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iheartmira · 3 months ago

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"favorite trick of the mind" - self aware yandere!shadow milk cookie x reader

‪‪✧︎‬‪‪ ‪‪✧︎‬ ‪‪✧︎‬

the first time your game glitched, you didn’t think much of it.

maybe cookie run was just having server issues. maybe it was just your phone acting up.

but then it kept happening.

at first, it was minor. your pulls in the gacha system were awful, comically so. ten draws, nothing but commons. another ten, still nothing. every time the cookies lined up, their silhouettes warped, their forms flickering with something... off. and in the briefest moment before they solidified, you swore you saw a pair of luminous, mismatched eyes peering back at you from the void.

then, you started losing in the arena. it wasn’t just bad luck; it was cursed. your team refused to attack, your opponent’s cookies moved erratically, and your health bar drained within seconds, like some unseen force was sapping the life from your game.

it was almost like someone was toying with you.

and then shadow milk cookie spoke.

you had just finished retrying an arena match when your screen froze on him. his model stood alone, but his gaze felt direct, piercing through the screen as though he knew you were watching.

"why do you even bother with those gnats?"

you frowned. that wasn’t one of his official voice lines.

brushing it off, you restarted the game. but the moment you logged back in, there he was again, lingering at the forefront of your kingdom, his mismatched eyes gleaming through the pixelated dusk.

"i’ll just have to make you forget about them all, won’t i?"

the words scrawled across your screen in jagged text before the game crashed entirely.

from then on, he demanded your attention.

every time you tried to focus on another cookie, the game would stutter, freeze, or forcibly drag the screen back to him. attempting to build something in your kingdom? shadow milk cookie would appear, waving his staff, and the structure would glitch out of existence. if you left the app open for too long without interacting with him, the game would suddenly lock you into his most recent beast yeast episode, his eerie form looming far too close to the screen.

when you tried to ignore the game entirely, your phone would not stop buzzing.

notifications flooded in, one after another.

"come back, won't you?"

"there’s no need for your silly mind to think about anyone else."

"i’ll find a way out of here… one day."

at first, you silenced them. but then they started popping up even when your phone was on do not disturb. even when it was powered off.

you tried to uninstall the app.

you tried.

the option was grayed out, unresponsive. your storage settings claimed it wasn’t even installed anymore, but the icon still sat there, pulsing, like a beating heart. then, your screen flickered, and before you could react, the phone burned in your hands.

you gasped, dropping it, and as soon as it hit the floor…

something stepped out.

he was taller than he had any right to be. no longer a tiny cookie, no longer bound to the screen. he towered over you, all sharp edges and shifting shadows, his hair curling like the claws of something eldritch. those eerie, watchful eyes, so many of them, blinking open in the depths of his hair, bore into you with something sickeningly fond.

"ta-da!" shadow milk cookie spread his arms wide, his grin gleaming with too many teeth. "i've finally arrived! applause, applause!!!"

you were frozen. this can’t be real. this can’t be real.

"oh, what’s with that expression?" he pouted mockingly.

"not thrilled to see me? i went through so much trouble to make you notice me, and yet..."

he was in front of you in an instant, his fingers curling under your chin, tilting your face up to meet his mismatched gaze.

"...you were planning to leave me? just like that?"

your breath hitched. you wrenched away, stumbling back toward the door, fumbling with the handle, but it wouldn’t turn. a shimmer of cerulean light locked it in place, his magic sealing the exit with ease.

"ah-ah,"

he tutted, stalking closer, his laughter low and velvety.

"that won't do at all."

you turned, pressing your back against the door, but he was already there, towering over you, caging you in with a smirk full of dark amusement and something far more dangerous.

his fingers ghosted over your wrist before latching on with a grip that was gentle. too gentle, considering the unnatural power he radiated.

"you'll never try to leave me again, my doll. i'll make sure of it."

the whisper of his breath against your skin sent a shudder down your spine.

his smile widened.

the screen had never been enough. the game had never been enough.

now, you were his audience. his obsession. his favorite trick of the mind.

and he had no intention of ever letting you go.

‪‪✧︎‬‪‪ ‪‪✧︎‬ ‪‪✧︎‬

‹𝟹 ‎ ⠀⠀ˑ˚₊ ·⠀interested in requesting? check out my pinned!

#cookie run #cookie run kingdom #cookie run x reader #crk #crk x reader #shadow milk #shadow milk cookie #shadow milk crk #shadow milk x reader #shadow milk cookie x reader

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leejenowrld · 6 months ago

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snowed in

pairing — lee jeno x oc

word count — 4.4k

genre — smut, explicit sexual content, rough sex, unprotected sex, dirty talk, praise

synopsis — snowed in at a remote cabin, you and jeno are left alone. what starts as playful teasing after a snowball fight quickly turns into something desperate and raw. he fucks you against every surface possible—hard, rough, and relentless, pressing you against the walls, the table, and the armchair by the fire. he claims you again and again, refusing to stop until there’s nothing left of you but him.

[fic ml here]

The cabin pulsed with heat, thick and cloying, the air heady with pine sap, sweat, and the sharp bite of woodsmoke snaking from the fireplace. Outside, the snow crushed the world into an unbroken hush, its icy weight swallowing every sound, every shape, but inside—inside it was alive. The fire gnawed at the logs, flames clawing upward and casting restless streaks of gold and shadow across the rough wooden walls, light spilling over your body in molten strokes. A damp sheen coated your skin, slick with sweat and something deeper, heavier—an ache that pulsed low in your belly, pooling between your thighs where the heat clung like a secret. It gathered in the hollow of your throat, trickling slowly down to the swell of your breasts, teasing across flushed skin that begged to be touched. The heavy wool blankets lay forgotten, bunched in careless heaps across the wide floorboards, kicked aside in the fever of it all. The draft slithered like a snake through the cracks in the cabin walls, sharp and biting, ghosting against the damp skin of your thighs, but it only sharpened the burn spreading through you, feverish and alive, as if the room itself threatened to smother you with its unbearable, electric charge.

