his mouth, and closing completely. Mingi loves taking in the pleasure written all over your face. He might not admit it, but he loves this kind of praise much more than verbal praise because your body really can't lie. He can literally taste how good he is at this.

He finally pushes his finger inside, loving how the wetness and muscle contractions are basically pulling him deeper and deeper until past his second knuckle. He feels around a little, trying to find the spots that seem to appeal to you the most, watching carefully how you react to each and every flick of his wrist.

Although, he feels that one finger is not enough to prepare you for the rest of him, so he adds another, massaging them into the spot that seems to be making you see stars with the way you grip his hair even tighter and mutter something he interprets as a warning that you're about to cum.

Keeping his pace, he successfully sends you over the edge, letting you ride out your high on his tongue before removing his lips, only getting his fingers massage the last clenches out of you.

Looking up he realizes you look, respectfully, wrecked, with your chest heaving, your hair a little messy and your eyes hazy and glossy, parted lips asking for his. And who is he to deny them, as he leans in to allow you to taste yourself. You seem to like it.

Pulling back after a while, he looks at you. You look so happy and relaxed like he's never seen before. For some reason, it reminds him of the weight in his pants that he suddenly feels the need to inform you about.

"You make me so hard," Mingi says lowly, carefully taking your hand to prove it to you, "feel." It's more your hand guiding his with how fast you reach down to feel him, eager to touch the outline of him through the sweatpants. And as if you're getting paid to stroke Mingi's ego even more, you gasp at his size.

Mingi can't help but smirk, of course, who wouldn't?

"Big stuff, huh?" You repeat your words from earlier, but this time no longer nervous, but cheeky as you bite your lip playfully. Oh, how Mingi would love to make you choke on his dick right now, just a little, and in a loving matter, but he's honestly waited long enough and he really just needs to be in you right now. And besides, Mingi is more in his giving > receiving era.

Instead, he grins. And he feels like there is something more.

Impatiently, you tug at his pants, successfully moving them a millimeter. Mingi helps you push his pants further down until it pools around his ankles. You giggle.

Damnit, Mingi. Why couldn't you've changed your underwear? Mingi mentally scolds himself, a good amount of his previously earned smugness flying out the window. Instead, he gives you kind of a sheepish look.

"I don't mind," you assure, tugging at his anime boxers next, "it's actually relieving to be reminded that you're still the cute, dorky Mingi and are not possessed by a sex demon."

"Incubus," Mingi points out.

"I don't fucking care. Just get this hideous thing off and have sex with me!"

Mingi does not need to be told twice, although he makes a mental note to scold you later for calling the one and only Naruto printed on a piece of fabric shielding his balls from the outside world hideous.

"God, fuck," you let out, and Mingi chuckles at your reaction to his naked lower half, "come here. Please."

You pull him closer, wrap your legs around him and beg him with your eyes. Mingi wastes not another second, aligning himself with your hole and slowly pushing forwards. Your eyes roll back as he enters you, causing you to hold onto him for dear life as he inches inside, filling you completely.

God, must your walls hug him so perfectly? Must you be so unbelievably wet just for him? Must you make these sounds? Mingi feels like he doesn't want to be inside anyone else ever again.

"I feel like I don't want to inside anything else ever again."

How did that get out there?

You chuckle, and have the nerve to pinch his cheek, as if he wasn't balls deep buried inside you right now. "You're so cute."

Cute?!

Mingi will show you cute. He grabs your jaw, admittedly still gently, and makes you look at him as he pulls almost all the way out until his tip catches at your entrance. "Cute?" And he pushes in all the way all at once. You moan, the feeling too much, too intense for you to still keep your eyes open. Helplessly, you cling to Mingi's body as he repeats the action 4 more times before setting a steady rhythm, angling his hips in a way that should stimulate the spot you liked so much earlier.

With your mouth hanging open and your eyebrows scrunched, you look like the prettiest thing Mingi's ever seen. He wants to see you drool, watch you completely lose your mind over nothing else but his cock. At the same time, he is surprised how good it feels. Well, not surprised that it feels good, but that it feels abnormally good, like he's about to nut in the next minute or so. Hopefully, he's able to coax another high out of you before that.

"What was it that riled you up so much earlier? My voice?" He growls, and you as much as whimper in return. "Yeah, like it that my voice is so deep?" You nod pathetically. "Cute."

"Mingi- 's so good."

"Yeah, am I fucking you good?" Mingi grins and you nod weakly, struggling to keep your eyes open. Mingi really shouldn't be the one talking big because honestly, he feels like if u moan one more time, if ur walls clench around him one more time, he is going to lose it. Something about this entire situation is just super surreal to him, or maybe it's simply you that is the reason for his premature high that is coming for him with fast steps.

"Fuck, baby," he groans, kissing your cheek before whispering, "can I please cum inside?"

