#but that doesn't erase how much they mean to each other!

[aroacewxs]

i've been rewatching amphibia again this past week and agh. i love this show so much it has my entire heart it's my everything i can't start new shows because of it

#amphibia #anne boonchuy #sasha waybright #marcy wu #silly frog show has me in a chokehold #currently on season 3 ep12 #agh these characters just mean the world to me #they're just so important to each other! yes they have baggage! and they have issues! #but that doesn't erase how much they mean to each other! #and yes they were in bad places before! #but they were given time to grow and reflect! #and become their best selves! #and now they are so happy! aaahhh!!!!

[peachypinkygloss]

call me soon — jjk

Jungkook finds himself obsessing over you a bit too much than he'd like to admit, but you two get a chance to see more of each other during a hot summer night where you both are lonely, desperate and horny.

☾ pairing: jungkook x fem!reader

☾ genre: strangers to fwb to lovers, summer break au, university au, smut

☾ word count: 5.9k

☾ warnings: alcohol consumption, mention of driving under the influence of alcohol (jk had one beer okay 🙄 no car crash lol), hello tae and oh — jimin?, hurt and comfort 🧐, mentions of masturbation (m), dry humping, clit stimulation, tits play, praising, unprotected sex & oral sex, blowjob, cum eating, cum play, multiple orgasms, brief overstimulation.

a.n.: i tried something and i think i like it 😼 put y'all seatbelts on because this is the best smut i've ever written 🫡 *no taglist!!

Jungkook knits his eyebrows together, deeply lost in his thoughts. At this point, the music blasting through the house doesn't make his body shake anymore, it doesn't make his heart beat faster nor does it make adrenaline rush through his veins.

He feels the vibrations under his feet, though. It's intense, but not enough to distract him. The pad of his index finger mindlessly circles the neck of the beer bottle he's holding, his other hand shoved in the pocket of his baggy jeans.

His friend's elbow sometimes nudges him in the ribs because of how animated he is when talking, but he doesn't make Jungkook turn his head nonetheless. He hears him laugh and curse while he looks away, gaze lost in the crowd of people, eyes shifting between all the faces without a thought about them.

He's too busy thinking about yesterday, that cursed night where he just wanted to fill up his gas tank and unluckily fell upon you at the gas station.

He thinks he never looked at his phone so many times in a day before, never thought a stupid call would turn him crazy, obsessively scrolling through his contact list to find your name.

Every time the day ended, he worried that maybe you had deleted his number, but your name has always been there. A part of him hoped you would have deleted him from your phone. It would have explained why you never called and then perhaps he would have felt less crazy.

But no. You just didn't bother pressing on his name and sticking your cellphone to your ear, waiting for him to pick up as you listened to his ringtone.

And that's quite a bit worse than being erased from your contact list because that means you just didn't think about him. Not once were your thoughts about Jungkook.

He could be wrong, but he prefers to torture himself.

Anyway, it's not like you were much bothered by the fact that you totally ghosted him back at the convenience store. 'I forgot', how horrible that sounds?

But then, all he wanted to do at this moment was to forgive you, tell you that it doesn't matter, that he doesn't really care, that it's no biggie. He can't blame you and that's so fucking stupid because all he did was eat you out.

Yet he finds himself thinking about you more than he'd like to. He even jerked himself off to you, playing back in his head the moment you were whimpering his name and pulling on his hair, clenching your thighs around him. He's not super proud of that — kind of cringes him a little bit when he thinks about it — but he got really hard imagining your pussy leaking down his knuckles.

You were a good hook-up and yes, he thought it could happen again. He hoped you two would do it a second time, maybe a third — how many you'd like to.

He likes sex and his obsession for you started because of that, but he would lie if he said hanging out with you like friends doesn't sound good to him. It sounds so fucking... nice.

In the end, he knows you two as friends wouldn't work. He works for your dad to pay his scholarship that is incredibly expensive even for a public university.

You, you don't need that. You don't need to work, don't have to lift a finger. You're treated like a princess — have the life of a princess — and you might even think of yourself as a princess too. Fuck him for liking it. Fuck him for fantasizing about possibly being your knight.

"This party fucking sucks."

Jungkook's eyes finally focus on something else than the void, laying on his best friend Taehyung. He doesn't know where he comes from, he only remembers him leaving the kitchen area when everyone was in the depth of a conversation.

"Why's that?" He asks instead of agreeing, knowing he can't really complain when he hasn't been in the mood to party at all.

Taehyung leans his back against the counter beside Jungkook, taking a sip of his soon empty beer bottle. "It just fucking sucks," he shrugs, a scowl on his face as if it's a justifiable reason. It might be because Taehyung's not so difficult to entertain.

It might be because of something else, Jungkook believes, though he doesn't have the heart to ask. He'll do it another time when he won't smell like rejection and when his head won't be filled with a woman's giggles who's out of his league.

So he only hums in agreement, silence installing between him and Taehyung.

A couple of minutes pass, Taehyung has opened another bottle and Jungkook is still quiet. Usually, he doesn't mind slipping in conversations, sharing his own perspective of things. He rarely says no to games, bringing his competitive ass over and crushing everyone's chances of winning.

Today isn't usual, that's why it fucking sucks.

"I'm gonna go get some fresh air," Jungkook says to Taehyung and this one nods.

"I'll probably head home soon anyway."

"Be sure to take an Uber."

"Of course, you know me," he chuckles, waving Jungkook goodbye.

His friend does the same, a slight smile painted on his face as he walks to the front door, opening it and stepping out of the house.

His eyes get used to the darkness as he closes the door behind him. He notices someone sitting on the stairs, typing quickly on the keyboard of their cellphone. He approaches the figure, hearing them sniffing as if they've been crying.

They suddenly drop their phone, muttering a 'fuck' as the device lays on the ground. Jungkook decides to go reach for it so he walks down the stairs and bends to catch it, turning around to hand it to the owner.

"Here." He looks at the person's face and his heart jumps in his chest when he recognizes you. He doesn't know where to look for a second, his eyes shifting down to the screen of your phone.

He catches a glimpse of a conversation with a certain 'Jimin' and immediately looks away, feeling guilty for not minding his business.

You thank him in a tired voice, taking back your iPhone. He stands there uselessly as you seemingly give up on your previous message, turning off your phone's screen with a defeated sigh.

"Is everything okay?" He asks, taking a seat beside you on the stairs.

As you wipe your tears away with the tips of your fingers, he wonders who could have hurt a princess like you. Princesses shouldn't cry. They should be covered in diamonds, not have pearls falling down from their eyes.

He wouldn't have let something like this happen as your knight. He knows for a fact that he would have protected you, and he thinks that whomever is pretending to be your knight right now is doing a really bad job.

"Yeah, I just... shouldn't be here," you respond with a shaky voice, eyes strained down on your feet.

"Where else should you be?"

You turn your head toward him, looking at him like a poor hurt puppy. He doesn't want to compare you to something so defenceless as a puppy, but that's what your eyes tell him. It's not like you're weak, it's more like you've given up on being strong.

"I don't know," you scoff, shaking your head. "Somewhere I belong."

Jungkook thinks he understands what you mean by that. He thinks, but he doesn't know if he really does. It's complicated to relate to someone who's so different from you.

But he wants to try. Relating to someone is not mandatory to be friends, anyway. Nor is it to be in love.

He hums, leaning his forearms on his knees and looking in front of him, watching the night butterflies flying under the dim lights of the street lamps. "Wanna get home?" He proposes, thinking that's maybe where you want to be right now. "I can give you a ride."

Your reddened eyes look up at him and he looks back at you. "No, not home..." You mutter, shaking your head from side to side. "Tomorrow will come too fast," you sigh and break eye-contact, tapping on the screen of your phone to check what hour it is. One a.m..

Is it a coincidence that every time you two are alone the clock indicates one? Should he believe in coincidences or only in the ones that concern you?

"We're already tomorrow," you groan.

Jungkook smiles — he can't help it. "You can't stop the time, baby" he laughs lightly, still staring at you, at your side profile. A blessing to the eyes, a downfall to his heart. "It won't wait for your call to finally start."

You scoff again, this time because you know what he's referring to. "I'm sorry, okay? I'm just bad at relationships... or whatever this is," you apologize, certainly coming out a bit blunter than intended. Blame it on the alcohol in your system.

"It's already forgotten." It isn't, but it may be forgiven. He'll surely have this one on his heart for quite a while, though it won't make him stay away from you. It possibly can't.

You send him a sad smile, having pity for him — or maybe for you — he doesn't know.

"Wanna come to mine, then?" He offers, sporting an innocent smile on his face even though he has no intentions of sharing a cup of tea with you there. Unless that's what you want.

"Where do you live?" You ask, a bit tempted by the proposition. And anyway, you need a place to sleep.

"Downtown," Jungkook replies. "We'll be there in five minutes if we go now," he smirks, trying his hardest to convince you.

It never takes too much to convince you.

"'Kay, let's go," you smile back, biting down on your lip.

·˚ ༘♡ ·˚ ♡

When you entered his apartment, you didn't really pay attention to the decoration, you were rather more bothered by his lips on yours. The moment you stepped foot into his place, his lips were already searching for yours and you didn't refuse him.

So now he's hurriedly leading you to his bedroom, messily kissing you and roaming his hands over the curves of your body. His fingers sometimes get caught under the hem of your dress, making the flimsy material roll up over your plushy thighs.

There's no time to think, no time to ask questions. There's only a need to discover and devour your skin, only a huge desire to finally touch what he hopes will be his one day.

"Oh, be careful," he mumbles against your lips, stopping you from entering his room, his arms wrapped around your waist. "There's a step."

He swiftly lifts you up, his hands placed on the back of your thighs. He can't help but knead them, sinking his fingers into the meaty flesh.

He walks in, making you avoid all the annoying steps to his bed, the covers carelessly thrown everywhere from this morning when he got up. You continue to kiss him, your nails gracing the side of his face as you cradle him in your hands.

Soon enough he lets your back hit the soft surface of his mattress, a soft gasp escaping your lips while he crawls to you, his lips never far away from your hungry ones. He nudges your nose, attempting to connect your mouths together. He does it again and you let him have you, exchanging your saliva like it’s a sweet nectar, him a bee and you a sunflower.

Your hands on his cheeks lower to his neck where you pull on his nair, nails scratching his skin. He groans into the kiss, palming your ass very roughly, fingers sneaking under the hem of your dress.

He has the slight impression that not only your tongues are tangled, but also your souls. Bodies colliding, clashing against each other at the pace of your heartbeat. 

His knees dip into the bed on each side of your body, his arms supporting his weight beside your head. He bucks his hips against yours as you quietly moan into his mouth, feeling his growing bulge pressing down on you.

Blood rushes to his cock so fast, it's like his own brain is begging for him to just fuck you. No protection, fucking raw. Make it messy, make it unforgettable, make it so every time you're with a guy other than Jungkook you regret him.

But he takes his time. That's how he learned it; time is what a woman needs, not a prick who wants his dick wet and to get it from behind. As if doggy is a position that can make her cum.

"Fuck, I'm so..." Jungkook breathes out, his forehead laying against yours. His eyelids flutter shut as he swallows to ease his dried throat, opening his eyes again when he begins to speak. "I'm so fucking hard."

"I know," you whisper, glancing down where he grinds his bulge against your clothed pussy. "I feel it."

He groans at that and moves his hips against yours with more insistence, the material of his jeans rubbing against the soft cotton of your panties. You moan at how good it feels to have his hard cock pressing down on your clit, your hands coming down to push on his butt.

"Shit, baby," he hisses, sinking his teeth into his bottom lip. He frowns cutely and looks down too, deciding to raise one of your legs up, making more room for himself. "Do you like that?" He asks, continuing to hump you as if you were both deprived horny teenagers — and he won't lie, he may still act like one sometimes.

He notices a wet patch on your panties just over your core, the area has darkened where your pussy gushes arousal out. "Oh, god- yes, Kook," you moan out, the new position creating more friction.

He almost whines at the nickname, his dick literally twitching happily in his boxers. He buries his face in the crook of your neck, feeling the pace of his heart accelerating, his breath becoming irregular.

He holds your thigh up and he loves how plushy it is, how your skin looks so tender. He'd bite into it, just chew onto it to have a little taste of you.

"You smell so sweet," he states, his hot breath hitting your skin, making goosebumps run all over your skin. He kisses your neck, soft and warm, leaving a wet trail behind.

He rolls his hips against you, his erection now aching, wanting to be inside of you, but he can't seem to think about anything else than your quiet moans gracing his ears and your odour invading his nostrils.

"Jungkook," you whine, scrunching his t-shirt between your fingers, pulling on it desperately as he keeps smooching the skin of your neck.

He understands your silent request and he swiftly gets rid of his t-shirt, throwing it somewhere on his bedroom's floor. Your hands immediately travel his abs and you feel his muscles flexing under your palms.