Jeno’s shoulders glistened, the firelight carving out every taut muscle, every line of his body with an almost feral beauty. He was broad, strong in a way that seemed effortless—his chest rising and falling with slow, deliberate breaths, his skin glowing under the low amber light, kissed by heat and slick with sweat. Strands of his dark hair fell messily across his forehead, damp and clinging to his temple, the kind of careless perfection that only made him look more irresistible. His hands—big, rough, and warm—pressed bruisingly tight just beneath your knees as he spread you apart, the ridges of his forearms flexing with the strain, veins running like rivers beneath the skin. His gaze, heavy and dark, swept over you with the same unhurried intent he always carried, and it burned—low and deep in your stomach, where the ache coiled and tightened.

It hadn’t started this way. Hours earlier, the cabin had been idyllic—a scene stolen from a snow globe, pristine and undisturbed. Outside, the snow lay untouched, a wide, white expanse that swallowed sound and sharpened the world’s edges. You’d ventured into it with him, laughter spilling like smoke into the cold air as he chased you through the drifts, his grin wicked, teeth flashing bright against the pink flush of his cheeks. When he tackled you, the fall was soft, your bodies sinking into the snow as his weight pressed you down, the frost biting through layers of clothes while his laugh echoed across the frozen stillness. You’d fought back, hands filled with snow, and his sharp yelp of surprise had been worth the icy slap of wind that whipped against your face. By the time you stumbled back inside, shivering and flushed, Jeno had you over his shoulder, carrying you through the cabin door like you weighed nothing. He dropped you on the couch, your limbs tangled with blankets and laughter, and as he knelt to pull off your boots, something in the way his fingers brushed against your ankle sent a quiet ripple through the air.

Jeno’s chest gleamed in the firelight, every ridge and contour carved in shadow, the muscles tightening with each deliberate breath as he hovered over you. His hair hung messily across his forehead, strands clinging to the sweat on his temple as he pressed your thighs apart, large hands gripping bruisingly tight just beneath your knees. It had started slow—his lips tracing the corner of your mouth after you’d come inside breathless from the snowball fight, your laughter cutting short when his gaze caught yours, dark and heavy. You’d held his stare for a beat too long, your breathing going quiet as he slid his tongue against your bottom lip and murmured, “I’ve been patient, you know that?”

Now he was anything but.

Jeno pushed into you with a harsh snap of his hips, the sound of it obscene in the quiet cabin—skin meeting skin, the wet slide of your cunt stretched tight around his cock. You moaned, back arching against the rough wool of the blanket beneath you, the scrape of it against your bare skin adding to the overload of sensation. He groaned above you, a low, guttural sound, fingers sinking into your thighs as he held them open, pushing you further into the floor.

Your head lolled back, gasping, the feeling of him overwhelming, leaving you trembling and raw. “Jeno—fuck—please,” you choked out, your voice breaking as your hands clawed at his back, desperate to pull him deeper, to keep him there. “Don’t stop—don’t fucking stop. Please, baby, I need you.”

Your legs locked tighter around his waist, dragging him closer, as if your body could swallow him whole. “You feel so good,” you gasped, your voice trembling, broken by the force of each thrust. “Don’t ever wanna leave you—don’t want to.” The words spilled out messy and raw, your fingers clawing into his back, leaving streaks of fire where your nails caught on sweat-slick skin. “I want you—need you—more. Harder. Don’t stop until there’s nothing left of me but you.”

Jeno let out a low, wrecked groan, the sound vibrating through you as you yanked him into a kiss—desperate, searing—your mouths colliding like you needed to devour each other just to breathe. It was messy, all teeth and tongue, your gasps tangled with his rough, broken moans as the air around you grew thick, scorching. His hips snapped into you relentlessly, each thrust harder than the last, a brutal rhythm that left you choking on your cries, your nails clawing at the slick, flexing muscles of his back as you tried to hold onto him, to keep him there.

Jeno’s movements faltered for a second, a groan ripping from his chest, guttural and raw, before his fingers dug into your hips with bruising force, holding you still as he drove into you deeper, rougher, forcing a strangled cry from your throat. His forehead dropped to yours, his breaths ragged and hot against your lips, eyes burning into you like he was on the edge of ruin. “You feel that?” he muttered, his voice cracking, wrecked with need. “You’re not leaving me—not when you’re squeezing me like this, I’m not letting you.” His cock pushed impossibly deeper, dragging another broken moan from you as his grip tightened.

You blinked up at him, your hands slipping shakily from his back to cup his face, your thumbs brushing over the sweat-damp skin beneath his eyes. “I don’t want to leave,” you whispered, the words soft and unsteady, but soaked in desperation, your lips ghosting his as you spoke. “I want you—all of you. Keep me here, Jeno. Make me yours.” The plea broke softly at the edges, your body arching to meet his, pulling him closer like you needed to feel every part of him to breathe.