"Shit, y-yes," you confirm, nodding quickly as you fight your hardest battle to keep your eyes open, focused and on the man that's currently grinding his tip into your sweet spot. Mingi feels like he loves you.

Mingi also feels like he's loosing his grip on reality, which is why he grabs your hips harder than before, using his strength to really slam his hips into yours with force, drowning his thoughts with the sounds of your moans. There is nothing on his mind except for you, you, you, and the primal need to make you his.

"Please," he groans, not quite sure what he's begging for, but it doesn't really matter in the end, does it? All that matters is that Mingi's ears catch the way you're begging him to cum for you, to fill you up, to please, please finish inside. He is not going to deny you that wish.

His hips stutter, his mind goes numb as he feels his muscles tighten and contract, releasing deep inside you. The feeling spreads in his body, feeling high and happy with such a forceful orgasm like this one.

Everything after is just a blur in his mind, he just remembers realizing that you didn't cum a second time, and he wouldn't be Mingi if he kept it that way. That's why he found himself back on his knees seconds after pulling out, sucking your clit back into his mouth, tasting his own release that's threatening to drip out if it wasn't for his fast fingers pumping in and out of you to push you over the edge.

It doesn't take long until you do, orgasm fueled by the lewd action of Mingi eating his own cum out of you, he assumes. Somehow, you two end up in his bed after, mostly because Mingi is a cuddler, partly because Mingi is not able to let you go yet. Or ever. Who knows.

© 2023 YUTASBELLYBUTTONPIERCING all rights reserved — please DO NOT translate, take, nor repost any of my works.

[rederiswrites]

Okay so I'm giving @corseque 's super-important audio of all Solas' comments about the Blight a second (or fifteenth, whatever) listen and taking notes as I go.

Solas doesn't think for a second that once the archdemons are gone the Blight will be gone. Which really makes sense because it's the Blight that makes them an archdemon, not the other way around. Supposedly, they're blighted when the darkspawn reach and corrupt them. But of course that begs the question of why it's only darkspawn (and uh, honorary darkspawn like the Wardens) that hear their call. Anyway, the way he says it, it sounds more like the archdemons are a limiting factor than a driving factor.

Varric: "What's so confusing about endless darkspawn?" Solas: "A great deal!" So yeah, whatever the plan was, he didn't foresee darkspawn as a consequence. So did he not foresee them existing at all, or not foresee them being free to cause problems? Worth noting that it's really clear both in general and in Descent that dwarves as a whole were a huge blind spot for him.

He is really really surprised that the Western Approach ever recovered from the Blight. Pretty clear he didn't think that was possible.

He thinks that everything the Wardens have done up til now is a deeply misguided effort that's served (mostly accidentally) as a delaying tactic. Gotta say, with the information we have at hand, this point pairs about as well with the last as a nice dry red with spicy pickles. If the Wardens shouldn't have done what they've done, but he didn't think recovery from the Blight was possible, I'd love to hear what he thought the alternative was.

Same dialogue as above, but when Solas talks about stopping the Blight and when Blackwall and Varric talk about it, one gets the distinct impression that they're talking at cross purposes, because Varric and Blackwall are talking about the experience of Blights, as in, periodic events, whereas I think Solas is talking about THE Blight, that is, its true nature, which is yet untouched.

He thinks Erimond is dumb as shit, which is fair and valid. "That's madness! For all we know, killing the Old Gods could make things even worse!" he says. Well, he knows a lot more than "we" know, but it's entirely possible that he doesn't for sure know this. Increasingly clear that he thinks it, though.

I'd forgotten just how pissed off he was about the Grey Warden plan to kill the Old Gods before they were corrupted. It really doesn't give "hey you're killing my relatives" energy. It really gives "wow that would fuck us all" vibes.

Of course, with a side of my remembering that Solas' besetting flaw was always thinking people should know better even though they don't have access to the knowledge he has. That flaw I WILL grant. He displays it repeatedly--you could even say the writers went out of their way to make the point.

"The Blight is the real problem"

"The fools who first unleashed the Blight on this world thought they were unlocking ultimate power." Anyway yeah those are the absolute core of everything here. The Blight is the real problem and the Blight was deliberate. Deliberately made or deliberately freed.

Even during the events of Inquisition, Solas obviously sees Corypheus as secondary to the Blight as a danger.

Cassandra suggests that the archdemons were really just dragons--"Pets to those who no longer exist", by which she probably means the Old Gods, not specifically the gods of Elvhen, just because of her cultural background. Solas finds this suggestion amusingly wrong--a quiet snort, and "I would not go so far as that."

Last notes: he doesn't sound like he thinks the Blight can be stopped, and he's adamant that it can't be controlled. Which is presumably why he broke the world in an attempt to contain it, assuming I'm right that that was the underlying reason for the Veil. That it didn't quite work the way he'd hoped is also pretty evident, though I wanna be clear that I assume he was working from a place of desperation, and that not knowing every possible outcome of an action is not a condemnation of having taken it.