You then pass your arms around his shoulders, bringing his lips to yours. He moans into the kiss as he keeps rubbing his hard cock against your pussy, but your little pleas make it difficult for him to focus.

He sneaks a hand between your two bodies and you grip on his hair when he reaches your puffy clit, pulsating so hard for him. "Do you want me to touch you there?" He asks in a raspy voice, his big fingers teasing your sensitive bud, his touch familiar at this point. "Hm, princess? Want me to make you feel good?"

He always finds a way to tease you even when his jeans are really tight, his cock so swollen from your dry humping session from seconds ago.

"Yes, please," you breathe out shakily, a moan escaping your mouth when he starts to draw slow, sensual circles on your clit. "Fuck, Kook." You have your mouth agape, letting out sweet moans as his digit presses down on your bud, making the knot in your stomach tighten.

He lowers his fingers to your core, feeling how soaked your panties are. "All wet for me, baby?" He purrs and you nod your head, breathless. "Good girl," he praises, a little smirk crowning his pink lips.

You pull on the hair at the nape of his neck, closing your eyes as you enjoy the pleasure he's giving you. "Faster, please, Jungkook," you beg, his finger stroking your clit sending so many tingles through your body.

So he fastens the pace of his digit, rubbing quick circles on your bud of nerves and he absolutely loves the sight of you bucking your hips against his hand, growing impatient. Your nails sink into his skin, leaving little crescent forms all over his neck. He grits his teeth at the pain, but he'll suffer through it as long as it means you're feeling pleasure.

"Yes, yes," you moan, so close to your high, your mind getting fuzzy. He doesn't stop stimulating your clit, the pad of his finger skillfully circling it over your damp underwear. "I'm gonna cum," you hurriedly say, the muscles of your thighs tensing as soon as the words leave your mouth.

Your orgasm shoots through you and you grab Jungkook's wrist, but he keeps moving his finger to drive you off your high. You tense down, hearing your heart beating in your rib cage, chest heaving rapidly.

You flutter your eyes open and they meet Jungkook's gaze. You look into each other's eyes as you slowly calm down. His hand shifts to hold your waist and you bring him in for another kiss.

You don't wait longer before sliding your panties down your legs, raising your hips up from the mattress and letting the material fall on the ground. He breaks your kiss to see your pussy totally nude, glistening in your juices. He swears it's the sexiest he's ever seen before, so cute and always so fucking wet.

He has the urge to lower down and have a taste. He could never forget your flavour, but he'd pretend to so you let him eat you out for a second time.

Exactly when he's about to devour you, you push on his chest and switch positions with him. He lets you take the top, watching you remove your dress and reveal the most intimate parts of your body to him, naked.

"You're beautiful," he compliments, the most honest he's ever been. His eyes roam over your body, scanning your breasts and your perky nipples pointing at him.

You're a pretty woman, but he wonders if his heart beating faster is really the result of your beauty or perhaps the feelings he might have for you.

"So are you," you smile, giggling when Jungkook's still staring at you with hearts in his eyes.

He's brought back to reality when you place yourself on your stomach between his legs. "What... What are you doing?" He swallows, his big brown eyes settled on you.

"Returning the favour," you respond, passing your finger on his stomach just over the band of his Calvin Klein's that peeks out of his pants. "Would you like that, Kook?"

"Yeah," he mutters under his breath, watching closely the movements of your hands, slowly unbuttoning his jeans and pulling down the zipper. You undress him from his pair of jeans and socks, coming back up to his crotch after.

He parts his legs wider for you and you lay a hand over his bulge, feeling how hard he is just for you. "You're so big, Jungkook..." You say in astonishment, visibly really pleased with his girth.

You palm him over his boxers, closing your hand around him, imagining how it'd be without his underwear on.

"Hm-mh." Jungkook passes his fingers through your hair, making you look up at him. "Think you can handle it, baby?"

You squeeze your grip on him, which results in him hissing. He's really sensitive, especially when he's been sporting a boner for quite a while now.

Though nothing will compare to the time you left him just after he made you cum on his tongue. He sucked it up, but fuck, nobody told him before how complicated it was to drive with an erection. It's really distracting. Luckily, his work was done, so he could go straight home, but still.

He had to jack off in the shower, thinking about you and how your pussy would close around him so tightly.

"I'll try," you smile.

You pull down his boxers, leaving them just below his ass, and his cock springs up, the head slapping down on his stomach. He lets out a sigh of relief, finally free from his briefs.

You wrap your fingers around him, looking so small compared to his penis, and bring him up to your lips. His tip is glistening in his pre-cum and it twitches in your hand, just so happy to see you.

Jungkook hasn't shaved, he didn't expect any of this to happen after all. He hopes you don't mind, but you don't seem to, quite the contrary even.

You start to gently and slowly pump him, passing the pad of your thumb over the little slit, spreading his arousal over his length. You leave a kiss on the head and he wonders if you're not getting revenge for all the times he teased you.

You tilt your head to the side and kiss his length all the way up to finally open your mouth and insert the tip in. Jungkook curses under his breath, taking a handful of your hair in his fist, making your scalp itch.

You keep eye-contact with him as you lower down, gradually taking all of him in the warmth of your mouth. "Fuck, your mouth feels so good around me," he moans, looking at you with lustful eyes. He can't take his eyes off of you, he's literally hypnotized by the way your lips slide so smoothly over his hard cock.

You hum, the sound a bit muffled by his dick in your mouth. Tears start to form in your eyes, throat burning as you get used to his size and the stretch of your mouth.

When you've reached his base, nose touching his pelvis, you gag around him, but manage to make the feeling go away. Jungkook believes he's in heaven right now, having his cock nestled deep in your mouth, some strands of hair falling down in front of your eyes.

You blink several times, trying to see clearer, but the water makes your vision fuzzy. "It's okay, princess," he sighs pleasantly, seeing that you struggle, your throat starting to burn badly. You gag another time and he has to concentrate if he doesn't want to cum right now. "Shit... Don't- don't force yourself," he hisses, pulling your head up.

His cock falls back down on his tummy, hearing a wet slap since he's entirely covered in your saliva. You catch your breath and wipe your lips with the back of your hand, immediately taking him back in your hand.

You stroke him, running your palm up and down his girthy length. You swallow to ease your throat and glance up at him with teary eyes. He pouts, cupping your cheeks and swiping his thumbs under your eyes to get the little pearls away.

"You don't have to take everything... I'm already happy to have you with me," he admits and he hopes his words don't scare you away. You don't know each other for that long, but sometimes he just has to be honest about his feelings.

You smile, nodding your head in response. He moans when you take him back into your mouth, flattening your tongue underneath him. He knits his eyebrows together as you bob your head over him, a hand wrapped around his base.

His short nails dig into your scalp, making you wince, but it doesn't make you stop. Jungkook lets out heavy breaths and moans, his hand gripping your hair and guiding you over his wet cock.

His other hand, his tattooed one, scrunches the bedsheets in his fist, the pleasure too good it becomes overwhelming. His eyes are strained down on you and every time your gazes meet, his heart skips a beat.

It feels too good to be true, yet here you are, pleasuring him like nobody else's ever did. You both like to give and he hopes it won't make sex difficult between you two. Well, if it ever happens again, which he really wishes it will.

"Yeah, just like that," he approves when you hollow your cheeks, continuing to bounce your head over his stiff erection. "Such a good girl," he adds on and loosens his grip on your hair, delicately patting you instead.

You almost purr under all the sweet praises he tells you, loving how he makes you feel confident and proud of yourself. Your free hand is laying on his thighs, sensing his muscles tensing and calming down each time he controls himself to last longer.

But even though he tries his best to not shoot his cum into you right now, your mouth does wonders and his orgasm is approaching really fast.

"I'm not gonna last long, baby," he warns you in a breathy voice. "Shit," he curses, sucking air through his teeth and feeling his balls tightening. Your tongue is so warm and wet, he can't resist you any longer.

You pull out and stroke his length, a string of saliva connecting your lips to his tip. It breaks as you lick them, fucking Jungkook with your fist. He groans, gritting his teeth, and his grip on the covers tightens, signs that his high is really close now.

He curls his toes, the burning sensation at the pit of his stomach growing. "Holy fuck," he spits out profanities and his cock twitches, hot cum spilling out from his red, swollen tip.

You moan with him, turned on by the sight of him releasing himself on your hand. He throws his head back and closes his eyes, all of his muscles flexing as you milk him dry.

"Oh, god, Kook," you coo, lazily stroking his cock and caressing his thigh to make him relax. "There's so much," you comment, literally amazed.

Jungkook opens his eyes and looks down at his crotch, seeing your hand still wrapped around him completely covered in his cum. He bites down on his lip at the view, even more aroused when you bring your fingers up to your mouth and lick the remains.

"Shit, you fucking minx," he says, but there's no intention to insult you, he's just so down bad for you.

It makes you giggle, encouraging you to do something even nastier. You sit on your knees and spread his cum on your tits, circling your nipples with your fingers.

Jungkook smiles, his affection for you growing, and takes a hold of your jaw, pulling you in for a long, sloppy kiss. You moan into his mouth, his cock brushing against your pussy, still hard and ready to wreck you.

"You have no idea what I want to do to you," he groans, looking into your eyes like they are the whole galaxy, endless so he can lose himself in them.

"Do what you need to do to me," you allow, offering yourself to him and more if he desires to.

When those words leave your mouth, he picks you up and gets up from his bed, your legs locked behind his back. You gasp when he pins you against the nearest wall, placing your arms around his large shoulders, holding onto him tightly.

"You sure? Because we're only done when I say so," he breathes onto your face, his forehead against yours, bangs slightly damp from his sweat.

"One-hundred percent sure," you grin, but lose your smile as soon as he pushes his cock into your pussy, ripping a loud moan out of you.

Your nails dig into the skin of his back to give him some of the pain he's inflicting to you by penetrating you with his big cock. He holds you up against him, his hands on your ass, touching you so sensually and lovingly, appreciating every part of your body.

He sinks his dick into your pussy, sliding in so easily without any restraint, cunt absolutely soaking wet. "God, pussy's so fucking tight," he rasps out, finally bottoming out into you. His balls touch your ass, his pelvis flushed against yours, meaning he's completely in.

You whine, feeling absolutely full, pussy clenching helplessly around him. Jungkook doesn't wait — he can't anymore — and starts pounding into you, his balls slapping against your skin. The room smells like sex, it's strong and quite obvious, but he easily ignores it, he practically can't even smell it.

He slides his cock in and out of your pussy, making you moan sweetly, a beautiful melody to his ears. He doesn't hold himself back and fucks you hard against the wall, but you're nowhere near against it, you're loving it.

Your boobs jiggle on your chest because of Jungkook's harsh thrusts, both of your skins glistening under the light of his bedroom, covered in a thin layer of sweat.

"I'm so full, Kook," you moan softly and he can't look away from you, finding you so pretty and sexy.

"Yeah? Full of my big cock, baby?" He asks, darting out his tongue to wet his dried lips, passing over his piercings.

"Yes," you cry, breaking eye-contact as you close your eyes, head rolling back and hitting the wall behind you.

His hips are powerful, never missing a beat and brushing over your sweet spot repeatedly. Your pussy has adjusted to the size of his girth, some of your wetness dripping down to your butt and coating his balls that slap against you.

He pushes some of his cum into you as well, the rest you haven't licked off your fingers or spread on your tits. He still can't believe you did that, but god, did he find it hot. He never thought you playing with his cum would turn him on so much. He sure will think about this moment when he's going to be alone with himself.

His eyes shift down to your bouncing breasts and he has to put one in his mouth, even if it means tasting a bit of himself too.

He catches one nipple with lips, wrapping them around your hardened bud. You moan his name and pull on the hair at the nape of his neck, pushing his head down toward your chest.

It sends more tingles to your belly, your walls closing around him tightly. He lets out a grunt, knowing his orgasm will come close if you continue clenching around him as if you want to suck him up.

"Jungkook!" You exclaim when he turns you both around, walking back to his bed. He lays your back down on the mattress, still in you, and continues his assault, snapping his hips against yours.

He pushes up your thighs over your stomach, getting a better view and access to your pussy. "Take my cock, baby. Be a good girl for me," he says, completely obsessed with you and your cunt. If you weren't made for you, he doesn't know how he'll trust life again.

Putting you on his way just to get rid of you... No, if you're not his, you're nobody else's and if he's not yours, then he doesn't know what life is fucking worth.

"Yes, yes, Jungkook," you confirm in a moan, or maybe your brain is too mushy to find something else to answer.

You place two fingers on each side of your hole where Jungkook keeps pounding in, watching his cock entering and exiting your sloppy cunt. You pull on your pussy lips, feeling the knot at the pitch of your stomach tightening again, a more intense orgasm waiting for you.

You bring a finger to your clit and begin to draw fast circles on it, impatient to feel the burning and euphoric sensation of your upcoming orgasm. Jungkook moans at the sight, making him more desperate to reach his high as well.

"Shit, close, princess?" He questions and you nod repeatedly, humming in agreement. "Me too..." He states, breathless and chest heaving rapidly.