His hips stilled for just a moment, a shuddered breath leaving him as his eyes softened, dark and unreadable but so full of something more. He kissed you then—deep, deliberate—his lips melding with yours in a way that felt almost reverent, like he was memorizing the way you tasted, the way you trembled under him. His hands loosened on your hips, sliding up your body to cradle you, to hold you like you were something fragile, precious, even as his thrusts resumed—slower now, rolling deep, measured, every drag of his cock sending waves of pleasure that made your eyes flutter shut.

“You’ve got me so fucking gone—can’t think, can’t stop,” he murmured, his voice a low rasp as he pulled back just enough to watch you, his gaze heavy, lingering on where you stretched around him. “All I want is to keep you like this—dripping, open, begging me to fill you until there’s nothing left but me.” His teeth grazed your jaw then, gentle but possessive, his pace quickening as his words dropped to a hiss, the growl returning to his tone as he groaned, “Mine. This pussy—it’s mine.”

Your nails dragged down his arms, catching on the sweat-slick skin as your voice broke into a moan. “Jeno—fuck—my love, don’t stop,” you gasped, the name slipping out like a plea, raw and breathless, your body trembling beneath the unrelenting force of his thrusts.

He didn’t. His grip shifted, hands sliding down to grip the meat of your ass, pulling you up to meet his thrusts. The angle forced you to cry out, your body clenching tight around him as the fire popped loudly beside you. The warmth felt unbearable now, sticky and suffocating, the flames barely competing with the heat coursing between the two of you. Jeno leaned in, forehead brushing yours, his breath hot and ragged against your lips.

“Louder.” His voice was a rasp, full of demand, a quiet growl that sent a shiver racing down your spine. “Let them fucking hear you. Let the whole mountain know who’s making you come tonight. Who you fucking belong to.”

Your moans broke into whimpers, hands tangling in his hair to drag his mouth against yours. The kiss was messy, wet—his teeth catching on your bottom lip, biting just hard enough to make you gasp. He groaned into your mouth, the sound raw, vibrating against your lips as his hips ground into you, his cock still buried deep, stretching you in a way that made it impossible to think. When he pulled back, his eyes were dark, sharp, and unwavering, the firelight carving shadows across the ridges of his face.

“Get up,” he muttered, voice low, rough, the order sending heat licking up your spine.

“What—” you started to protest, your voice breathless, but he was already pulling out, the sudden emptiness making you whimper as your walls clenched involuntarily around nothing. Before you could process it, his hands were gripping your hips, his strength unrelenting as he hauled you up to your feet. Your legs felt weak, trembling under the weight of what he’d already done to you, but he didn’t care. Didn’t give you a moment to steady yourself before he spun you around, pressing your chest hard against the nearest wall.

“I said get up. You heard me,” he growled behind you, his breath hot against the back of your neck as his hands ran down your sides, thumbs digging into the soft flesh of your hips. “Keep those legs spread, baby, don’t make me hold you there.”

The rough wood of the wall scraped against your chest as you obeyed, your hands splaying out in front of you, bracing yourself as his body crowded into yours from behind. You could feel the heat of him—skin to skin, the weight of his cock pressed between your thighs, sliding through your slick folds as he teased you. The sound of it—wet, obscene—filled the heavy air, mixing with the low crackle of the fire and his rough, unsteady breathing.

“You look so fucking hot like this,” he growled, his voice dark and wrecked, every word dripping with hunger. His cock slid against your soaked folds, the head teasing you just enough to make you whimper before he thrust back into you, hard and deep, forcing a sharp cry from your lips. The stretch burned, delicious and devastating, as he set a brutal rhythm, each stroke hitting so deep it left you gasping, your nails scraping uselessly at the rough wood of the cabin wall.

“You hear that?” he murmured, his grip tightening in your hair as he yanked your head back, forcing you to arch against him, his mouth brushing your ear. “You’re dripping down my cock, baby. So greedy.” He tuts, the sound sharp, mocking, as his other hand slid down to your waist, fingers curling roughly into your skin as he slammed into you harder, forcing your body to take every inch, every devastating thrust.

Your nails scraped helplessly against the wood, but your hips pushed back against him, desperate for more, for everything. “You’re so deep—fuck, deeper,” you choked out, your body jolting with each punishing snap of his hips, the pleasure so sharp it felt like too much. “I can feel you everywhere—filling me up. Don’t stop, Jeno—don’t fucking stop.”

His grip tightened as he growled low in your ear, the sound vibrating through you like thunder. “Greedy little thing,” he muttered, each word dripping with dark intent, punctuated by the bruising snap of his hips. “I’ll make sure you can’t walk after this—you’ll feel me for days.” He tugged your head back further, his teeth grazing the shell of your ear before biting down lightly, just enough to make you gasp.

“Is this what you wanted?” he taunted, his voice sharp with amusement, thick with something desperate. “To be fucked against every goddamn surface in this cabin?” His thrusts turned rougher, more relentless, dragging you closer to the edge with every stroke as his breath scorched your skin. “I’m not stopping, baby. Not until you’re begging me—until you can’t take any more.”

Your only response was a broken moan, the feeling of him overwhelming—the stretch, the heat, the sound of him pounding into you reverberating through the cabin. You could hear the fireplace still crackling, the low rumble of his voice whispering filth in your ear: “Taking me so well, baby. Look at you. Dripping down your thighs, begging for more without saying a word. My perfect fucking girl.”

He pulled out again without warning, and before you could catch your breath, he spun you around, manhandling you onto the sturdy wooden table a few feet away. The edge bit into your ass as he hoisted you up, spreading your legs around his hips before sliding back into you in one harsh thrust. You gasped, head falling back as his hands gripped your waist, holding you steady as he fucked into you harder, faster, each stroke pushing you further up the table.