[ellecdc]

pls tell me u will write a part 2 for not alone?🙏🏼🙏🏼🙏🏼🙏🏼🙏🏼🙏🏼🙏🏼

took me a while to get this to feel cohesive (also couldn't decide for the longest time what I wanted the outcome to be for a few people so that took a while to figure out) and I'm still not 100% sure it reads cohesively but I hope you all like it <3

poly!marauders x fem!reader who they are 'worried' about...whatever that means [2.2k words]

part 1 | part 2

CW: hostage situation, attempted overtaking of camp, brief and hardly noticeable implied suggestion of SA, death of minor and unnamed character, blood, injury, Sirius being an arrogant son of a bitch even when his life is at risk

You have quickly come to realise why the boys chose this location to set up camp since agreeing to stay with them.

It was in a rural, secluded area with a small population prior to the End Of The World As You Knew It which left it almost next to empty now, but it was still in walking distance of a small town with various shops that they could pilfer when they began running low on supplies.

There was a creek about half a kilometre behind the barn that they could use to collect drinking water and also to bathe and wash their clothes.

And need to bathe and wash your clothes did you ever. 

So, whilst “keeping an eye on the encampment” (which was really just a polite translation of none of the boys trusting you enough with their safety to bring you along on a run into town), you opted to head down to the creek to clean up. 

The water was freezing, but you breathed through the pain in your toes and fingers as you waded into the water, reminding yourself that feeling pain meant you were alive - that you were still here. 

You used to fear pain - before - but now you almost craved it; now you found comfort in the discomfort, knowing that it meant you had survived another day. 

Soon enough your body acclimated to the cool, running water and you submerged yourself into the deepest part to let the steady flow wash away the layers of grime, dirt, and sweat that you were likely covered in. 

There was a time in your life you probably would have felt rather horrified that three very attractive men had seen you in such a state - but it seemed that there was no room for vanity or ego in an apocalypse.

Once you were cold enough that you were sure you had squiggle lines surrounding your being like an old cartoon character, you used a rock to scrub at your clothes, feeling (though cold) quite peaceful as you listened to the trickling water and various birds singing around you. 

You laid your soaked clothes on a boulder in the sun to dry and pulled on a second set of clothes - or rather, your only other set of clothes. You wondered for a moment if you should have more - how many sets of clothes should one have in an apocalypse? You couldn’t bear the thought of having to carry around a third change of clothes, so came to the conclusion that you were fine with just the two.

You were interrupted in your musings when you heard your name being shouted. 

“James?” You called back, hastily finishing tying your shoes before grabbing your gun. 

But it was Sirius you saw first, sprinting through the bushes and staring at you with a mixture of dread and outrage. 

“Is everything okay?” You asked him as he stalked towards you. 

“Where the fuck were you?!” He barked instead of answering, looking like he was just itching to grab you roughly by your shoulders.

“I- what? I was here? What happened? Is everything okay?” You continued, not moving your eyes from the fuming man in front of you as you heard James and Remus step through the bushes Sirius had just come bursting through. 

“No, everything is not okay; the fuck were you thinking just taking off and not saying anything!?” He berated you.

“Pads.” Remus warned carefully; slightly breathless from chasing the long-haired man over to you. 

“You’re a fucking piece of work.” Sirius spat with finality before turning and shouldering his way past Remus and James, disappearing through the bushes on his way towards the barn.

“Was the trip not successful?” You asked quietly once you could no longer hear Sirius storming away. 

“No… it was.” James offered cautiously. 

“He was just… worried about you, dove.” Remus placated.

You shot him an unimpressed glare. “He was worried about me, not about me.” You muttered back, shoving your gun back into your bag and running your fingers through your wet hair that was leaving damp patches on your shirt. “If you guys don’t want me here, just say so, but if you’re going to keep me around you’re going to have to start trusting me.”

“We do trust you.” James argued, causing you to scoff derisively as you slung your bag over your shoulder.

“Not enough to join anyone on excursions! And not enough to take a night-watch shift alone; but sure, add taking a fucking bath to the list of things you definitely trust me to do.”

You didn’t wait for a response before you were stalking back to the barn, leaving your clothes behind to dry for the rest of the afternoon. 

You were just about to push through the slightly open door (none too gently, either, mind you) when you heard Sirius’ voice.

“There’s no one else; I’m alone.” 

Ice cold dread seeped into your bones as you held your breath in wait for a response.

“Are ya now?” A cocky voice taunted. “This seems like quite the setup for one bloke.”

You crept along the edge of the barn until you found a hole you could peek through.

Sirius was kneeling with his hands up in surrender whilst three men stood before him - one man loomed over him and the other two formed a blockade between him and the barn door as well as the stairs to the loft. 

“What can I say?” Sirius countered. “I’m quite the bloke.”