He's tired, but somehow he still has the energy to fuck you. Honestly, fucking you might be the only thing he'll never get tired of, that's for sure. It's so addicting, so good, he simply can't get enough.

"Please, please, Kook. Faster," you beg, even though he's already going at a quick pace that will probably leave the skin of your thighs sore and bruised.

You stroke your clit from side to side and he pounds you so hard it makes you dizzy and kind of drunk off the hormones you're both releasing.

He hits your magic spot multiple times, eliciting loud moans of pleasure out of you, your eyes rolling back. "Yes, like that," you cry, the last thing you say before your thighs start shaking.

Your back lifts up from the mattress when your orgasm hits you, passing through you like a tsunami, leaving you out of breath. Your pussy clenches around Jungkook and he's so close, too.

He drives his cock into you, making you whine in overstimulation, and he feels the familiar burning sensation in his stomach. "Oh, fuck, baby," he moans and slips out of you rapidly, jerking himself off just over your quivering pussy. "Gonna cum."

With a last thrust of his hand, he cums on your cunt, making a dirty mess on you. You moan when ropes of white cum land on your pussy, dribbling down to your hole and ass.

Finally, little beads spurt out of his cock, falling on your sex. You collect some on your fingers, pushing them in you and Jungkook watches with lazy eyes, slowly pumping his cock to drive off his high.

He picks you up and places you both side by side on the bed, recovering from the heated session of sex you just experienced. He lies on his back while you're cuddled up to his side, one hand on his chest.

He turns his head in your direction and you're already smiling at him, drawing little forms on his stomach, following the lines of his abs. "Was good," you whisper.

"Yeah," Jungkook agrees, frowning slightly, wondering if maybe, potentially you share the same feelings as him.

The next morning, you dress yourself back up, having taken a fresh shower while Jungkook was still sleeping. He watches you putting back on your dress, his arms crossed behind his head.

When you're done, you spin around and face him. "What about..." You begin, a playful smile gracing your lips. "You call me soon?"

He looks at you, taking a moment to answer, just admiring the happiness you radiate. He compares your mood of when he's found you sitting on the stairs at the party to the one of this morning and he tells himself that you're feeling better because of him.

If you can both make each other happy, he doesn't see why you two can't work — as friends or more, it doesn't matter as long as he's the reason why you have a smile on your face.

"Sure."

·˚ ༘♡ ·˚ ♡

.

.

.

part 1: call me later ☼ part 2: call me soon ☾ part 3: call me tomorrow ☼

#bts fanfiction #bts fanfic #bts smut #bts x reader #bts imagines #bts scenarios #jungkook fic #jungkook imagines #jungkook fanfic #jungkook smut #jungkook scenarios #jungkook x reader #jungkook fanfiction

[crystallilytarot]

You and your future spouse first impression of each other. Choose a word (these are erasers btw)

(can be future partner too, if you don't want marriage)

Ps. It's supposed to be about impressions, but somehow the cards showed me a story too, but I hope you will still like it!

Pile 1 - power

Your fs

It feels like you will be with friends /family / colleagues. Even if it's in the workplace, it will be a lunch break, a company party or something lighter feeling. And you are talking, laughing and your future partner will see you, and like bumm, they will know right away that you are special. Not exactly love at first sight, but instant attraction. And not even lust, it feels more like they will find you very intelligent, an interesting individual. You probably have a good sense of humour too. If it's in the workplace, they will try to do something, to work with you. You seems like someone who is good at teamwork. They will have instantly protective feelings about you. A little bit like a protector, but they will admire you from afar. A secret admiror, but nothing creepy. I think they will just need some time. And they won't even realize at first, that it's not just they find you interesting, but they find you very sexy too. The sexual attraction is there too from the beginning so it's a little funny, how they don't notice this. You know, like in fanfictions, where everybody knows that the main character has a crush on someone. Everybody but them lol

You

Okay, so you are the same. Kinda. But I think you will know a little earlier that you are attracted to this person, but you would think that it's impossible. In the very beginning, you probably won't even notice them, it feels like they are not really your usual type, or maybe they are, but still at first you will think that they aren't. So I mean, maybe a little different from your type in the outside, but in the inside, they are everything you ever wanted. After there's a period where you will feel really in love with them, but you will be like, it doesn't matter, it's only a platonic love. A little bit of a feeling like the company rules don't let people date on that workplace, or they are in a higher position than you. Or just simply you both feel like the other person is not interested in you. But in the end somehow you will be together. Can be that some friends will help you or just your guardian angels, because you seems like can't even believe that this person is really interested in you.

Pile 2 - dream

Your fs

They will be very attracted to you, right from the beginning. And they seems like a confident person, so I think they will try to invite you to a date pretty early. But either you will say no, or the date won't be so good. There's a little separation here. I feel like their intentions are genuine but somehow they don't act like it. In the beginning, but later you will be together. I feel that they are confident but you seems out of their league, and they find you so sexy, they will ruin this thing between you. Can be that you already know them, but you were too young, or the time / place were bad, but later you will reconcile.

You

There's an instant attraction from your side too, and I think you will feel that you have a lot of common things. You will actually see behind their behaviour and you will feel that they are a loving person. But still something isn't right. But I feel that both of you need some time to heal something, learn something before you meet again. The potencial is there from the beginning, but it feels like it wasn't real love back than, but if you meet again, it's so much better. Like 2 people who are emotionally available, and in peace with themself, so they can give love too.

Pile 3 - magic

Your fs

It's strange because it feels like neither of you are looking for love at that time. Something bad happened or just they are busy with other things in their life. They are in their journey to be a better person, maybe in their job too, but in their life in general too. So it feels a little sudden meeting. You two maybe already know each other. It's just for some of you. But for everybody, you both will feel like you are know each other for a long time. This person will feel like you are their safe place. It's possible that it will be a love at first sight. They will just know, that they want to be with you right away. They will think that you are like a sunshine in their life. Something like a child, who can feel joy almost innocently. A happy, optimistic feeling. And they will know right away that they will want to be with you long term. If you want children, there's that feeling too that they will know that they want a family with you.

You

So there's a little difficulties in your life too when you are meeting this person. But they will bring back the hope to your life. Instant sexual attraction from your side too. And probably love at first sight here too. But it seems like you are more of a rational person or you just don't believe that it's really happening for you. So you will fight with your feelings a little at first. Maybe it's because of past bad experiences. And you will find that person very attractive, so you will think that they probably have a lot of suitor/ a lot of people interested in them. A little bit of a f boy/girl thing, but they are not. I think they are a charming person, quite friendly and open, but they actually want a stable relationship, something meaningful.

#free tarot #pick a card #tarot #pick a pile

[bluecollarmcandtf]

Construction Dog Co.

Each one of these dumb brutes belongs to me! They once had their own lives and careers, but I replaced all that with the blind obedience of a dog. My words dictate their reality, so they'll believe anything I say. That's why it seems perfectly normal for them to wait like this every morning. They'd kneel there all day if I let them, but they need to work eventually!

"Get off your knees, dogs! Hop to work! It's the only thing you're good for!" I yell it with venom, but I relish seeing my words soaking in into their minds. With just a simple command, I've convinced them all that they are animals, good only for hard work and manual labor.

The men rush to their feet, scrambling to pick up where they'd left off yesterday. I don't bother understanding the minor details of their day to day responsibilities. I have different boys programmed to manage all that crap for me. I really only bother watching them sweat their days away.

Being the supervisor can get a bit boring, especially after hearing, "Thank you, boss. I love you, boss," for like the seventh time in a day. It kind of loses it's meaning after awhile.

That's why I often use them for entertainment. Watch this!

"Hey, you two!" I call, pointing at two sweaty workers nearby, "You're in love with each other. Make out!"

Despite being hot and exhausted, the two men drop their tools and perk up. When they meet each other's eyes it's like they're seeing one another for the first time. They practically slam their bodies together in a race to each other's throat, and within seconds the two guys are lost in a world of dirt, saliva, and lust.

I do this with my men often, but who could blame me! I handpicked each one of them because they were strong and hot. If they're going to be hypnotized work slaves, then I need to enjoy how they look.

"You too aren't doing anything else but each other for the rest of the day," I command with a laugh, "Got it?"

"Yes, sir," their replies are moaned out between breaths.

A lot of my laborers were straight before they met me, but these two were creeps about it. I think I found them at the gym, hitting on girls between every set. I obviously enjoyed erasing their raunchy personalities. I find it even more enjoyable watching them grope and slobber over each other, knowing that those bodies would've never done that before I came along.

Those jagoffs are just the beginning of my day! I leave them after they've tumbled to the ground, humping each other like the dumb animals they are.

"You there!" I point to a different guy, quietly stacking blocks nearby, "Get over here and clean the floor as I walk. These Timberlands are brand new and I don't want mud on them."

"Yes, sir," the worker answers and rushes over, throwing himself to the ground before me.

I chuckle and study the poor loser in front of me. With just a few short words, I have him scrubbing a place for me to walk like I'm his king. I scoff in disbelief when I finally recognize who the guy was.

"Wait, are you that jerk from the bank?"

"Yes, sir," he admits quietly, keeping his head lowered towards his work.

"Well shit, you've come a long way! Can you believe that a week ago you were some fancy banker who tried to deny me a loan?" I give his head a little nudge with the toe of my shoe, "This is a much better place for you...uh... Robert...or was it Roger?"

"Reggie, sir," he quickly corrects me.

"Well, it doesn't matter anymore," I scowl at him, "Forget your name. You're just a construction dog, now. Understand?"

"Yes, sir."

"Who are you?"

"I'm...I'm just a construction dog." I can tell he believes it now, too. I'm probably the only one here that knows his real name, and I'll definitely forget it within a few days.

"Good boy," I pat him on the head, "Now, you're going to stay ahead of me and keep clearing the floor for me to walk."

Reggie mumbles "Yes, sir," and crawls forward to scrub away the dirt in my immediate vicinity. Continuing on my tour, the poor guy struggles to keep up on all-fours, but a good work animal must get used to that position.

By the end of the day, my entire pack of men is sweaty and exhausted. I usually make them all work the maximum shift with no breaks, so it makes sense for them to be tired. Still, they are programmed to come and kneel before me, waiting to be dismissed. They're all a bit antsy for a rest, but I like to test their patience.

"Alright, boys. You're dismissed for the night."

With a collective groan, they climb back to their feet, marching off to the bunk house.

The bunk house is where I keep them when they aren't working. It might seem tight but each guy has enough room to sleep; although, I make them share because I don't want to purchase anymore bunk spaces. I don't really like to spend any money on them. They have access to the porta-john out back, but otherwise they aren't allowed to go anywhere else. I also only gave them the clothes they work in, so they sleep in them too.

Needless to say, it stinks in there. Between the heat, body odor, unwashed clothes, and lack of showers, they've created quite the stench. I avoid their home as much as I can, but sometimes my curiosity gets the best of me. This is the first time I've seen it in weeks.

"Come on boys, don't look so glum!" I chastise them, "Smile! Act like you're happy to see me!"

I watch as a switch goes in each of their minds. Slowly, they snap out of their foggy eyed depression, and light up. The energy of the room transforms as reassuring smiles spread across each of their manly faces.

"That's better! You boys are a tight-knit team! You love each other!" I add, "You don't mind the back-breaking work, or the smell, or anything as long as you're together."

The men become even more at ease, relaxing into the arms of their coworkers. My heart is warmed a little, seeing them getting along with each other so well. They're acting like energetic little puppies now.

I'm ready to leave them for the night. It's time for me to return to my luxury condo down the street, but before I do, I catch sight of one of my workers. An idea springs into my head.

"You, there. Come with me."

"Yes, sir," he answers, though he seems genuinely disappointed to be leaving his buddies.

I lead him outside and hose him off to remove at least some of the mud and sweat. We walk all the way to my apartment. Luckily, he's mostly dry by then so I take him inside.

"Is this going to take awhile, sir?" he asks nervously, "I'm pretty tired and my bedmate is going to sleep soon."

"Shut up and get on the bed," I command.

His mouth snaps shut and he obediently approaches my soft king bed, crawling onto it like I told him to. I sigh when I notice that the stupid oaf still tracked a lot of mud in. I'll have to make him clean it all up later.

"Now, you aren't going to speak or move unless I tell you too," I instruct, "But you will realize that anything I do will be exactly what you want: no matter what I do..."

He gazes back at me numbly.

"Tell me you understand."

"I understand, sir," he instantly repeats.

Tonight is going to be a long night for him. Too bad he still has to wake up early and report to work. I'm already planning on sleeping in. I don't mind keeping my workers waiting for a few hours while I rest. It's my company after all, and they're just dogs for labor...