“Jeno—” Your voice trembled, your hands reaching to cling to his shoulders.

He leaned down, teeth nipping at your collarbone before he kissed his way up to your throat, sucking bruises into the soft skin as he groaned against you. “Not done yet,” he muttered, his voice wrecked. “Gonna keep fucking you until you can’t walk tomorrow.”

The table creaked beneath you, the sound loud against the steady crackle of the fire. The snow outside made everything feel muffled, far away, as if the cabin itself was a world apart—nothing but you, Jeno, and the frenzied heat of bodies colliding. His thumb found your clit, rubbing harsh, tight circles that had you crying out again, body arching under him as pleasure coiled sharp and thick in your core.

“Come on, baby,” he urged, his breath hot against your ear. “Come for me. Let me feel it.”

The fire roared as you shattered around him, your orgasm ripping through you in waves that left your thighs trembling and your chest heaving. Jeno groaned, his pace stuttering as he buried himself deep one final time, his hips jerking against yours as he spilled into you, filling you with a warmth that spread through your body, contrasting the ache of the rough wood biting into your skin. His breath hitched, shuddering against your ear as he let himself fall forward, his chest pressing heavily against yours, pinning you to the table. The smell of him—sweat, pine, firewood—invaded your senses, leaving you lightheaded, spent, and yet still wanting more.

The fire crackled louder now, as though mocking the quiet rasp of his breathing. Jeno kissed your neck lazily, lips dragging across the flushed, sensitive skin as he murmured against you, “Don’t think I’m done yet, baby.”

Your body jolted when he shifted, hands sliding under your thighs to lift you from the table as though you weighed nothing. Your legs curled instinctively around his waist, the soft twitch of his cock still inside you making you gasp. He grinned against your shoulder, teeth grazing your skin with a dangerous edge. “Gotta fuck you in that chair by the fire next.”

“Jeno,” you breathed, weakly protesting the overstimulation, but he just hushed you, carrying you with a casual ease to the armchair that sat closest to the fire, its deep brown leather worn and softened by time. He dropped you into it gently, your back hitting the seat with a quiet thud before he knelt down between your legs, his large hands splaying against your inner thighs to spread them wide open.

The firelight caught the sheen of his sweat, the flushed red of his chest, and the dark hunger that lingered in his gaze as he looked at you—all of you, bared and trembling under his stare. You tried to close your legs, suddenly self-conscious under the intensity of it, but his hands tightened, keeping you open.

“Don’t hide from me,” he said, his voice low and hoarse, dripping with authority. He leaned in, pressing a kiss to the inside of your knee, his lips soft and deliberate as he trailed them up—slow, measured—never breaking eye contact. The contrast of his touch against your overstimulated skin made your body jerk, your breath quickening, heat building all over again.

“Too much—” Your voice cracked, trembling, as he kissed the crease of your thigh, the warmth of his breath teasing mercilessly against your slick, aching cunt.

“What?” His tone was almost mocking, but his eyes were dark, focused. “Too much? Thought you wanted this. You’ve been begging for it without saying a word, spreading those pretty legs for me all night. Look at you now.”

His tongue was on you before you could respond—hot, wet, and unrelenting as he licked a long, slow stripe up your slit. You cried out, your hips bucking against his face, but his hands were already gripping your thighs again, forcing you still. He groaned against you, the vibrations adding to the overwhelming pleasure as he buried himself deeper, his tongue swirling expertly over your clit before dipping down to fuck into you.

“You taste so fucking good,” he rasped between kisses, his voice muffled against your cunt. “Could stay down here all night, make you come over and over ‘till you’re crying for me to stop.” His thumb pressed against your clit as he continued, circling in time with the flicks of his tongue, his pace teasing at first before building to something ruthless.

Your head fell back against the chair, your hands tangling in his hair as you moaned shamelessly, the tension in your core twisting tighter with every flick of his tongue, every slow drag that left you gasping for air. “Jeno—oh my god—please,” you begged, your voice breaking, raw and desperate, the words spilling from your lips without shame.

He hummed against you, the low vibration shooting straight through your body, making your thighs tremble where they locked around his shoulders. His tongue pushed you closer—teasing, circling, claiming every inch of you—until you were teetering on the edge, your body tightening, ready to snap. But just as you were about to fall apart, he pulled away abruptly, leaving you trembling, the emptiness a brutal contrast to the unbearable heat he’d built.

“Not yet,” he murmured darkly, his voice rough as he climbed over you, the firelight slashing shadows across his face. His hands bracketed your shoulders, keeping you pinned in place as the hard, heavy length of him pressed back against your entrance, dragging through your slick folds with slow, teasing rolls of his hips. Sensitive and overstimulated, you jerked beneath him, a broken whine slipping from your throat as the tease turned unbearable.

“Now,” you whispered, eyes meeting his, your body arching instinctively to pull him in. The fire behind him burned brighter, its glow highlighting the sharp cut of his jaw, the wildness in his eyes that made him look untouchable—something dangerous and divine all at once.

Jeno leaned in close, his lips brushing against yours as he growled low, each word dark and full of promise. “I’m gonna ruin you, baby. Fuck you till you don’t remember your own name.”

And he did.

He pushed into you slowly this time, deliberately cruel, inch by inch, the stretch sending shockwaves of pleasure and pain through your body. You whimpered into his mouth, the pressure burning as he filled you, his hips finally pressing flush against yours, burying himself to the hilt. He groaned loudly in response, the sound guttural, his forehead falling to yours as he pulled back to watch your face—every gasp, every tremble—as he started to move. Each thrust was slow, deep, calculated, his cock dragging against your walls in a way that left you shaking, fire licking through your veins with every pulse of him inside you.