The man currently interrogating Sirius was apparently not interested in his haughty quips and slammed the butt of his rifle into Sirius’ jaw, causing him to fall over.

You quickly looked over your shoulder, ears straining to see if you could hear Remus or James following you back, and you prayed to a God that you weren’t even sure you believed in anymore that they had decided to stay at the creek to give the two of you a chance to cool down. 

You crept back along the side of the building slowly before pulling yourself up the ladder to the hay hood that Remus had put up as an emergency exit. 

You could kiss that brilliant, brilliant man right on the mouth for it now. 

You crouched low and snuck over to look beyond the edge of the loft; the man with the rifle was the only one with a firearm from what you could see, the other two men holding only a crowbar and machete. 

You silently opened your rucksack, pulled your gun out and put a knife between your teeth as you edged closer to the beams so you were effectively standing directly atop of the man currently looming over top of Sirius.

“I’m not gonna ask you again, where the fuck are the others?” He spat at him.

“We heard the lot of you arguing - we could just finish you off and go looking for them, if that’s what you prefer.” One of the cronies added tauntingly.

“You’d be looking for an awful long time.” Sirius grunted as he spat blood out from his mouth. “Seeing as I’m alone.” 

“Stop fucking lying.” The interrogator barked as he landed a kick to Sirius’ ribs. “Pretentious or not, one bloke doesn’t need four sleeping bags.” 

“How do you know I, hmph,  didn’t find it like this?” Sirius choked out as he rolled onto his back where he spotted you in the rafters. 

You brought your finger to your lips, and Sirius let his head roll back towards the guy so as to not alert him to your presence. 

You watched as one of the guys - the one with the machete - started poking around the makeshift kitchen area, and the other moved towards the door to keep watch.

Taking the split attention of the group to your advantage, you waited for Sirius to look back up at you before you jumped from the rafters.

Sirius rolled out of the way just before you landed on the interrogator, the two of you crashing to the ground - though you were the only one prepared for the impact - causing the rifle to slip out of his grasp which you kicked towards Sirius. 

You slipped the knife from between your teeth and held it against the interrogators throat and pointed your gun at the machete wielding man, firing a shot which hit him in the right shoulder. 

The man with the crowbar who had been stationed near the door made for you when Sirius shot the rifle, the bullet grazing the man's thigh and bringing him to his knees. 

Your ears rang when an elbow met your temple right before a fist connected with your mouth as the interrogator forced you off of him. 

“Is this why you were lying?” The man spat as he stood above you. “Trying to keep this thing all to yourse-”

Sirius shot the rifle again, silencing the interrogator for good as he fell to the ground with a thud. 

Apparently, the machete wielding man didn’t deign to wait around and see how things played out after you’d shot him in the shoulder and had fucked back off from whence he came, so you and Sirius pointed your firearms at the last man still standing (or… you know, breathing at least) who seemed to have the sense to raise his hands in surrender. 

Remus and James appeared at the barn door, then - both winded from clearly having run at the sound of shots being fired - to find the two of you holding the remaining captor captive.

“Nice of you to come by, boys.” Sirius joked as he lowered the rifle with a pained groan now that Remus and James each had a weapon pointed at the attempted usurper. 

“What the fuck just happened?” Remus barked as he took in the body on the ground and the state of each of you at the same time James murmured “we thought you were firing at each other”. 

“Oh, take a wild guess.” Sirius muttered bitterly, hissing in pain as he lowered himself into a chair. 

“How many were you?” Remus barked at the man, sounding so unlike himself that it actually made you flinch.

“Fo-four, four of us and a 12 year-old. Us…three and then a woman and the child stayed back.” He responded quickly. 

“From around here?” James continued.

“No…passing through.”

Remus looked up from him to share a look with Sirius; a well practiced silent conversation passing between the two of them.

“Keep fucking moving then.” Remus gruffed as he grabbed the bloke by the collar of his shirt and threw him out the door.

Your - for all intents and purposes - home fell eerily silent then, save the sound of your attempted assailant’s leg dragging along the gravel road as he stumbled away from the barn.

“You alright?” Remus asked finally as he let out a breath.

“Fine, moons. Never better.” Sirius muttered.

You were too busy watching the blood pooling around the interrogators body to realise your companions were waiting for your response. 

You looked up at the lingering silence to see all of their eyes on you.

“M’fine.” You offered.

James hummed in acknowledgement, though you could sense disbelief in his tone. “Rem and I will get rid of him, okay? Please try not to get into any more altercations whilst we’re gone?” He tried to joke, but there was a lingering anxiety in his voice as he and Remus began wrapping the body up in a blue tarp.

“Do not go to sleep until we’re back; either of you.” Remus added before muttering something under his breath about concussions and how someone not concussed ought to be on watch in case they come back, except “they” was replaced with “those” and then some Welsh word that you were sure was simply very unflattering. 

Once they had left, you and Sirius sat in silence as you both grappled with what had just happened, and alternatively, what had just almost happened. 