#gay mind control #construction worker #humiliated slave #gay hypnosis #gay ai art

[arminsumi]

would you happen to have any nanami hc? soft, fluffy, domestic, anything at all

Make him smile.

hubby!Nanami Kento ⋅ fem (?) reader

NOTE: yes i do!! i swear i have ideas for nanami content but then satosugu distracts me. they're evil, damn them 🤬 anyways, here's this little hc i have been storing in my cheeks like a chipmunk 👍 it's about nanami not smiling frequently or at all, but his wifey y/n makes him smile by kissing his dimples

WARNINGS — very slight angst, kissing n makeouts

Nanami Kento doesn't smile.

You've done everything in your power to get him to, but he's like a stone.

One night, the two of you are curled up against each other in a tender embrace on the couch. The TV's running low-quality soapies but you and Nanami only half-listen; it's really just serving the purpose of being background noise to the soft scene of your kissing.

He always, always needs a make out session with you after a long day at work. That paired with your sweet voice calms his nerves.

He may be tired, but he still doesn't miss a detail of anything you say as you intermittently speak between kisses.

You tilt your head at your husband, noting the downturn of his lips. That ever-present frown that adorned his mature face, you wish you could erase the memories that caused it.

Then you say something that causes Nanami's ears to perk up.

" 'Nami, I promise one day to make you so happy that you smile."

He looks down at you tenderly, fingers ceasing their trails through your hair.

"Angel," he begins softly, "just because I'm not smiling doesn't mean I'm unhappy." he assures.

"So... you're saying I do make you happy?" you look at him.

"Of course you do. Very much so. In fact, you've always made me happier than anyone else. To be quite frank, everyone else pisses me off but you don't."

You let out a little laugh. The two of you bask in a moment of sudden kisses, your lips had a mind of their own on nights like these; kiss kiss kiss.

"Mmm... but you never smile much." you continue on the topic lingering in the air.

You say this with a little frown. Nanami finds your subtlest expressions so endearing, they're one of the first things he noticed about you when you first started working alongside him at Jujutsu High.

"I don't like my smile." he admits coolly.

You pull a bit away from his embracing arms to look at him incredulously, mouth agape.

"What! But you have one of the best smiles! You even have dimples. And you know I have a weakness for dimples! If you'd smile more, I'd go so weak in the knees that I wouldn't be able to stand up."

Nanami chuckles softly, closing his eyes momentarily. "Is that so? I thought I had the power to make you weak in the knees anyways." he jokes.

"Oh hush." you reply. "But, y'know, I really want to see you smile more. I want to see your dimples appear. I want to see your eyes crease."

His heart lurches at your words and then he — he smiles just a little bit. As soon as his lip corners begin to curl up, he suppresses it, and those dimples appear like two dents in a soft ball of dough.

"Whatever my angel wishes for, I'll give her." he states, "I'll try smile more for you."

"Mmm, thank you." you smile. You admire his features, and the way he always closes his eyes when he feels a small embarrassment. "What a cute husband I've got." you murmur, and kiss at his dimples.

You unknowingly sent a shiver down his spine.

"Don't call me cute." he says dead seriously while properly smiling now. "You know how much I hate that word."

"Cute cute cute. You're cute." you tease.

"C'mere you..."

You hum your giggles against his face as he lunges in for kisses, aiming to shut you up with his lips.

But kissing is impossible when he can't stop smiling. Your teeth gently clash together, everything so sweetly chaotic.

"You can't even kiss me 'cuz you're smiliiing. That's so cute — haha I'm sorry! I'm sorry! I'll stopppmmfffff — "

Now since that night, whenever you want to get a smile out of your husband, you kiss at the place where his dimples appear. And surely, soon enough, there's those little dents and his curling lips and creasing eyes.

#hubby nanami 👍🥹💗 #fluff #nanami #nanami x reader #nanami kento #nanami fluff #jjk nanami #kento nanami #jjk kento #nanami x fem reader #jujutsu nanami #jujutsu kaisen #jjk #jjk fluff #jjk x reader #jjk x you #nanami x you #nanami x y/n

[toxicanonymity]

more raider joel PLEAAAASE 🙏

Failed Escape

4k, raider!Joel x f!reader / raider master / joel

Mood board by @milla-frenchy

SUMMARY: when Joel brings you to a familiar area for a raid, you run away but get stopped by FEDRA officers with bad intentions, worse than Joel. Joel saves you.

WARNINGS: NSFW I8+ dark, violence, assault, manhandling, captivity, restraints, exhibitionism, humiliation, unsafe dubcon vPIV, fingering, oral, filth, orgasm denial, cockwarming, police violence, allusions to very dark fedra activity.

A/N: This is 4th in the Raider series but can be read alone. credits / shoutouts - @romanarose escape ask, touch-erase anon, rope kink anon, many others with thots & thirst.

“I'm sorry," you sob, and you really are.  It's the second raid you’ve been on this week. You thought you recognized the forest behind the house, making it your best chance to escape.  You don’t have anything or anyone to go home to, but you’re hungry.  You’re tired.  You don't sleep. Sometimes you wake up with Joel’s arms too tight around you. If you move, they tighten more and you can hardly breathe.

Those things on their own might be tolerable, but the rest of Joel's men are the real problem. That first day, Joel told you he’d make sure nothing happened to you.  He made it very clear to you and everyone else that you were his and no one else could touch you. At this point you don’t always mind his touch, but you worry about what could happen to you if something happened to Joel.  The guys are disgusting, and not just the ones Joel originally saved you from, as you learned at the stash house.

There are a lot, and they’re brutal with their prey.  They’re not just rough, they’re mean, degrading.  They know they aren’t supposed to look at you, but they still steal a hungry glance when Joel’s not watching.  From what you’ve overheard them doing to their victims, your greatest fear is that Joel will die or get overthrown and you’ll be at their mercy. The day Joel first claimed you, he warned you about those men and how much worse they'd be. At this point, you've seen and heard enough to know it's true.

But even that prospect doesn't sound bad right now compared to what you just went through.  You never should have run.

- - - - -

You stumbled through the woods and when you were almost to the other side, you spotted three armed men in uniform - FEDRA.  You called, “Help!” You were relieved.  They could get you somewhere safe. But when they turned around, it was only a couple of seconds before they aimed their rifles at you.  You fell to your knees begging for help.  

They laughed and talked to each other like you weren’t there.  

“I dunno, she looks infected to me,” the tallest one said.  

“Sure are seein’ a lot of infected this week,” another said and elbowed the tall guy in the ribs.  

The apparent leader of the pack ordered the men to take your clothes off.  They stripped you of everything, even your underwear, and felt you up while they were at it.  One of them stuck a finger in you.   Then, the leader put a single bullet in a revolver, spun the cylinder,  handed it to the tall one, and said “your turn.”  

 "Already? C'mon, I don't wanna fuck another dead girl."  

“At least they can’t scratch you up kickin’ and screamin’,” the leader said.

“Yeah, so what’s the point?” the third one said.  “That’s half the fun.”  

"Better say a prayer then," the leader said. "Go on," he urged. 

The man put the muzzle to your temple and your life flashed before your eyes.  He pulled the trigger and the click made you wince.  You kept your eyes pinched shut and when you slowly opened them, you could hardly believe you were alive. 

Leaves crunched behind you in the woods.  "ANIMALS, all of you," Joel boomed, and you turned around to see him with his rifle aimed at the men.  

"Get down and cover your ears, baby." Joel didn’t even look at you. 

Without so much as blinking, he shot the leader right in the forehead, then kept walking toward them.  Shot another one like it was the easiest thing he had ever done. Not even a flinch. 

Meanwhile, the tall one, the one with the revolver, charged straight at him but Joel still didn’t flinch.  He calmly used the butt of his rifle to strike him square in the face. When the man fell to the ground, Joel straddled him and pummeled his face.  

Still straddling the man, Joel asked you what they did to you.  You told him about the revolver first. Joel took it from the man, spun the cylinder, then held it out for you, but you didn't take it. You were cowering naked on the ground.  “Go ahead,” Joel said.  The man pleaded for his life.  You hesitated, and Joel said “Now,” firmly.  You crawled closer, took the revolver, aimed, and pulled the trigger.  The man screamed and winced, but the gun only clicked.  Joel took it back, spun it again, and handed it back to you.  “Again.”  That time, you shot the man in the chest and the recoil sent you back on your ass.  It wasn’t a kill shot.  The man tried to speak but could only gurgle.  Blood spilled out of his mouth. Your face went cold and you were shaking. 

Joel made sure the man was disarmed, then came over and started putting your shirt back on you. 

"Is that what you want? Shared and slaughtered by those pigs?” He motioned to the three men on the ground.  You started crying, still sprawled on the dirt

- - - - -

Joel puts his rifle around his back, squats down, grabs you by both elbows, and violently forces you to your feet.

"Breakin' my goddamn heart, sweet pea."  He seethes with disappointment.

"I'm sorry," you repeat through your tears, still begging his eyes to meet yours.  Finally, he puts his rifle around his back and looks at you. You must look so pathetic.  Crying, knees covered in dirt, still naked from the waist down.  The dying man stops gurgling.  You whimper yet again, "I'm sorry."

He looks you up and down and seems to soften a little as he responds, "I know, baby.”  But notably, he doesn't say it's okay. He doesn't say he forgives you. You collapse into his chest and sob. He pulls you closer and you're startled when his arousal swells into you.

"How'd they touch you?" Joel asks, then clenches his jaw as though bracing himself for impact.  At least he knows they didn't fuck you since they were all still dressed, to his great relief. 

Joel has your pants in his hands waiting for your answer. You tell him.  

He sighs and squats down.  He wedges his hand between your thighs and you're wet with arousal from feeling his wood.  "Was it like this?" He asks, sliding his fingers against your folds.  You don't know what to say.  It wasn’t like this because it didn’t feel good. He plunges two fingers into you and asks, "like this?" He digs the heel of his palm into his arousal.

“Kind of”

His face tenses into a snarl as he pumps his fingers in and out of you. What does 'kind of' mean?” 

“It hurt.”

“Too many fingers?” 

“No, just one, but too rough.  And too dry.” Your cheeks burn.  

His eyes light up in grim satisfaction.  “Ok, baby.”  He takes his fingers out and wraps his arms around you again.  You start crying again. 

“I’m sorry,” you say for the millionth time.

“I know you are, sweet pea."  He brushes the tears off your cheeks.   “Wanna be sorry here or in the house?” You can only assume what he means.  You just hope it won’t be too brutal, given your betrayal. 

His breath deepens, and he’s slowly stroking a larger bulge in his skin-tight pants now.  You have to think about it for a moment.  You’re anxious to get away from the dead FEDRA bodies, but the other raiders and victims are still in the house. 

Joel adds, “Or in the van?”    

“In the van."

He brushes the dirt off you and helps you step into your pants.

-

When you get back to the house they’ve been raiding, Joel doesn’t take you straight to the van.  There are a few bodies strewn about.  The hostages are all in one room.  Joel takes you to a bathroom away from them.  

He locks the door, hangs his rifle on the towel hook, then turns on the shower.  He strips you and gets behind you, both of you facing the mirror.  He asks, “They do anything else to you? Touch you anywhere else?” You tell him they touched your breasts.   He inhales deeply and clenches his jaw, then cups both your breasts from behind, slowly massaging them.  "Like this?" His hardness presses into you.  

"Kind of, but it didn’t feel good." 

Half his mouth smiles, and in the mirror you notice him scanning your body head to toe. Then he turns you around to face him.

His hands engulf your ass cheeks, pulling you into his pants.  The feeling of his arousal against your front makes you weak.

A massive hand drifts to the center of your ass, and his middle finger lightly glides up and down your crack.   “They touch you in here?”

“No.” 

"Good. They're all gone now, okay baby?” 

-

The water is ice cold as usual and your nipples are painfully hard as Joel lathers them.  He washes your whole body, looking at you like a juicy leg of lamb. When he goes between your legs, you sense his intentions and warn him, “Um, you can’t put soap in there.”

He pauses, bemused.  “Why’s that , sweet pea?”

“It’s bad for you, you can get an infection.”

He looks at the soap contemplatively and says “okay, baby.”  

He rinses you off and tells you to sit on the toilet seat.  Then he sits on the ground, his legs to each side of the toilet, knees up.  He gets you to spread your legs, come to the edge of the seat, and lean back.  The way he’s breathing as he eyes your pussy gives you butterflies.  

He puts your knees over his shoulders.  He drags two knuckles down your slippery folds, then extends and inserts his fingers and curls them, dragging his thick digits against your walls, trying to scrape off any trace of FEDRA. The smallest skin particle would be too much.  It's extreme, but you don’t mind how it feels – physically, at least.  It’s also not a bad view.  His neck veins  bulge, his eyes are dark.

He looks like he has a job to do, and he goes about it quite industriously.  His beard scratches your inner thighs and outer lips. He licks a thick stripe from your taint to your clit, then drags his tongue through every crevice of your folds on each side, making you squirm with tension.  He swirls his tongue around your clit and sucks your hood. Then he plunges his tongue onto you and your whole body feels hollow and light.  His tongue is so thick it's like being fucked.  You shudder and he glances up darkly.  His lips move diligently with the effort and he sucks like he’s trying to cave your walls in on his tongue.  Your thighs quiver and he glances up at you again.  When you're right about to come, he pulls away.  