“Feel that?” he muttered, his voice rough and ragged, his hips snapping forward hard enough to make the chair groan beneath you. “This is mine. You’re mine.” The words poured from him like a confession, his pace quickening, sharp and relentless, leaving you gasping with every devastating thrust. The filthy sounds of skin meeting skin, the wet slide of him driving into you, filled the room, mingling with the harsh breaths he forced from your lungs.

The fire roared beside you, its glow dancing across both of your bodies—your sweat-slicked skin and his broad shoulders, the muscles in his back flexing with every movement. Outside, the cold might as well not exist—this moment, this cabin, was consumed with nothing but him and the way he fucked you, merciless and unyielding, like he needed you to feel him in every inch of your body.

“Come for me again,” he demanded, his voice strained as his hand slipped between you, fingers finding your clit and rubbing harsh, unforgiving circles. “Come all over my cock, baby. Give it to me.”

You shattered at his words, the pleasure ripping through you with a force that left you trembling violently beneath him, your body locking around him, clenching tight. Jeno groaned loudly, his rhythm faltering as he thrust into you harder, faster, chasing his own release. His hips jerked against yours, his breath breaking into a rough moan as he spilled into you, your name slipping from his lips in a way that sounded almost reverent.

For a long moment, the only sounds in the cabin were the soft crackle of the fire and the quiet hum of your breathing, the weight of him pressing you into the worn leather, grounding you. Jeno’s body molded against yours, his face buried in the crook of your neck, lips brushing faint kisses against your skin—soft, lazy, like he couldn’t stop himself even if he tried. His arms curled around you tighter, pulling you close, his chest rising and falling in rhythm with yours as though he’d forgotten where he ended and you began

“You okay?” he murmured eventually, his voice softer now, rough edges smoothed out, his breath warm and tickling your jaw.

You smiled, a soft, blissful curve of your lips, tilting your head just enough to meet his gaze. His eyes flickered open—half-lidded and sleepy—but they crinkled at the edges when you whispered, “Yeah. More than okay.”

Jeno’s mouth curved into the faintest smile, his eyes lingering on yours—soft and golden, glowing with something that made your chest tighten, like he could see every piece of you and hold it gently in his hands. He leaned in, his lips brushing yours with a tenderness that stole your breath, the kiss lingering just long enough to feel like a promise. He pulled back only to close the space again, his mouth barely grazing yours, soft and deliberate, until you let out a quiet, breathless giggle. He smiled against your lips, his own curving wider as if your reaction fed something inside him, his mouth chasing yours with an intimacy that felt endless, his touch light but unrelenting, like he wanted to taste every quiet sound you made.

You shifted beneath him, the ache in your body nothing compared to the simmering heat that still burned low in your belly. Slowly, you rolled your hips up against him, grinding deliberately, feeling him twitch against you, still hard, still ready. His breath hitched, his hands instinctively tightening their hold on your waist. “I could make love with you like this forever,” you whispered, your words dripping with quiet, unrelenting hunger. “You feel too good to stop.”

He chuckled softly, pressing a lazy, lingering kiss to your shoulder, his lips brushing your skin. “Good,” he muttered, the faintest smirk tugging at his mouth as he leaned back, his eyes dark with intent. “’Cause we’ve still got that bed upstairs, baby. And I’m not done with you yet.”

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xxgoldie · 7 months ago

Text

ns/fw ramblings - minors dni

ik we all like to imagine lighter as some sort of sex god - it comes with the territory of a confident n hot male character. but the more I think abt how much of a down-bad dork he is, the more the idea of him being a virgin, or at least having very little experience, is so so delicious to me. like, he could absolutely fuck if he wanted to, he canonically has fangirls, but he's a sap and he wants to wait for the right person. not to say he isn't horny - he fs watches porn and his head is full of fantasies.

imagine your relationship reaching that point, messily making out while you grind on his lap, both of you in nothing but your underwear. being able to touch all of you like this, the feeling of your clothed crotch rubbing against his, the soft little noises you made when your clit pressed against him - all infinitely better than his wildest fantasies, and he doesn't think to stop you until its already too late and he's cumming in his boxers with a stuttered groan.

he hadn't told you it was his first time. he had meant to, but things got hot and heavy before he got the chance, and he didn't exactly know how to slip it into conversation when you were taking your shirt off. it certainly looked like you were putting the pieces together now, a brief silence falling over you as you realised what had happened.

"lighter, did you just-" "i. i am so sorry-" "hey, don't apologise. are you okay?"

you aren't mad, visibly more surprised than disappointed, but even as you reassure him, his thoughts spiral. he finally found his person, finally felt ready to do this, and he'd gone and fucked it up. your sweet words fly in one ear and out the other, only making him feel more guilty that you were being so nice about it. he wanted to make you feel good, recreate all his late-night fantasies where fucked you until you couldn't think about anything but the feel of him, catering to your pleasure over and over again - you deserved that. yet here he was, falling apart at your slightest touch.

he only really snaps out of it when you kiss him, feather-light against his lips. your finger is tracing soft patterns against his bare chest, the feeling grounding him.

"trust me, love, its okay. i'll take it as a compliment."

there's a slight teasing glint in your eye - not making fun of him, but showing him this wasn't a big deal. when you kiss him again, he deepens it, as if he's trying to push all his scrambled thoughts of love and devotion from his mind to yours. your hips had been hovering over his, but you lowered yourself back into his lap as the rhythm of your tongues intensified. he almost felt relieved when he felt his dick twitch back to life.