You weren’t sure what you might have looked like - though the metallic taste of your teeth let you know that you at the very least had a busted lip - but Sirius’ jaw where the rifle had hit him was already turning a purple colour, his chin was scraped and bleeding from hitting the concrete flooring, and he had a protective hand placed over the ribs that were kicked. 

You wordlessly placed a bowl of water in front of Sirius before moving to your seat with your own bowl to clean the blood from your persons.

You could feel his eyes trained on you as you wiped away blood that was staining your face; likely equal parts your own and someone else's. 

“Don’t go down to the river alone… please.” You heard him say quietly suddenly, feeling your eyes roll to the back of your head as you let your two arms fall from their tasks. 

“Are you still on this? Haven’t I proven my trustworthiness yet? Honestly, I-”

“It’s not safe.” Sirius interrupted; a strange look crossing his face as his brows furrowed at you. “It’s not safe.” He repeated, quieter this time. 

He stood abruptly then; abandoning his bowl of water and grabbing a pack of cigarettes before disappearing around the side of the barn for a smoke. 

Oh.

So apparently he had been worried about you, not about you.

And though you really wanted to feel embarrassed that they had picked anything like that out for you, you also couldn’t help but notice that a new jumper, trousers, and some knickers had been folded and placed on your sleeping bag for you.

[6ix9inewiturmom]

Mine- Christopher Sturniolo

Summary: You’re on stream with the triplets and you come on the screen and the chat goes CRAZY, starts hitting on you, calling you beautiful, andChris gets a little jealous and decides to remind you of who you belong to…

Warnings: SMUTTTT, Dom!Chris,Sub!Reader, p in v, Unprotected sex (practice safe sex please), degradation, praising, oral (fem receiving), (idk what else i missed)

A/N: UMMM THIS WAS REQUESTED A LONG TIME AGO BUT TY FOR REQ THIS SO SORRY ITS TAKEN ME SO LONG, Chris is low-key like ROUGH in this.. Could u tell I'm ovulating

PSA: THIS IS MY WORK PLEASE AND THANK YOU DO NOT USE MY WORK AT ALL

Chris and I have been dating in the public eye for about 2 ish weeks now, but in private it's been 2 years, surprisingly the fans took it a lot better than he and I both expected. I've received more love than hate, occasionally I'll get a 14-year-old girl in my DMs or comment section talking about stealing her man or whatever.

Today was the first time the Triplets had streamed on their Twitch channel in a couple of months now, so obviously Chris invited me for our first actual Twitch stream since being out in the public eye.

“MATT YOU FUCKING SUCK, HOW DID YOU ALREADY DIE AFTER BEING IN A MATCH FOR 3 MINUTES” Chris yells through his headset.

“Hey, baby...” i slowly walk a little timid after trying to compose myself to join the stream.

Chris squeals softly excited to see me finally join the stream “Hi ma, glad to see you finally keeping me company” he pats his lap for me to sit, and I smile softly adjusting myself on his thigh.

I giggled softly looking through the chat. “Hey someone named Ellie just subscribed”

“SHES A PRO ALREADY” Nick yells.

Instead of focusing on the game, Chris was playing I found myself looking through their chat.

Sturnfan626: Y/N IF YOU AND CHRIS BREAK UP BE MINEE

The4thtriplet: Shes stunning oh my god

Crybaby19853: this is how I find out Chris has a girlfriend? But wait why is she like absolutely beautiful.

The chat was flooding with compliments about me and how Chris bagged me or them not understanding how Chris pulled me.

“Awe Chris your fans are so sweet look” I smiled at him as he glanced at the chat screen his eyes darkened watching 35k people hitting on me, and even a couple wanting me to start an Onlyfans which to protect my sanity and privacy I would never.

“Yeah I know I got a hot girlfriend” Chris sort of rolls his eyes before focusing his eyes back to the screen.

“Thank you, everyone,” I softly giggle as Chris’ hand snaked around my waist gripping it a little hard.

I was bombarded with comments in the chat, responding to questions about Chris and me while the boys kept playing Fortnite. Unbeknownst to me, it was disturbing Chris, as he began muttering curse words under his breath, a rare occurrence unless he's truly angry.

“I don't know about you guys but I'm super fucking tired,” Chris says while clicking out of the match, now using both of his hands and wrapping them around my waist.

“BYE EVERYONE WE LOVE YOU SO MUCH THANK YOU FOR JOINING OUR STREAM TONIGHT” Nick yells kissing the camera.

“we’ll see you when we see you,” Matt says ending the stream

Chris groans as the stream ends leaning back in his chair and running his fingers through his hair. “Get on the bed”

“Hm?” I turn my head to face him furrowing my eyebrows.

“You fucking heard me Y/N, don’t be a fucking stubborn brat” Chris says coldly.

“O-okay” I obeyed hopping off his lap walking around to the bed and lying down resting myself on my elbows.