"Good as new," he says as he wipes his beard.

You were so close to coming and you can hardly bear the tension. 

As though reading your mind, he says, "This ain’t for fun, baby. Not today.  Not after what you did."

He braces his hands on your thighs and stands up with a groan, sporting major wood.  "Stay here," he says coldly.  You squeeze your thighs together.  He takes his rifle off the back of the door and puts it on.  He leaves for a few minutes and takes all your clothes with him including your underwear.  

As soon as he walks out of the bathroom, one hand goes between your legs and the other to your breast, working toward the quickest release possible, biting your lip.  The vision of him between your legs is blinding your mind’s eye from thinking about anything else. You come just in time, covering your own mouth with your inner arm. You feel a wave of shame after you come  - how depraved to get off in this situation. But the tension was too much to take. 

Joel comes back with a duffle bag and a dress. He seems to notice your post-orgasm flush.   He puts the dress on you and it's not a minidress but it's shorter than you're comfortable with, especially if you don't get to wear underwear.  It’s thin, too.  He strokes your inner thighs and gives you an accusatory look. 

"You come when I say." 

Your face burns and you nod. 

"Told you I wasn't gonna let anything happen to you. . . then I did."  He looks guilty, almost anguished. "You're gonna learn to do what I say, understand?"

You nod. 

"For your own good, sweet pea."

"Yeah," you whisper. 

You try to tug the dress down and hesitantly ask, "Can I have, um-" 

"No," Joel says and slings the duffle bag over his shoulder. "Got you some but you're not gonna need it for a while."  

You swallow thickly and remember you chose the van.  

-

Joel manhandles you into the passenger seat, takes some paracord out of the duffle bag, and ties your wrists in a special knot.  Then he ties them behind your head to the headrest.  

He strings rope around the headrest and across your chest in each direction forming an X across your chest with your breasts on either side.  He ties that to the wrist restraints. The rope digs into your neck uncomfortably. 

“Try to get out and it’ll only get tighter.  And I’m gonna know about it.”  

“I won’t.” You’re earnest. 

“Hope not,” he says.  “‘Cause I’ve got a lot more of this.”  He holds up a bunch of paracord, puts it back in the bag, then looks you up and down and wets his lips.  “Looks good on ya, too.”  He shoves the duffle bag behind your seat.  “Real good.”  

He slides his hand between your legs and shoves his middle finger right inside you. His head falls back and his eyelids are heavy.   You’re still wet enough that it doesn’t hurt.  He thumbs your clit while pushing two, then three fingers in and out of you.  Then he stills his fingers inside you.  He strokes the bulge in his pants with the heel of his palm.  His mouth falls open and he studies your face.  Then he flattens his fingers and rubs your whole pussy.  It feels so good, so unbearably good.  Your spine arches.  He takes his time and brings you to the brink again, then cruelly removes his hand.  

“Stay here.” He points at the rope.  “Remember – try to get out, it’ll only get tighter.”

You nod, clenching your thighs together, barely paying attention.

“It’s for your own good.” The tension feels like torture.

-

A few minutes later, Joel comes back out to the van, and thank god.  Your hands are getting numb and the rope is chafing your neck and cleavage.    He opens the door and examines the paracord around your wrists.  “Good girl,” he says.  He looks you up and down as though deciding what to do with you.  He exhales with a puff of his cheeks and rubs the protrusion in his tight pants.  At this point, nothing would surprise you, and you wonder if you should have made a move in the bathroom to suck him off. 

He swiftly unties the paracord then unbuckles his belt, gazing at you in a dark trance. 

He aggressively shoves his strong arm under you, then you make space and he wedges himself between you and the seat. You’re in his lap again.  

Initially, he pulls you back into him and your breath hitches when you feel his hard package beneath you.   His hips lift and his arousal swells harder. He breathes heavily and his chest inflates against your back.  Then he extends his legs to make a downward slope and scoots you forward on his thighs.  You hear his zipper come down.  When you chose the van, you didn’t know it would be this.  You’re humiliated, but your body purrs in anticipation.   

You’re startled by the van’s back doors opening.  

“Come on,” Joel whispers flatly, nudging you to hover over him.  When you rise a few inches,  he lifts your dress and guides your naked ass backwards, hovering in his lap. He presses the curve of your spine and you tilt your hips.  He guides you until you feel his firm tip at your dripping entrance.  "You want this?" You nod almost imperceptibly, then he says, "Go ahead." You sink onto him with a soft gasp.  “That's right, take it," he says. He puts his hand over your mouth and pulls you down, breathing, "yes." Then he sighs "Ahh," as his girth parts your insides.  He has to use both arms and a thrust to bury himself entirely, then your body’s flush with his. His noises are quiet but visceral, softer than usual, but just as masculine.

You’re pitiful, like a rag doll in your thin dress, no panties, no bra, sitting on his cock.  Bending to his will like he’s your puppeteer.  And you might as well have an arm shoved all the way up you.  He’s inhabiting every bit of space in your guts. 

Men are loading things into the back of the van.  Joel leans you forward to spread your dress over his lap.  Then he pulls you back and lifts his hips, making his cock move deep inside you.   The main door to the van slides open and men start piling in.  Your seat is always in Joel’s lap, that’s nothing new, so hopefully no one notices you’re impaled on his massive cock.  

But that’s going to be difficult considering he’s not sitting still. He rocks his hips, pushing his length up into you at a slow pace. This has the effect of lifting your whole body each time.  Someone sitting behind you could surely see your head bobbing slowly, smoothly, but rhythmically.  His hands cup your breasts through your dress.  Tension is coiling in your core.  With his next upward thrust, Joel softly grunts into your hair.  Quieter than usual.  He isn’t worried about being seen or heard –   That’s not his style at all – It’s just that, in the van, it doesn’t take much to put on a show.  In a way, if he can subject everyone to it in near-silence, that’s even more dominant. 

Joel’s hips continue to lift into you and he slides his hand into the low-cut neckline to grope your naked breast.  The driver glances over and does a double-take, then swallows sheepishly and quickly averts his gaze, but reaches for the bandana on the dashboard and hands it to Joel.  They’re going to the stash house so Joel pauses to tie it over your eyes.  

Joel grunts softly into your hair as his cock is hugged tight by your warmth. None of the men talk to him.  They chatter at low volume amongst themselves, and he doesn’t have the best hearing.  You hear his name in a whisper from the back of the van and get self conscious that they’re watching. But of course they are. If Joel hears them, he doesn’t seem to mind.  With each tilt of his hips, his thick cock moves a short but impactful distance, nudging your g-spot.  You’re already so full, but it fills you more each time. The tension tightens, radiating to your whole body.  Begging for release.  The motion is smooth and fluid beneath you.  It’s like you’re riding an ocean wave.  Your breathing gets heavier.  

You squeeze your thighs together, tightening around his cock.  Joel grunts into your neck, then whispers “I don’t think so, sweet pea” and stops moving.  He’s really punishing you. For almost the rest of the ride, he holds you completely still on his cock.  Your heart races and your face is hot.  He’s leaning back against the seat and has you leaning back against him.  You ride in silence, listening to the noise of the road under the tires, pitch black under the blindfold. Joel’s as thick and hard as ever and the swell of his shaft twitches.  Every bump in the road provides welcome friction between his warm rod and your desperate walls.  

You know you're getting close to the stash house when you reach the gravel road, at which point you’re continuously bounced on his cock.  You can feel your arousal leaking out of you and onto him.  Your combined musk fills the van and the driver cracks his window as the terrain effectively makes you ride Joel's cock despite his best efforts to deprive you. He holds you tight, trying to keep you completely still against him. You aren’t sure if you’ll be able to stop yourself from coming.  

“You were bad today,” he whispers lowly into your neck, and you feel a wave of shame. “In the worst way," he adds coldly.  

You turn your cheek as though trying to meet his eyes through the blindfold, but his hand strongly grips your jaw and forces your face straight ahead again.  

“I’m sorry,” you whisper as you bounce there, filled to the brim with his girth. 

“Gonna be a good girl from now on?”

“Yes.” 

“Come when I do, then,” his low voice murmurs into your ear, sending a rush through your body.  He better come really soon. 

He inhales deeply through his nose and puts his arm flat on your back with his strong forearm resting along your spine and his hand firmly gripping the nape of your neck.  He forces you down, and you fold forward with your head near your knees.  Then he covers your mouth tight with his other hand.  His arm presses down on your back as his hips lift up into you.  He grunts as he erupts inside you.  His thick cock powerfully pulses and sends you clenching and fluttering around him, softly moaning into his hand as you find your own waves of release. It feels like it lasts forever.  

“Maniac,” someone says under their breath as Joel lets you sit back up.  

"You did good," he whispers flatly into your hair. To your shame, your heart can't help but swell at his approval, even though the coldness in his tone stings. He's obviously preoccupied by what you did.

You can't discern most of the hushed murmurs until another voice ominously whispers from the back of the van, “He can’t watch her 24/7 forever.” Joel must not hear it or else you imagine the man wouldn’t be breathing for long.  

-

The van parks at the stash house and Joel takes off your blindfold.  He helps lift you off his lap and his length slides out, bringing with it a dripping mess of both of you.  Your insides slowly pull themselves back together as your combined juices trickle down your thigh. You step down out of the van while he zips up his pants and you dab yourself as best you can with the dress, face burning along with your neck, shoulders, and hands.  With Joel facing away from the men, you can feel them staring at you, but as soon as he steps out of the van, they look away and go about unloading. 

Joel retrieves the duffle bag from behind the seat, but he doesn't bring it into the stash house with you.  He takes out a blanket and wraps it around you, making you decent. You shouldn't feel like it's sweet, but there's a passing moment before you remind yourself the gesture is for him, not you. He doesn't want anyone else to see you. He said as much the first time you were there. Joel takes out some rope from the bag, and before he brings you into the house, he makes sure his switchblade is in his pocket. Then he firmly grabs you by the elbow and takes you inside.

"You're gonna have to be brave for me in a minute, baby."

-

we'll pick up from here next time & a couple more asks will become relevant.

Thank you so much for reading and interacting! We've been simping for this sicko for a month now and i really enjoy our banter and dialogue about him and the other toxic joels.

All joel: @ethanhoewke @silkiers @eiviea @evyiione @xdaddysprincessxx @queerly-anxious @chernayawidow @ambassadortotrilliusprime @not-a-unique-snowflake-blog @jasminespringtime @romanarose @fandomsfallnomore @djarinxore @lokanda @ele-meno-p @internetobssessed1234-blog LMK if I left you off

RJ: @str84pedro

#joel miller x reader #joel miller smut #dark!joel miller #dark!joel #joel miller x you #pedro pascal #pedro pascal smut #pedro pascal fic #joel miller fic #toxicanonymity ☠️ #possessive!joel #joel miller fanfiction #raider!joel #raider!joel miller #OG!raider☠️

[alfredsolos]

One of the most frusturating thing being a Damian Wayne fan is watching people mischaracterize him so bad that people think he is a boring and bad character, without opening a single comic issue their entire lives.

Look, whether people choose to read comics or not is none of my business. But hating on a character without interacting with the original content is just unjust.

Going back to the topic, Damian has a certain trait in canon which is very much disregarded in the fanon. And this lack of trait literally changes everything in his personality and behaviour.

The thing is... Damian is fucking hilarious.

And I don't mean that he is a clown character that makes jokes all the time.

He has a very sarcastic and dark humor. And he isn't afraid to use it against anyone. Be it Alfred, Bruce, Slade, Talia or anyone you can think of.

And most of the time, he doesn't even mean to be funny. It's just natural with him.

Now of course, I didn't pull these out of my ass. I'll show you some panels as an example:

I've put panels from different comics with their own unique plot. And Damian's age varies from each to the other.

If you still think that this is lacking, literally open a single comic that he's in, and just read his dialogues.

And for me, that's why it's so fun to read about Damian. Unlike some other members of the Batfamily, he doesn't hesitate to say the things in his mind. He doesn't care whether he fucks things up and he's expert at getting out of bad situations.

He isn't glued to Batman's side, and most of the time goes out on his own. He is very independant and does not take shit from Bruce or anyone. Hell, I can think of two seperate occasions where he punched Bruce on the face.

I just love how he plainly mocks even the most dangerous people. I like his attitude, in which he thinks that he's the best. It's so refreshing to read about. Because it deviates from the stereotypical "Hero" behaviour.

And in most fics, this trait of his is entirely erased. And not just the ones where he's the "evil" side character, also the ones where he's the main character.

He's written as being a copy of Bruce which frusturates me to no end.

And if you're reading this as someone who just found this out, please take this post into consideration when characterizing him.

He's such an interesting character, so please don't write him off as a mini-Bruce.