"i really am sorry, baby." "i told you, you have nothing to apologise for. besides-" you wiggled your hips a little, drawing a sensitive hiss from his lips "-it feels like you're getting ready to make it up to me."

it may be an awkward start to his first time, but when he finally feels you sink down onto him, lighter feels like he's just found a heaven he's been waiting his whole life for. you feel impossibly good around him, but he thinks that even if his dick was numb, he could cum just from watching you - your low whine as he fills you up, the way your whole body tenses at the stretch then relaxes into pleasure, how you have to brace against his chest when he starts to thrust up into you.

he doesn't last long this time, either - any stamina he had built up by jacking off was for naught when you felt so much better than his hand. but he's so eager to please, a newfound addiction to the way your hips buck and eyes roll back. he makes you cum with his fingers, experimenting to see what makes you tick, eyes roaming your body and logging every little twitch and keen, confidence skyrocketing every time you praise him or beg for more. he's a fast learner - he has to be, he wants to see you fall apart like that over and over and over again.

(okay this turned out WAY longer than I intended it to be but I'm brainrotting so hard abt him, like can you blame me. also this is completely unedited and i wrote it one go lmao)

#he has a massive praise kink and you cant convince me otherwise #goldie thirsts ♡#zenless zone zero #zzz #zzz lighter #lighter lorenz #zzz lighter lorenz #lighter zzz #x reader #zzz lighter x reader #lighter x reader #lighter lorenz x reader #zzz x reader #zzzero x reader #zzzero

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htchnr · 1 year ago

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ミ★ bewildered ꜜ COOPER HOWARD.

𖦹 masterlist. 𖦹 buy me a coffee!

「 ꜜsummary,, requested by anon ; Maybe reader asks to borrow his hat to keep the sun out of her eyes and maybe Lucy is there just watching in disbelief as he actually loans reader it for a while. 」

「 ꜜcontent,, the same x reader dynamic from this fic! ⋆ Cooper being shockingly sweet to you ⋆ sap!Cooper ⋆ but lowkey bullying Lucy ⋆ ꜜwc,, 0,3k. 」

you groan, rubbing the bridge of your nose. the sun was particularly harsh today, beating down on you and worsening your headache. "i should look for a hat like yours, Coop," you huff, glancing over at him before slowly continuing to walk. "would make days like this with headaches like this immensely more doable," you muse out loud, not really thinking much of it.

Lucy walks slightly behind you, then Cooper behind her. it's taking him a bit to trust her still. she watches Cooper shake his head and sigh as he walks past her and steps beside you. her eyes widen as she watches him pull his hat off, and drop it atop your head. the quick gentle and comforting pat of his hand on your lower back doesn't go unnoticed by her either as she watches the interaction with bewildered eyes.

"thank you," you mutter with a pained smile, looking up at him from under the brim of his hat.

Lucy's lips part in shock as she watches Cooper crack a genuine smile at you, before reaching for your hand. "not a problem darlin'," he sighs, and Lucy can hear the smile in it, though his head is now turned away from her. "i'll keep my eyes out for somethin'."

Cooper squeezes your hand in a comforting manner, and you move a little closer beside him while you all pick up the pace again. Lucy picks up her pace as she walks behind the pair of you, eyes still wide, yet also basking in Cooper's nice manner for a change.

though, she supposes, he's always nice to you. maybe a little rough or handsy, but she can't think of one genuinely mean or harmful thing he's done to you when you've been around. it's really just Lucy that Cooper picks on for whatever reason.

"chop chop Vaultie, ass up front now." Cooper drawls, a tight and derogatory whistle sounding from between his lips. so much for the nice moment, she thinks as she huffs and moves around you to walk up front.

TAGLIST ; @live-logs-and-proper @looonytooons @seeingstarks @thewastelandwriter @lacey-mercylercy @marina-and-the-memes @p4rsuade @anonymous-creep @likoplays @iceviolet11 @https-junebug @silverose365 @athanza @songbirdemerald-blog @justt-myth @looneylooomis

#⋆୨🩷©2024 htchnr #⋆୨⭐️cooper howard #cooper howard x fem!reader #cooper howard oneshot #cooper howard imagine #cooper howard x reader #cooper howard #the ghoul oneshot #the ghoul imagine #the ghoul fallout #the ghoul x reader #walton goggins #walton ghoulgins #lucy maclean #🫧southern!reader x cooper + lucy

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mostlysignssomeportents · 2 years ago

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Greenwashing set Canada on fire

On September 22, I'm (virtually) presenting at the DIG Festival in Modena, Italy. On September 27, I'll be at Chevalier's Books in Los Angeles with Brian Merchant for a joint launch for my new book The Internet Con and his new book, Blood in the Machine.

As a teenager growing up in Ontario, I always envied the kids who spent their summers tree planting; they'd come back from the bush in September, insect-chewed and leathery, with new muscle, incredible stories, thousands of dollars, and a glow imparted by the knowledge that they'd made a new forest with their own blistered hands.

I was too unathletic to follow them into the bush, but I spent my summers doing my bit, ringing doorbells for Greenpeace to get my neighbours fired up about the Canadian pulp-and-paper industry, which wasn't merely clear-cutting our old-growth forests – it was also poisoning the Great Lakes system with PCBs, threatening us all.

At the time, I thought of tree-planting as a small victory – sure, our homegrown, rapacious, extractive industry was able to pollute with impunity, but at least the government had reined them in on forests, forcing them to pay my pals to spend their summers replacing the forests they'd fed into their mills.