Chris walked over hovering over me between my legs and caressing my cheek with his thumb “Such a greedy fucking whore,” he chuckled softly “fishing for compliments from other people” he shook his head leaning down and colliding his lips with mine hungrily. He wrapped his hand around my throat applying just the right amount of pressure getting a soft moan out of me, sending an invitation to explore my mouth. While exploring my mouth his hand travels down my body yanking down the sleep shorts I walked around the house in all day making them bunch up around my ankles. He pulls away softly smirking down at me fully removing my underwear and the rest of my shorts throwing them across the room.

He settles between my legs using his finger and gliding it up and down my wet, aching pussy. “So fucking beautiful,” he says as his voice drops into a husk. He analyzes my face as he slowly glides his finger into me watching as my breath hitches. “And so fucking wet” he chuckled dipping his head down and kitty-licking my clit while pumping his finger in and out of me.

“O-oh s-s-shit Chris” i moan out “s-so fucking good”

He harshly sucks my clit taking it between his teeth while he adds a second finger into me curling his finger up and hitting that hard-to-reach spot.

My back arches off the mattress watching him enjoy every inch of me in his mouth. he began pumping faster into me making my moans turn into whimpers “S-So f-fucking close” I breath out.

Chris groans against the taste of my arousal all over his mouth “Cum” he mutters diving into my pussy like his last meal, pumping faster in and out of me.

“CHRIS” I squeal finally snapping that knot in my abdomen all over his mouth and fingers. I sit up balancing my weight against my elbows looking at him and wiping his mouth against his forearm and undressing himself.

“The first one was free, you’re working for the next few” he grins beginning to take off his boxers as his aching, red cock.

My eyes widened “W-what?” I stuttered.

“You didn't think I was done with you, did you?” he comes now laying between my legs, his face just inches away from mine, and rubbing his cock through my sensitive folds.

I softly nodded batting my eyelashes at him. “Oh? Don't be so naive baby” he coos, continuing to rub his tip against my folds. “I'm far from done with you” his chuckle was almost sadistic, I'd never seen him like this but holy mother of pearl it was turning me on so fucking fast.

He aligned his cock with my entrance pushing his tip in slowly then pulling back out a couple of times, teasing my entrance, making me whine from the loss of contact. “You want it?” he says grabbing my chin and making me look at him.

I nodded violently stuffing my bottom lip out for him. “You beg for what you want Y/N” his voice turned husk.

“P-please Chris” I whined as his tip continued to push in and out of me.

“Please what, princess?” he glides his thumb over my bottom lip while giving me a faux sympathy look on his face.

“P-please fuck me, Chris,” I stated confidently swallowing a lump in my throat.

He chuckles before pushing his length farther into me “Such a pretty mouth, begging so nicely” he smirks fully bottoming out in me, making my eyes touch my brain.

"God you don't know how bad I missed fucking this little pussy of yours," Chris smirked. "That's right, princess. I want you until you see fucking stars. I won't even fucking stop if someone sees or hears. You're mine, understand? You're my little fuck toy," he husked.

I whimpered at his words. I'd never been more aroused than I was right then. He began to regain his fast pace, as I cried out in pleasure.

"Fuck, Chris!" I shouted. This seemed to turn Chris on even more as he thrust into me even harder, making my tits bounce.

"Chris, Chris, Chris," I moaned.

Chris grunted, leaned his head towards my neck, and latched his lips onto my soft skin. He took my skin in between his teeth and sucked forcefully.

"That's gonna leave a mark, Chris, stop," I Whined.

He pulled away and smirked. "I know, that's the point, you dirty little slut, I want people to see you belong to ME” his thrusts maintained a brutal pace while attacking my cervix.

“F-Fu-Fuckk” I stuttered as my legs began to shake around his torso. “Cl-Close” I choked out.

“No” his voice husked in my ear as his hand made a fist next to my head to support his weight and his harsh movements. “Do you deserve to cum?” he hummed in my ear.

“Y-yes p-lease, Chris” I begged between my moans.

“You Cum with me or not at all got it?” he grunts out sitting up and wrapping his hand around my throat and squeezing the sides just enough to make the pleasure more intensifying.

“Mhm,” I moaned out looking at him and giving him doe-eyes that I knew he couldn't resist.

“Nu-uh, words, understand?” he squeezed my throat a little harder.

“Y-Yes s-Sir” i wept, the pleasure of him repeatedly pounding my cervix and the way his veins popped out of his forearm while wrapped around my throat became almost uncontrollable, the knot in my stomach could burst at any moment now.

He smirked at my response “My greedy girl, just so pitiful, begging for that release,” he grunted “Hold it for a couple of seconds okay, beautiful? Can you do that for me?” he bit his lip removing his hand from my throat to brush the hair on my face away, smiling down at me.

“C-Cant” I shook my head squeezing my eyes shut as tears of overstimulation began forming at the corners of my eyes.