#dc comics #batfamily #batfam #damian wayne #dc #bruce wayne #batman #damian wayne headcanons #damian wayne headcanon

[veintrry]

I'VE DONE THE MATH

there's no solution.

synopsis: love with scara is hard

an: have you guessed this is a laufey ref, I just felt like writing something lovey but I like angst too much. also... hey teehee also shoutout ayame for getting me out of my slumber <3

Scaramouche and you have always held a complicated relationship. Even your friendship was confusing, in the sense that it was deeper than most. Maybe not necessarily romantic, but it certainly wasn't exclusively platonic. You two relied on each other, and you understood one another in a way that went past words. You didn't need to speak for himbto know what you thought. It was seamless. You and him had gone through hell and back together, so when your connection bloomed into that of something more than friends it was practically nothing but perfection.

It was beyond that. You had glee on your heart each time you saw the indigo of his irises and knowing that someone loved you. It was fulfilling having an anchor that kept you at the bay that had grown so familiar. The joys of not needing to say those three words, and the feeling that everything is going to be fine, as long as you have each other. And you were content. You believed he was too. But, you felt his attention drift. And the acts of affections, the gifts, and touches you attempted to make to maintain what you had, or what was left of it, were fruitless. You wrote endless words of expression, trying to make him see that emotion between you two once more, but nothing would come back. At best, acknowledgement. At worst, ignored. Practically forgotten like you were nothing.

You don't know when it started, or why. You don't why that anchor that had once been the one thing keeping you on your feet was keeping you stuck in place, unable to move on. Even though you two were dating it was like you had never once spoken in your entire lives. You'd say that you still felt that joy when he looked at you, but he doesn't even glance at you anymore. It was like you were erased without an answer. And with desperation you clung. For once you had attained a love you didn't know your body and mind craved and you wanted it back. It made you feel alive in the most cliché sense. So you continued to try, to become more persistent. But it's like he only cared when you did everything, when there was no one else but you to fall back on.

Then it dawned upon you. You had become merely the thing that comes last to everything, the thing he kept around just so he never is fully alone. It all felt so aimless. All you wanted is to see the hue of his eyes again rather than being met with the back of his head, the only sight are his silky straight strands. It was as if his face was obscured. So, you stopped. You stopped being the first to come to him, to display your love - if you can call it that anymore - first. To be there. And you waited. You couldn't help waiting internally, for that day he'd come back, the day he'd speak to you, tell you he's sorry and he loves you. And foolishly, you'd forgive him as you've done countless times. But that day never comes.

You fought for what you wanted. You allowed yourself to be pitiful. You let your fingers write him honey sweet words till they began to mean nothing to you, and you had to search for new sentences, new phrases, just so you can be refreshing - less repetitive. But it didn't matter. It did not matter what letters you strung together, how you ordered a sentence, how neatly you tied a gift, how long you spent picking it, how gentle your touch was or even its warmth. Because he didn't love you. And worst of all, he didn't care. He didn't care despite your long history and you were left for nothing.

So, you told yourself you'd get away. Distance yourself. There was nothing for you here, not with him. But it hurt. It hurt not being anything. Because despite how horrible it felt when you had something, at least it existed, at least you can say it's there. But now, nothing was left. Your memories were just that; Memories.

#hi its me #yes its angst #wanderer #kunikuzushi #scaramouche #genshin scara #genshin kunikuzushi #genshin wanderer #wanderer genshin #genshin impact kunikuzushi #kunikuzushi x reader #wanderer headcanons #genshin impact #wanderer x reader #scaramouche headcanons #scaramouche x reader #scara x reader #kunikuzushi angst #scaramouche angst #wanderer angst

[ghouljams]

but witch having a bad day bc somethings upset her n wanting price? Like n she struggles so much bc she knows if she was scared or hurt she'd pull bc shed have to and he'd be happy to help her out but rn she just wants price, not needs him. And price would be so over the moon when he feels the most tentative tug on the tether.

Istg thats how they finally become closer, when witch starts calling him when she wants him not just needs him

God I'm so fucking feral for them, they want each other so badly but neither of them wants to say anything for fear of scaring the other away. Even Price's flirting is such a cleverly disguised misdirect of his feelings. What do you mean he's in love, no no he's just flirting because it's fun, he's just naturally charming like this. And Witch literally can't stop her care from bleeding through into her spells, everything she gives Price is such a declaration, but God forbid she say she likes him or she might burst into flame. Anyway, here's some fluff for them, lowkey inspire by this video

People always assume that magic makes everything easier, that if they had access to the power you do they'd never have another bad day. The reality of magic isn't quite so... magical. It makes life easier sure, but only if you've prepared for the bad days in advance. Even then it's balm on a wound, an extra dose of ibuprofen for a migraine, another chore to upkeep if you want it to do anything to soothe the ache.

You can chart all the sigils you want onto your skin, but it doesn't unburden the ache in your chest. Doesn't relieve the burgeoning sadness or the sticky fingers of anxiety. There's no good reason for the dark cloud over your head, your day was hectic but you've handled worse. It's your hormones making your usually warm house feel cold and cavernous, making everything feel bigger and more terrible than it actually is. They make you curl into the corner of your couch, lonely, as you tuck your knit blanket under your feet.

There was a time that being alone didn't bother you. You've spent most of your adult life alone, content with phone calls and the occasional visit from your loved ones. Now your thoughts hover around wanting someone nearby, wanting to be held and comforted with physicality instead of words. You can't ask anyone for that.

Well, you suppose you could. You know one person who would gladly give you that. The idea of calling him is more embarrassing than calling one of your friends. You can't ask Price over for something so small, so self indulgent. Besides, you'd so quickly brushed off his concern when you saw him this afternoon. You'd feel like a liar asking for him now when you could hardly spare him time between the day's appointments. That doesn't stop you from wanting him, as much as you chastise yourself for it.

Your fingers toy with the tethers the lay against your skin. They're so gentle, hardly a spider's strand to their weight, easy to ignore. It's silly feeling your heart clench just thinking of how easy it would be to call him here. He's likely busy. The world outside your front window is dark, it wouldn't be worth his effort to even knock on your door. Wanting is so pesky. Your magic feels muddled, responsive to your desires but caged by your self imposed limitations. You try to think of something that could replace the feeling of having Price around when your ears pop. You tug sharply at your tethers as you turn to see what your wards are decidedly not biting.

Price rolls his shoulders with a pleased groan, "There it is, barely felt the first one." You untangle your fingers and wipe them against your blanket, as if you could erase the evidence of your wanting. Price walks around the couch to sit on the side opposite you. He drops heavily onto the plush cushion, leaning against the back with a sigh. He looks tired. You feel worse for having called him, you weren't trying to.

"I didn't mean to call you," You tell him. Price hums, his eyes closed as he rests his head against the afghan thrown over the back cushions. Having a guest in your house makes you feel restless. "I'll put a kettle on," You unbundle yourself, and slip your feet back onto the floor.

"Sit," Price tells you, commands you, as you start to stand. Your butt hits the cushion again in record time, the after effects of foreign magic shaking your fingertips as you draw your feet up again. "What do you need?" He asks.

You sigh, try not to feel like a huge fucking burden for a man who's really been nothing but helpful and understanding to you previous requests. You prop your cheek against your hand, going for casual. You're not sure if you sell it. "Nothing," you lie.

As if he'd believe that. Not when he could feel the soft pangs of loneliness with each brush of your fingers through the tethers connecting you. Price watches you tug your knees up to your chest, feels the lingering want on his skin, the clutch of his heart at the gentle look in your eyes. You're truly a terrible liar. Even if he hadn't felt your desires, he'd know you wanted something. You hardly look at him.

What about what he wants then? Is it easier for you to blame him?

He wants to hold you, wants to comfort you in the way you seem so desperate for. Why shouldn't he? Feeling you pull for him had tipped the rest of the world off his plate, it's just you, you're all he needs. All he wants.

"C'mere sweethear'," He holds a hand out to you, feeling your gaze touch his fingers. Your hesitation betrays you. "Unless you want me comin' over there," Price warns. You jump to take his hand, letting him pull you onto his lap. You wrap your arms around his shoulders as his hand grips your hair, your nose presses to his shoulder as you curl your legs to lean against him.

You smell like burnt magic, bitter and smokey. His hand digs under your shirt to rub your back, his lips insistent against your shoulder, your neck, your hair. You relax against him like unspooling thread, each muscle and line going slack in his hold. He can feel the crisp edges of whatever cage you sealed yourself in, his fingers starting to scratch at the dark swirls of it. You'll feel better if he pulls you out of it.

"Don't," You hum, your voice so sweet and tired, muffled against him.

"Not meant to keep everything cooped up love," Price reminds you. You make a quiet 'mmph' sound, arms starting to unwind from your tight grip on him. A threat you'll make good on if he isn't careful.

"Safer like this," You jerk a little closer when his blunt nails dig into the charcoal ink, the shiver of his attempts at breaking your magic making you feel electric. "Just hold me, please." You try a different approach. His fingers still, before every inch of his hold tightens on you.

"Thought you'd never ask," He mumbles. It feels like he can't get close enough to you, and after some maneuvering you're laying on top of him.

This you can do. You stretch out your legs, feel him shift underneath you, making sure you get as much contact with him as he can manage. Price bends his knee, the leg on the outside of the couch boxing you in carefully as you settle against his hip, your legs falling on either side of his thick thigh. He tugs a blanket over the both of you, keeping an arm around your shoulders. You forget sometimes, the way he dresses, that he is a well muscled man. You can feel the way each of them move and flex, the soft layer over them hardly disguising the raw strength that lays underneath.

You're safer like this, you think. Safer with him, always. Safe to want things without feeling like a burden. And even if you were a burden, he seems to say with a smile, I'd gladly carry it.

#Price's side of this fic is that he was sitting in the bar after a long day #felt literally the slightest touch from Witch and immediately focused all his attention on it #cataloguing what she was feeling as she touched his tethers #and plotting whether or not she was pulling for him #eerily silent while the rest of the 141 stares at him #before he just stands and apparates to Witch lol #tw periods #cod x reader #x reader #cod x oc #x oc #price x oc #john price x reader #captain john price #john price #john price x oc #john price mw2 #captain price #captain price x oc #captain price x reader #captain price cod #not to get too into it but I think the combination of blood and magic #makes periods sorta dangerous for witches #nothing better than magical blood for power hungry fae #which does mean Price gets a little feral when it's that time of the month #and like any other time of the month #Ghost and König get the same way with their darlings #fae!price #1fae1

[luveline]

𝐢𝐟 𝐢𝐭 𝐛𝐚𝐫𝐤𝐬 | 𝐞𝐝𝐝𝐢𝐞 𝐦𝐮𝐧𝐬𝐨𝐧

part one | part two 

You don’t mean to make an enemy of Eddie Munson — he’s handsome, and talented, but he’s the biggest jerk you’ve ever met. Eddie thinks you’re infuriatingly pretty, emphasis on the infuriating. Too bad you just can’t seem to leave each other alone. 

fem!reader, enemies-to-lovers, rival rockstars, mutual pining, slight miscommunication, angst, hurt-comfort, eddie has mixed intentions, sexual tension, TW bullying (in case), TW recreational drug use, drinking, smoking, swearing. disclaimer: I can’t play an instrument

𓆩❤︎𓆪

The Coral Apartments, California, November 1990

Eddie Munson looks good on TV. You try to convince yourself that it's the blurry imagery, the three-toned LED's, but you know it's because he's plain good-looking. Rockstar suits him. Glam suits him; eyeliner, ripped shirts, ever-bruised knuckles and cut up fingertips that speak of a wrought dedication to the music he plays. 

You look away from the TV and push the sheets down with your feet, naked legs flat to the mattress and covered in your own cuts and bruises. It's not entirely Morgan's fault, but every time you see the shiny scar on your ankle you get mad at her again. She'd been sloppy on stage, pulled her mic tight and sent you reeling over it like a tripwire. You'd cut up your legs, sprained your wrist, and split your chin. On national TV. In front of thousands of people. 

Your ego is pretty bruised too. 

Worse was the bouquet of flowers you'd been sent the day after, huge and bursting with colour from a certain dark-haired thorn in your side. 

Saw you ate shit. Stop day-dreaming about me during sets and you'll be fine. EM 

You'd trashed the card but hadn't had the heart to fob the flowers. The last survivors of the bunch wilt slowly on the nightstand beside you, a much too pretty reminder of somebody you're trying to forget. Or rather, erase. You won't admit to yourself what happened at Monsters of Rock, because admitting it means he's winning. 

Morgan pushes your door open with her hip. If she's perturbed to find you in your underwear she doesn't say a word, making a beeline for your bag. She takes out your Newports and taps the carton against her chest. 

"What's up?" she asks, sliding a cigarette from the box and propping it between her shiny lips. "You still feeling sorry for yourself?"

"Morgan." 

She lights her cigarette, laughing through an exhale of smoke. "How many times do I have to say sorry?" 

"Once would be nice." 

"Babe." Morgan sits at the end of your bed, in a good mood for once but still herself. "I'm sorry you fell over my mic." 