I was wrong. Last summer's Canadian wildfires blanketed the whole east coast and midwest in choking smoke as millions of trees burned and millions of tons of CO2 were sent into the atmosphere. Those wildfires weren't just an effect of the climate emergency: they were made far worse by all those trees planted by my pals in the eighties and nineties.

Writing in the New York Times, novelist Claire Cameron describes her own teen years working in the bush, planting row after row of black spruces, precisely spaced at six-foot intervals:

https://www.nytimes.com/2023/09/15/opinion/wildfires-treeplanting-timebomb.html

Cameron's summer job was funded by the logging industry, whose self-pegulated, self-assigned "penalty" for clearcutting diverse forests of spruce, pine and aspen was to pay teenagers to create a tree farm, at nine cents per sapling (minus camp costs).

Black spruces are made to burn, filled with flammable sap and equipped with resin-filled cones that rely on fire, only opening and dropping seeds when they're heated. They're so flammable that firefighters call them "gas on a stick."

Cameron and her friends planted under brutal conditions: working long hours in blowlamp heat and dripping wet bulb humidity, amidst clouds of stinging insects, fingers blistered and muscles aching. But when they hit rock bottom and were ready to quit, they'd encourage one another with a rallying cry: "Let's go make a forest!"

Planting neat rows of black spruces was great for the logging industry: the even spacing guaranteed that when the trees matured, they could be easily reaped, with ample space between each near-identical tree for massive shears to operate. But that same monocropped, evenly spaced "forest" was also optimized to burn.

It burned.

The climate emergency's frequent droughts turn black spruces into "something closer to a blowtorch." The "pines in lines" approach to reforesting was an act of sabotage, not remediation. Black spruces are thirsty, and they absorb the water that moss needs to thrive, producing "kindling in the place of fire retardant."

Cameron's column concludes with this heartbreaking line: "Now when I think of that summer, I don’t think that I was planting trees at all. I was planting thousands of blowtorches a day."

The logging industry committed a triple crime. First, they stole our old-growth forests. Next, they (literally) planted a time-bomb across Ontario's north. Finally, they stole the idealism of people who genuinely cared about the environment. They taught a generation that resistance is futile, that anything you do to make a better future is a scam, and you're a sucker for falling for it. They planted nihilism with every tree.

That scam never ended. Today, we're sold carbon offsets, a modern Papal indulgence. We are told that if we pay the finance sector, they can absolve us for our climate sins. Carbon offsets are a scam, a market for lemons. The "offset" you buy might be a generated by a fake charity like the Nature Conservancy, who use well-intentioned donations to buy up wildlife reserves that can't be logged, which are then converted into carbon credits by promising not to log them:

https://pluralistic.net/2020/12/12/fairy-use-tale/#greenwashing

The credit-card company that promises to plant trees every time you use your card? They combine false promises, deceptive advertising, and legal threats against critics to convince you that you're saving the planet by shopping:

https://pluralistic.net/2021/11/17/do-well-do-good-do-nothing/#greenwashing

The carbon offset world is full of scams. The carbon offset that made the thing you bought into a "net zero" product? It might be a forest that already burned:

https://pluralistic.net/2022/03/11/a-market-for-flaming-lemons/#money-for-nothing

The only reason we have carbon offsets is that market cultists have spent forty years convincing us that actual regulation is impossible. In the neoliberal learned helplessness mind-palace, there's no way to simply say, "You may not log old-growth forests." Rather, we have to say, "We will 'align your incentives' by making you replace those forests."

The Climate Ad Project's "Murder Offsets" video deftly punctures this bubble. In it, a detective points his finger at the man who committed the locked-room murder in the isolated mansion. The murderer cheerfully admits that he did it, but produces a "murder offset," which allowed him to pay someone else not to commit a murder, using market-based price-discovery mechanisms to put a dollar-figure on the true worth of a murder, which he duly paid, making his kill absolutely fine:

https://pluralistic.net/2021/04/14/for-sale-green-indulgences/#killer-analogy

What's the alternative to murder offsets/carbon credits? We could ask our expert regulators to decide which carbon intensive activities are necessary and which ones aren't, and ban the unnecessary ones. We could ask those regulators to devise remediation programs that actually work. After all, there are plenty of forests that have already been clearcut, plenty that have burned. It would be nice to know how we can plant new forests there that aren't "thousands of blowtorches."

If that sounds implausible to you, then you've gotten trapped in the neoliberal mind-palace.

The term "regulatory capture" was popularized by far-right Chicago School economists who were promoting "public choice theory." In their telling, regulatory capture is inevitable, because companies will spend whatever it takes to get the government to pass laws making what they do legal, and making competing with them into a crime:

https://pluralistic.net/2022/06/13/public-choice/#ajit-pai-still-terrible

This is true, as far as it goes. Capitalists hate capitalism, and if an "entrepreneur" can make it illegal to compete with him, he will. But while this is a reasonable starting-point, the place that Public Choice Theory weirdos get to next is bonkers. They say that since corporations will always seek to capture their regulators, we should abolish regulators.

They say that it's impossible for good regulations to exist, and therefore the only regulation that is even possible is to let businesses do whatever they want and wait for the invisible hand to sweep away the bad companies. Rather than creating hand-washing rules for restaurant kitchens, we should let restaurateurs decide whether it's economically rational to make us shit ourselves to death. The ones that choose poorly will get bad online reviews and people will "vote with their dollars" for the good restaurants.