“Yes, you can pretty girl, I'm almost there alright? Just keep squeezing me so good baby” he moves his hand down my body slowly and agonizing down to my clit and toying with it while maintaining his attack on my pussy.

“FUCK” I squeal arching my back off the bed. My moans became whimpers as my makeup began to run from the tears now streaming down my face “C-Cum-Cumming” I let out a scream of pleasure as my orgasm hit me like 14 busses and I squirted all over him and everything else in the way.

“That's it,” he coos “Keep cumming for me, let it all out” he continued as his thrusts became sloppier chasing after his own release. 

“Such a good fucking girl for me baby,” he smiles as his last couple of thrusts in me painted my once pink walls a nice shade of white. He slowly pulls out of me being careful not to hurt me. “Let me clean you up yeah?” his smile made me smile back at him as he left quickly to his bathroom to grab a lukewarm washrag. He slowly drags it down my legs and carefully wipes my cum covered pussy making me wince “I know ma, I know” he coos throwing the rag into the pile of clothes we left on the floor.

“You okay?” he chuckled admiring my fucked-out expression.

“Mhm, I'm good” I smiled moving my body to face his

“I wasn't too rough on you was I?” he smiles moving my hair behind my ears.

“Honestly, you were perfect” I smiled leaning into his touch.

“I'm sorry I got a little possessive, I'm trying to get used to the whole ‘the public relationship’ type thing, I'm still used to keeping you my little secret,” he says softly kissing my forehead and pulling my body closer to his.

A pound at the door quickly broke up this once peaceful pillow talk moment “HEY FREAKS!” Nick yells “SOME OF US ARE TRYING TO FUCKING SLEEP” he continued before walking away from the door and slamming his own door.

Chris and I chuckled as I nuzzled my head into his chest. “Do you wanna watch Sponge Bob? Or gossip girl?” he says running his fingers through my hair

“Whatever you want” I smiled before fastly falling asleep wrapped in his arms.

Chris looked at me falling asleep on him smiled down at me shook his head, admiring how peaceful and soundly I slept intertwined with his own body.

A/N PT2: GUYS IDK WHAT HORMONE MONSTER ATTACKED ME BUT LIKE I HOPE YOU GUYS ENJOYED THIS!! I love you all and i hope you all have a blessed and amazing day! 🩷

[theysherobinbuckley]

a little something I started but probably won't ever finish - alternate first meeting steddie! post s3, pre s4

(context: in an effort to cheer up his perpetually grumpy new neighbor, Eddie broke out his old skateboard and immediately ate shit for it. Cue Red calling none other than Steve Harrington to solve the problem...)

Red was barely in the door when Harringron turned on him, jaw clenched and fingers twitching. Having those dark eyes focused so entirely on him nearly made Eddie dizzy.

His lips were moving and- oh shit. Eddie was totally supposed to be listening.

"Uh, what?"

"What are you doing hanging around Max?"

Eddie frowned. "We're neighbors?"

"So?"

"So I'm being… neighborly? Is that illegal?"

"Neighborly is getting someone's mail while they're out of town. Not a super senior hanging around with a girl who's not even in high school yet."

"You better be fucking careful what you're accusing me of, Harrington, because to be honest, you don't look any better. Don't think I haven't heard your beemer pull up at all hours of the night. What the fuck is that about, huh? King Steve likes 'em young?"

Eddie's back hit the trailer before the last word even left his mouth. All the breath rushed out of him at once as Harrington pinned him with one arm across his shoulders.

"Don’t fucking say that," he seethed. "She's like my sister. I'm not- I wouldn't hurt her."

Eddie reached up to pat Harrington's arm placatingly, sending him as sweet a smile as he could muster.

"Hey, I believe you, man. I'm a little lost, sure, but I believe you." He sent a look to the trailer to his right. "Now can you let me down before Muriel sends Axel out to break your arm?"

Harrington followed his gaze and, upon seeing Muriel frowning from behind her curtains, dropped Eddie faster than if he'd told him he had the plague.

"We're in my kingdom now, Harrington," he said, grinning and waving in Muriel's direction. "These are my people. We take care of each other here. And Red's one of us, whether you like it or not."

Steve frowned, opened his mouth to respond, maybe even protest, but Eddie cut him off.

"I was just trying to make the kid smile, okay? So I got out my old skateboard, did a few tricks, busted my shit." He held up the ice pack he'd stolen from Red's fridge. "She called you 'cause she said you'd know what to do."

Harrington was quiet. Noticeably, he did not apologize for jostling Eddie's extremely sore wrist, but whatever.

"Did she?"

"Yeah, man, I tried to talk her out of it, but she seemed pretty confident you'd pick up. And here you are, so…"

"No, I mean- did she have fun?"

Eddie shrugged. "I mean, she didn't look as miserable as usual. Laughed a couple times when I fucked up a dismount. What's up with that, by the way? The constant dispair?"