She likely doesn't even see what's wrong with her apology. You accept it for what it is and hold your arm out for the pack and lighter. Knees pulled up, you settle against the headboard and light a cigarette yourself, but snuff it out after a shallow inhale. Nothing feels worth indulging in when the knot of anxiety in your chest keeps on tightening. 

"Where's Ananya?" you ask. 

"You're watching this again?" 

You glance at the TV where Corroded Coffin play through their Monsters of Rock set. 

"M'just waiting for us," you lie mildly.

"Sure… You know, you shouldn't feel bad about your spill last week. Look at Munson. Biggest crowd of his life and he's tripping over an E major." 

She snorts, the two of you watching as the Eddie on screen looks to the left of the stage and misses his mark. 

"How do you flub that?" She rolls her eyes. "Boys." 

How did he flub it? You'd been standing on the side stage cleaned up and smiling like you were half in love with him. The recording is proof — whatever power it is that he has over you, you have something similar over him. 

"Anya's in the lobby waiting for us." 

You sit up. 

"Why?" 

Morgan points at the alarm clock on your nightstand with the smouldering tip of her cigarette. "It's Friday." 

"It's Thursday." 

She smiles at you. If you didn't know her, the look of pity on her face might almost feel genuine. As it stands, she's a magnanimous bitch when she wants to be. She's lucky that it suits her. 

"It's Friday, babe. And we're," —she tilts her head to one side, the bemusement in her eyes unmissable— "ten minutes late." 

"Shit. Shit." You stand up on wobbly legs. "Fuck." 

"Don't worry! I got you something." 

With Morgan, you aren't sure if that's a good thing or a bad thing. But you don't really have a choice. 

—

Eddie won't admit to anybody why he finds himself in California. The band isn't touring, award season is mostly over. He should go home and see Wayne because fuck he's a bad nephew, a bad son, and Wayne deserves a whole lot better than one phone call a week when Eddie's too hungover to actually listen to what his uncle is saying. He should head back to Hawkins and make sure Wayne's actually cashing in the cheque's Eddie's been sending. 

He shouldn't be hanging around parties hosted by people he only knows from TV looking for you, that's for sure. 

The good thing about being semi famous is that introductions don't matter. Either somebody already knows you or they don't, and everybody assumes you already know them. Eddie can't count how many times somebody's pulled him in for a one-armed hug and said "Good to see you again," when they've never met before. 

It could be the coke. It's probably the ego. 

Eddie isn't extremely introspective or anything, but he hopes to fuck that he isn't an asshole. He knows he is in superficial ways. He's said some hurtful shit to people — to you — he wishes every now and then that he could take back. In the moment it had felt right to tease you, to belittle you as he thought you'd belittled him. He'd wanted to put his hand out and ask how high you can jump. But then he remembers how your bandmates had spoken to you, or your glitzy smile. He remembers the twisting pain in his chest when you'd fallen over on stage a week ago (though if anybody asks, he heard about it from somebody else). You'd smashed into the floor with a cruel force, arms twisted trying to protect your guitar, not a second spared to save yourself. You'd got back on your feet with blood dripping down your chin and played the rest of the song without complaint. Not one person had stepped in to clean you up. 

It drives Eddie insane. He can't help it. He hates you and he wants to linger on the sidelines and watch you play. He can't stand the despondent look in your eyes when you look at him, when you look at the floor. He needs you to know that you're better than they tell you, but he can't make himself say the words. 

So he'd sent you flowers and made a lame joke, hoping for hot and coming off desperate no doubt. He'd regretted it as soon as he'd hung up the phone, but he hadn't cancelled the order. Something colourful, he'd said. What flowers cheer people up? 

The florist had laughed at his awkward tone and said that all flowers do the trick. 

God, he hopes so. 

Which isn't to say Eddie likes you. He can't stand you, actually, come to think of it, standing in the sticky pit of some actress' kitchen as he pioneers the radio and flicks through to Roller FM. Resentment burns like fire as the dial clicks beneath his fingers, turning the volume up enough to hear the radio host introduce your band. 

"And tonight, a month before their new studio album hits the charts, Godless are letting us be the first to hear the second single. The outpour of hype after their first, Down and Out, was no small feat, and we have the lovely ladies here tonight to walk us through that fresh sound. But first, let's spin that new single. Ladies and gents, this is Silver Ringed…" 

Godless are about as cohesive as Corroded Coffin. They have a unique sound as most chart toppers tend to have, and as much as he thinks your front woman is a total hack, she can sing. Her voice moves from sultry and quiet to aggressive and rasping. She isn't afraid to scream when she needs to, and you and Ananya obviously won't let yourselves be outdone. Your music is visceral. It's good. Not Corroded Coffin good, you don't have the clean cut sound they do, but Eddie knows that isn't the point. It's supposed to be a little dirty, and since they let you on the writing floor it's getting worse. Better. Whatever. 

Eddie rubs his face with both hands. 

When the song ends, the radio host asks some questions about the new album, inspirations, touring, promotional album covers, the works, and Eddie hates himself for waiting to hear your voice. He grows irritated at the sound of Morgan's raspy nonchalance. 

"I mean, you guys are really stepping into a new genre here." It's true. Godless and bands like yours are more energetic, more aggressive than what Eddie plays. It's a divisive subject. Eddie likes it, but he knows a ton of metalheads who think it's immature. It's certainly not traditional. "Your first album was a whole lot different. And it was good, Godless broke into the scene! But this is new. You guys are more original and more popular than ever. Why the change?" The host laughs. "Well, she's sitting right here." 

Eddie thinks he can hear you inhale, but it's Morgan who speaks. 

"I wanted more for us, you know? Our first record, we just wanted to prove we could do it. This time we want to prove no one else can." 

Jamison scoffs. Eddie looks up from the radio and finds his bandmate with a beer in hand. He tries to steal it and gets an elbow to the chest for the effort. 

"Dick," he says. 

"Get your own." Jamison tilts his head toward the radio in a show of tuning in. "Can't tear yourself away, huh? How's your girlfriend?" 

"Christ," Eddie hisses. 

"You need him. Aw, she sounds so sweet." 

Eddie startles back to the radio, and sure enough you've finally been allowed to talk. Your voice is soft with nerves. 

"It's a lot to adjust to, I think I'm slow to- uh, get with the program. But I'm so happy to get to make music and to be a part of something this sick. Uh, this amazing, I mean." 

Poor girl, he thinks. By the end of your answer you sound like you want the ground to swallow you up. Thankfully the host is a professional, and laughs warmly. 

"It's a big lifestyle change! We talked a little about influence, is there a track I can play you guys out with? What's your favourite?" he asks. 

"Me?" you ask. 

"Yeah, you." 

"Oh, uh…" You laugh, sounding frazzled and sweet at once. "It has to be Black Sabbath, right? Do you guys have, um, The Mob Rules? Mob Rules is my favourite." 

Eddie needs to get very drunk, he decides, and he does. He drinks until he can't taste the difference between the shitty craft beer and seven hundred dollar cognac. Until he forgets why he was drinking in the first place, to erase the sound of your voice and your Sabbath recommendation — who the fuck picks Mob Rules over Heaven and Hell? He's tipsy and he won't remember, but he wants to fuck you stupid just for that (affectionately).

He loves Mob Rules. 

They move from one party to another, sloshed in the back of a car he still can't afford with his rockstar paycheck, more than drunk in the bathroom of a Studio City mansion kissing powder off of his fingers. Whatever he's been given doesn't last very long (though it hits hard), and he comes back to reality on a huge fancy couch surrounded by people, some he knows and most he doesn't. 

"I need a drink," he says. 

And he gets the shock of his life.

"I don't think that's a very good idea," you say gently. 

Eddie swings his head to yours, finding you in a nice dress, the gem of a necklace fallen down the valley of your chest. The lights are high and blaring and he can see the fine hairs of your face, the shine of your lipgloss like a siren call. 

"Why are you here?" he asks. 

You shrug. He watches your shoulders. 

"I need a drink," he says again. 

"Like, a beer? I don't judge but I think you’ll get alcohol poisoning if you drink anything else." 

"Like a beer." 

You look like you might stand up and get him one, for a second. He's ultimately glad that you don't. You twist around, elbow over the back of the couch, and your face beams like a star as you call, "Hey, Dornie? Could you toss me a beer, please?" 

Eddie worries he'd wanted to see you so badly you've appeared as a hallucination, and he hates himself and it's all old news anyways, but you turn back with a cold as ice beer in hand and press it into his arm until he whines.

"I'm sobering you up," you tease, again so gently. He does not like how you're looking at him, like you feel sorry for him. 

He takes the beer though the second sip makes him feel sick to his stomach, and tries not to look at you. 

"What, you don't want to be my friend anymore?" you ask. 

What has he said? 

"Sweetheart," he says, focusing very hard on sounding solid, "a friend is the last thing I want from you." 

"Could've fooled me… Hey, you wanna know a secret?" 

"What?" 

You lean in close, smelling of perfume, your face undeniably touchable. "I heard from somebody who heard from somebody else that they're kicking Tony Martin to the curb." 

He blinks. "Sabbath?" 

"Uh-huh." 

"Why the fuck would they do that?" 

"Think on it, baby." 

If he couldn't smell the flowery punch of your perfume, or see the individual lashes that shield your waterline, he'd definitely think you were a dream. You're here, and you're talking to him like you like him, looking at him like you did, you cruel, awful thing, that day at Monsters of Rock when he'd pressed you up against a wall and kissed you until his lips burned. You'd kissed back. You'd responded, your lips pressing against his with more enthusiasm than made any sense. 

Now you're calling him baby and telling him secrets, your knees tucked together and the outside of your thigh warming a stripe under his jeans. It feels surreal. Your body heat is sinking into his skin. 

Somebody across the coffee table entices you into conversation. Eddie listens to you talk. Maybe high Eddie is a nicer guy than sober Eddie (unlikely), because you don't seem repulsed by his company. Considering how you left things, your little corner shop spat and his bruising kiss, he hadn't been expecting a warm welcome. 

"Did you–" he starts, insecure and hiding it as best as he can, fingers itching for a cigarette, for something to do, "did you like the flowers?" 

"You already asked me that." You peek down at his beer. "Could I have that?" 

He hands it over numbly. 

"It's not a good idea, you know? Drugs and drink, mixing them together. It messes with your heart," you tell him. 

"Don't act all innocent," he says. 

"No, I know, I'm not trying to lecture you 'cause I do shit I shouldn't do, but– you looked one bump from a heart attack. Seriously." 

"Why do you care?" 

You laugh. Your nose wrinkles. "I don't know." 

It's not the answer he wanted, but it's the one he deserves. 

He's spent weeks talking to himself, imagining conversations between you both. He's memorised defences, shamefully readied a few insults in case you'd prepared your own, but nothing comes to mind now. He's speechless. 

You drink his beer and he thinks about how his lips had been at the mouth of it not ten minutes ago. It shouldn't matter. You've already kissed him. It shouldn't. 

"I don't think I took what I meant to," he admits. 

"Me neither. Morgan said they've been cutting with procaine around the hills. Did you get super numb?" 

He can't remember. He doesn't want to talk about any of this with you. "I heard you on the radio." 

"You did?" 

"You were scared." 

"No." You tear the tab off of the beer and put it in his hand. "I like high Eddie, he’s honest." 

"I'm not, really…" 

"Should see your pupils." 

Maybe he is, then. That could explain why he keeps saying what he's thinking without pausing to check if it sounds cool. He has his defences up to the ceiling usually, wouldn't ever let you or anybody else in, not here. 

He's staring at you. 

You brush the side of his arm with your fingernails. 

"Why are you being so nice to me?" he asks. 

Your small smile flattens into a line. "I don't know, Eddie. Who are you gonna tell? Who'd believe you? As far as the tabloids and- and our friends are aware, we hate each other." 

"It didn't feel like you hated me." 

"I didn't."

"But you do now?" 

You stand up. Eddie gets caught in your smile, charming with something worse lurking beneath. You brush the hair out of his face and station your hands at the base of his neck, dropping your head toward his ear. 

"Not telling," you whisper.

He thinks for a moment you're gonna kiss him, his ear or his neck, but you scratch his scalp lightly and leave as he's getting to grips with the feeling of your breath against his skin. 

—

Dolly Floor, California, December 1990 

Dolly Floor is a club in West Hollywood frequented by movie stars. You're pretty sure you only get in because of Morgan's snow trail incident months ago, and you almost wish they'd sent you packing when you see how densely hedged it is inside. The temperature hikes up with every step you take inside, and soon Morgan's dropping your wrist in favour of one of her friends across the way, leaving you totally alone. 

You're dressed in too much clothing for the occasion, a dress with sleeves and a leather jacket that isn't yours, big boots to protect your feet from crushing crowds. Morgan had thrown a pair of kitten heels at you in frustration. For once you'd told her no. She's been oddly friendly lately, letting you do as you please with nothing more than an irritated huff, and so you've got tights and socks alike stuffed into your shoes — you're sick of aches and pains. 