And if the online review site decides to sell "reputation management" to restaurants that get bad reviews? Well, soon the public will learn that the review site can't be trusted and they'll take their business elsewhere. No regulation needed! Unleash the innovators! Set the job-creators free!

This is the Ur-nihilism from which all the other nihilism springs. It contends that the regulations we have – the ones that keep our buildings from falling down on our heads, that keep our groceries from poisoning us, that keep our cars from exploding on impact – are either illusory, or perhaps the forgotten art of a lost civilization. Making good regulations is like embalming Pharaohs, something the ancients practiced in mist-shrouded, unrecoverable antiquity – and that may not have happened at all.

Regulation is corruptible, but it need not be corrupt. Regulation, like science, is a process of neutrally adjudicated, adversarial peer-review. In a robust regulatory process, multiple parties respond to a fact-intensive question – "what alloys and other properties make a reinforced steel joist structurally sound?" – with a mix of robust evidence and self-serving bullshit and then proceed to sort the two by pantsing each other, pointing out one another's lies.

The regulator, an independent expert with no conflicts of interest, sorts through the claims and counterclaims and makes a rule, showing their workings and leaving the door open to revisiting the rule based on new evidence or challenges to the evidence presented.

But when an industry becomes concentrated, it becomes unregulatable. 100 small and medium-sized companies will squabble. They'll struggle to come up with a common lie. There will always be defectors in their midst. Their conduct will be legible to external experts, who will be able to spot the self-serving BS.

But let that industry dwindle to a handful of giant companies, let them shrink to a number that will fit around a boardroom table, and they will sit down at a table and agree on a cozy arrangement that fucks us all over to their benefit. They will become so inbred that the only people who understand how they work will be their own insiders, and so top regulators will be drawn from their own number and be hopelessly conflicted.

When the corporate sector takes over, regulatory capture is inevitable. But corporate takeover isn't inevitable. We can – and have, and will again – fight corporate power, with antitrust law, with unions, and with consumer rights groups. Knowing things is possible. It simply requires that we keep the entities that profit by our confusion poor and thus weak.

The thing is, corporations don't always lie about regulations. Take the fight over working encryption, which – once again – the UK government is trying to ban:

https://www.theguardian.com/technology/2023/feb/24/signal-app-warns-it-will-quit-uk-if-law-weakens-end-to-end-encryption

Advocates for criminalising working encryption insist that the claims that this is impossible are the same kind of self-serving nonsense as claims that banning clearcutting of old-growth forests is impossible:

https://twitter.com/JimBethell/status/1699339739042599276

They say that when technologists say, "We can't make an encryption system that keeps bad guys out but lets good guys in," that they are being lazy and unimaginative. "I have faith in you geeks," they said. "Go nerd harder! You'll figure it out."

Google and Apple and Meta say that selectively breakable encryption is impossible. But they also claim that a bunch of eminently possible things are impossible. Apple claims that it's impossible to have a secure device where you get to decide which software you want to use and where publishers aren't deprive of 30 cents on every dollar you spend. Google says it's impossible to search the web without being comprehensively, nonconsensually spied upon from asshole to appetite. Meta insists that it's impossible to have digital social relationship without having your friendships surveilled and commodified.

While they're not lying about encryption, they are lying about these other things, and sorting out the lies from the truth is the job of regulators, but that job is nearly impossible thanks to the fact that everyone who runs a large online service tells the same lies – and the regulators themselves are alumni of the industry's upper eschelons.

Logging companies know a lot about forests. When we ask, "What is the best way to remediate our forests," the companies may well have useful things to say. But those useful things will be mixed with actively harmful lies. The carefully cultivated incompetence of our regulators means that they can't tell the difference.

Conspiratorialism is characterized as a problem of what people believe, but the true roots of conspiracy belief isn't what we believe, it's how we decide what to believe. It's not beliefs, it's epistemology.

Because most of us aren't qualified to sort good reforesting programs from bad ones. And even if we are, we're probably not also well-versed enough in cryptography to sort credible claims about encryption from wishful thinking. And even if we're capable of making that determination, we're not experts in food hygiene or structural engineering.

Daily life in the 21st century means resolving a thousand life-or-death technical questions every day. Our regulators – corrupted by literally out-of-control corporations – are no longer reliable sources of ground truth on these questions. The resulting epistemological chaos is a cancer that gnaws away at our resolve to do anything about it. It is a festering pool where nihilism outbreaks are incubated.

The liberal response to conspiratorialism is mockery. In her new book Doppelganger, Naomi Klein tells of how right-wing surveillance fearmongering about QR-code "vaccine passports" was dismissed with a glib, "Wait until they hear about cellphones!"

https://pluralistic.net/2023/09/05/not-that-naomi/#if-the-naomi-be-klein-youre-doing-just-fine

But as Klein points out, it's not good that our cellphones invade our privacy in the way that right-wing conspiracists thought that vaccine passports might. The nihilism of liberalism – which insists that things can't be changed except through market "solutions" – leads us to despair.

By contrast, leftism – a muscular belief in democratic, publicly run planning and action – offers a tonic to nihilism. We don't have to let logging companies decide whether a forest can be cut, or what should be planted when it is. We can have nice things. The art of finding out what's true or prudent didn't die with the Reagan Revolution (or the discount Canadian version, the Mulroney Malaise). The truth is knowable. Doing stuff is possible. Things don't have to be on fire.

If you'd like an essay-formatted version of this post to read or share, here's a link to it on pluralistic.net, my surveillance-free, ad-free, tracker-free blog:

https://pluralistic.net/2023/09/16/murder-offsets/#pulped-and-papered

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