Harrington's whole body tensed, and Eddie was almost scared he was gearing up to punch him just for asking.

"You remember Billy Hargrove?" he replied, his voice tight.

Eddie couldn't help but sneer at the mention of that piece of shit. Wayne had always taught him not to speak ill of the dead, but that didn't mean he couldn't think some choice things about him. Like the fact that he was pretty sure the guy was rotting in hell for all the things he'd said to Jeff in the school halls.

"Unfortunately. What about him?"

"He was Max's older brother. Step-brother."

"That's..."

"Fucked?" Harrington supplied. Eddie nodded. "Yeah. So I just- I need to make sure another Hargrove doesn't come around. Sorry I got all... you know. I've been told I can be kind of intense."

"No shit," Eddie laughed. "No hard feelings, I guess. Since it's in Red's best interest."

"No hard feelings," Harrington echoed. "Thanks for looking out for her."

Then, something Eddie had never even dreamed of: Harrington stuck his hand out, clearly expecting a handshake.

Huh.

It was over in a second, but Eddie's hand burned where Steve's had been.

"No problem. I'm kind of the park babysitter," Eddie replied. "Part of the job description."

Harrington lit up at that.

"I babysit too! Max and a few of her friends. 'S why I'm always around. I'm usually playing chauffeur for one of the other gremlins."

"That makes more sense than you having a torrid love affair with Susan."

"Yeah, she's not really my type," Harrington said with a smirk.

Eddie watched in shock as Harrington's eyes slowly, deliberately dipped up and down his form.

Talk about fucking whiplash. Eddie could still feel Harrington's strong arm against his chest, the brush of Harrington's nose against his own, the heat of Harrington's breath on his face. And now the king was checking him out?

"I see. Not into MILFs?"

Eddie was in the middle of making plans to staple his big stupid mouth shut when Harrington laughed.

"I'm more into brunettes."

And boy, didn't that seem pointed.

[covington-shenanigans]

so I'm on this app, Marco Polo, where you stay in touch with people by means of sending video messages. (there are probably other features, but I'm a free user, so I remain blissfully ignorant of them.) mostly I use it to annoy my sister. ("BITCH WHAT IF I GOT A PHALLOPLASTY AND HAD A BABY SHOWER FOR MY DICK. WE COULD HAVE ZUCCHINI FRITTERS. DICK-SHAPED PASTA. BANANAS FOSTER. DO U SEE MY VISION")

anyway, during the Hell Year of 2020, I saw my childhood best friend (let's call her Lee) was on this app. and like.

when I say "my childhood best friend", I mean the Weird Girl next door, who saw the Weird Girl that I was. I mean the girl I played with from age five until just shy of eleven, when my family moved away. I mean the girl I played with every day, for hours and hours, making up all kinds of elaborate scenarios involving our menagerie of stuffed animals. there were multiple overlapping, soap opera-style plotlines that lasted for years. there was drama. heartbreak. glory. she was the first friend I remember having. she was the first girl I ever loved, in my five-year-old way.

well, I hadn't seen Lee in at least 20 years and I was like, "holy shit! Lee!!!" so I sent her a "hey, nice to see you here, how you been" message.

again, this was late 2020.

now, I had been on T for a scant three months when I sent the first message, so I was a mere baby child, relative to the gruff manly man I am now. no beard, my voice had only started to wobble, still had tits... you get it. keep this in mind, it'll be important later.

I never heard back from her, but we're both Old, so I was like "eh, she probably forgot she installed the app" and forgot about it. we'd exchanged text messages at some point during the Hell Year, but like many people my age she doesn't really text, and I'm not calling anyone if I don't have to, so our communication had been sporadic, at best.

well. today I got a notification that she sent me a reply on Marco Polo.

I figured, well, she's replying to me 3.5 years late, but better late than never. I have ADHD and no friendship degradation mechanic, so I'm excited! yay! friend! :D

and then I remember. "...oh shit. she doesn't know I'm trans."

so. the thing is. I'm from Mississippi, which is. very very fucking conservative. I know Lee grew up Southern Baptist. I also know she's still living in the same town where we grew up and where she eventually graduated from high school and college. last I checked she was still attending the same Southern Baptist church where she grew up and her remaining living parent is still living in Lee's childhood home.

so this is either going to be Fine or it's going to be a disaster. lol.

in thinking it through, I figure either she's seen my updated profile pic, where I have the beard etc., or she hasn't. so either she's going to acknowledge this change or she isn't. okay. these are the possibilities. so I watch the message.

...the secret third option is... she seems to not realize when I sent the message? "sorry, I missed this when I was at work!" girl. what? I mean, you probably did miss it while you were at work... three and a half years ago. possibly she meant to reply to someone else and got me instead?

whatever. who knows. doesn't matter.

because I have the opportunity to do the funniest fucking thing in the world now