If anybody steps on your toes tonight, you're going home. 

The air is thick with humidity, exhaled breath, the scent of alcohol explaining the stickiness under your footsteps. You don't know many people, but you know Dornie and, irritatingly, half of Corroded Coffin, so you beeline for the band where they're holed up at the back and hope one of them will give you a drink. 

There's gotta be thirty different people hanging out. How they can hear each other talk is a mystery. Dornie puts his arm out when he sees you and you slide into his side, reaching up on tiptoes to kiss his pale cheek. 

"Careful," he says, "you'll make someone jealous." 

You're affectionate with Dornie 'cause he's nice. Just plain nice, which is hard to find in Hollywood. He's the very first friend you've made that's yet to break your heart, and better, he hasn't tried to sleep with you.

Not that you think you're some unresistable notch. 

"Who'd be jealous of me?" you ask. 

"Of me." He rubs your shoulder through leather. "It's good to see you, doll. Your chin's healing up nice, yeah? Or is it make-up?" 

He taps your chin. 

It unlocks a reluctant memory, the shadow of a different hand, heavy with intoxication but painstakingly gentle. 

"It's a bit of make-up," you admit, lifting your chin so he can see it. 

"Still, it's getting better. How are your knees?" 

Hiding behind your tights. "They're gnarly. Doesn't hurt to walk much now though." 

Dornie grins. He has a pretty smile with white wonky teeth and three lip rings on one side. His hair is shorn short, unlike most of the guys here rocking hair to the ears or even longer. His eyes are a light brown, emphasising the bruising bags under his eyes. He looks tired. 

"Don't look, but I'm getting some serious glarage from your favourite guitarist." 

"You're my favourite guitarist," you say, and you mean it. His arm is a comforting weight. It feels so good to have a friend. 

"Your second favourite." 

You step completely into Dornie's view and look up at him. "How's he look now?" 

"Chilling. Want me to guide you over to the bar like we're lovers?" 

"Don't say it like that." 

Dornie pulls you across the floor back to the bar, where blessed cool air seeps down from the air-conditioning and the drinks leave pools of condensation the second they're put down. Dornie buys you a mystery cocktail that tastes more like water than juice. You sip at it happily, using your more neutral vantage point to get a good look at Eddie. 

He's sprawled against a booth wall with one arm behind his head, a cigarette sending smoke up to the wall. He looks better than the last time you'd seen him. There's colour in his cheeks, though that might be the lighting. Dolly Floor is a strange venue, like a strip club without the workers, or a restaurant without food. It doesn't feel like a club, but there's a small stage around the corner from the bar where good music plays live, and it doesn't take much convincing for Dornie to come and watch the show with you for a bit. Some of his friends join you, a woman called Natalie, a man named Matfield, and they're both as nice as he is. 

"We heard the new record!" Matfield says across the high table, the golden watch on his wrist a beacon under the reflections of the harsh stage lights. 

"Hated it?" you ask. 

He chuckles. "All the screaming isn't for me, baby, but that shit doesn't matter. It was good. How's it doing?" 

"I honestly haven't looked," you say, opening your box of Newports and offering them out like candy. Everybody takes one. 

"Better not to know tonight," Natalie says agreeably, her perfect black hair curled toward her face like a seraphim shifting as she leans in for a light. "All you have to do is celebrate." 

You'd wanted, foolishly, to celebrate with the girls. Ananya had dipped as soon as she could and you get it, she has her own friends, but Morgan knocking the door of your room had been a great relief. If at least one of them wants to spend time with you, that's enough. Only, Morgan had made it clear as she was sifting through your clothes that she was going to try and find, "like, someone who's actually interesting." You'd taken it about half as personally as you would've a few months ago. 

Hence Dornie. You'd called him on the landlines and he'd said, "Yeah, babe, I'll meet you there." 

Thank whatever's watching for Dornie. 

He buys you another drink and then another, says your money's no good and tonight's about you. His friends are great, including you in all their jokes and smiles, and when the lights go down and the music gets louder you head out onto the glowing tiles and dance with them. 

Eddie finds you not long after. Slinking up from your peripherals, hand in his pocket. 

"What Eddie am I seeing tonight? The nice one?" 

Eddie doesn't flinch at your sudden question. "You look good." 

He'd approached from the left. You'd felt it rather than heard him, and you'd guessed right. He steps further into view, not smiling, not not smiling. He looks good too. 

"I heard the album." 

You hate how much you care. "Yeah?" 

"It was good. It wasn't metal, but it was good." 

You're laughing before he's even finished, turning away from him in a feigned sense of superiority. I don't care what you think. 

Eddie doesn't grab you. You wouldn't care if he did. He follows by your elbow and says, "Come on, you know it isn't." 

"Just 'cause it doesn't sound rooted in the 70s," you say with a smile. 

"That's the whole point. It's baseless, there's nothing traditional in it. It isn't metal, but it's rock, and it's good, and–" 

"Slow down, Munson. A girl'd think you liked her." 

"I'm objective." 

"You're not."

"I'm not, but my opinions are right. Everybody says that, but when I do it's true, so…"

You look at him properly. He looks present in a way he hasn’t before in front of you. There’s a total clarity behind his eyes that you yourself don’t have tonight. He looks sober. Not that you thought he was an addict, not that you didn’t. There’s a certain blasé attitude to substance abuse when you get a kick of fame. Everybody has something in their pocket and you’ll admit to buying into it, taking stuff you shouldn’t in unfamiliar places. You know, of course, that drugs are fucking dangerous. But you hadn’t been freaked out by them until the other night, when you bumped into Eddie outside of the bathroom in Dornie’s friend’s house and he hadn’t recognised you for a solid ten seconds. 

He’s chewing on nothing. 

“I didn’t do it to hold over you,” you say.

“What?”

“Look after you. It wasn’t… I mean, I wasn’t making fun of you. And I’m not gonna tell anybody.”

“Generous.” His eyes narrow subtly. 

“So if that’s what you’re doing.” You look down to his neck where a silver chain rests, thin, new and hidden under his shirt. “Checking to make sure, I’m not.”

“You think I’m here to make sure you don’t tattle?”

You’re too tipsy to feel embarrassed. “You’re here to buy me a drink, then. I want a cherry margarita with extra shiny cherries and all the salt on the rim, please. Please,” you add, because the second one hadn’t felt polite enough. 

Eddie nods and half turns. “Shiny cherry?” he asks. You almost miss it, his soft tone nearly lost in the noise.

“Maraschino… they’re pink.”

“You’re not gonna come with me?”

“Get lost often?” 

Eddie holds his hand out. You’re supposed to think of how his hand looks, his callouses, his rings, the cut across his thumb, the size and length of his fingers. You think about them enough when he isn’t around, but now, right now, your heart thuds against your chest. Your thoughts are a mess until they aren’t — hold his hand. You put your fingers against his palm and he squeezes them together like he’s collected them, tugging you out of the crowd and across the room to the slick black bar. 

You’re still angry with him. You’re wounded, knife to the gut and all the red blood because he’d been right, you’re a dog, you do what people tell you to, you’re doing it right now, but then he squeezes your hand with a light enough pressure that you’re sure you’ve imagined it until he does it again, leaning up against the bar as he gives your order. “Extra cherries,” he says to the barkeep with a smile, letting your hand go in favour of his own drink. 

The crowd surges with a new song and people brush your calves as they walk around you. You and Eddie stay at the bar. He sips on a bottle of water. You wait for your margarita. 

“Your cut’s healing up,” he says. 

You try not to notice your touching arms. “It was bad, right? It must’ve been. You felt so sorry for me,” —the words burn— “you sent me the biggest bouquet I’ve ever gotten in my life.”

“I didn’t feel sorry for you, sweetheart, can you read?”

“Between the lines, yes,” you say, nodding your head once, emphatic as you accept your margarita. “Thank you.”

“I didn’t feel sorry for you. Felt bad for you-“ He holds up a pale palm. “My fault an’ all, I’ll try to be less daydream worthy.”

“I wasn’t thinking about you. Did you see it? She tripped me up with her mic doing a shitty Stevie Nicks impression.”

“Wrong genre.”

You laugh at him. “Exactly! That’s the point.”

“Yeah, I saw it.” 

You raise your eyebrows. Eddie’s head tips forward and his hair hides his cheeks, the subtlest impression of his cheekbones lost to a curtain of curls. He twists one of his rings around his finger.

“She- You should be more careful,” he says. 

Everything’s raw with him, criticism most of all, but you’re feeling generous. You fish one of your shiny cherries from the margarita glass, surprised to find its stalk intact, and break the delicate skin between your teeth. You mull over what he’s saying as the sweet flavour aches in your jaw. You could’ve been more cautious. You’d been having fun, and you’d thought you could trust the people you work with to have your back. It was a little silly to assume; neither Morgan nor Ananya have ever shown you much second thought.

“Yeah, I think I should be,” you say finally, putting the cherry stalk in your mouth.

“What are you doing?”

You ignore him and try to tie a cherry stem knot. You keep trying until you think you’ve got it. You pull the stem from your tongue. 

“Shit,” you curse, glaring at the curved stem. “Thought I had it.”

Eddie grins and leans into your space, fingers quick to pinch a cherry from your margarita. 

He brings it to your mouth. You keep your lips pressed closed and search his face for a trick. Nothing peaks out, not a hint of cruelty to his pinked lips or flush of soft lashes. You try not to breathe as you open your mouth, and Eddie pushes the round of the cherry over your bottom lip slowly. 

You bite down. 

Eddie takes your stalk and places it on his own tongue. He closes his mouth, and within five seconds he’s taking out a knitted stem with a prideful buzz about him. Any smugness he’d held dissipates. He looks adorable. 

“Beat you,” he says. 

“Arrogant doesn’t suit you.”

“Arrogant absolutely suits me,” he argues, the corners of his lips twitching up, up, up. He’s smiling so much. He reminds you of somebody. “Sore loser doesn’t suit you.”

“You’re one to talk.”

“What’s that mean?”

“What’s that mean?” you repeat. “I smile at you across a stage set and you push me up against a wall.”

“Smile? That’s what you’d call that?”

You’re facing each other now. Eddie inches closer as he speaks, each word said with a precision that can’t be unpracticed. “I’m playing in front of near enough a hundred thousand people, kind of crowd I fucking dreamed of as a kid, in front of actual real life rockstars, and you stroll up to side stage dressed like–”

He cuts himself off. An olive branch. A stopper. A dam. His inhale infuriates you. 

“No, go on. Dressed like what, superstar?”

“Like a fucking groupie.” 

You know he’s only said it to try and get a rise out of you. He knows that you know. He looks like he wants to take it back. 

You want him to push it further. 

“And you liked it,” you say, angry. Quiet. “You liked it and you couldn’t get a handle on it.”

“No,” he says, knowing what you’re implying, voice hot and fast, “I kissed you because I knew you wanted me to. I knew what it would do to you.”

“I wanted you to?” you ask. 

“Didn’t you?”

“I wanted to mess with your head ‘cause you fucking harsssed me–”

He cuts you off, “You wanted to mess with me because you hated that I was right about you. Not everything, but enough. Those girls treat you like shit. And you let them, or you’ll be the next Millyana, sitting at home watching the rest of us on TV wondering why you couldn’t make it out.” Something in his expression flickers like a rubber band has struck his skin. 

“I’m not going anywhere.”

For the first time, you mean it. You worked hard to get here, had people treat you a whole heap worse than Eddie’s hot and cold, than Ananya's indifference and Morgan’s narcissism. Hours in buses with your neck craned against a short ceiling scribbling music and days toeing the line with a guitar falling apart in your hands. You scrimped and saved and starved for this. 

Eddie smiles at you. For the second time that night, he looks like somebody else. 

“I know,” he says. “I think we’re finally on the same page.”

—

Eddie buys you another drink. Your tipsiness had felt so far away when things got heated, but now your bubbly smile is back, and you’re actually talking to him. About music, sure, but the movies, the weather, the fancy apartments the record company put you up in. 

“Finally got my own room so Ananya can stop complaining about the noise,” you say with a wink. 

He chokes on his water. “The noise?”

“I’m a very dedicated player.”

You let a small silence pervade before bursting into giggles, hand patting his upper arm. “I’m kidding! She gets mad ‘cos I’m trying to learn YYZ but it is so, so hard.”

“Shit is hard,” he says. “Do you even have time for that? You start touring again in a month, maybe you should, you know, slack off?”

“No, because if I’m doing nothing I’m nothing.”

Eddie — fuck fuck fuck — shouldn’t pry. 

“You’re not nothing.”

You wrinkle your nose at him and he loves when you do it. It’s not cute, really, but everything you do is cute in a way he refuses to unpack. “No, I’m not, I don’t know why I said that.”

“I get it, though. You feel like… maybe it's all gonna stop one day. Wake up with a bad case of the yips and no matter how good you were…”

“Yeah.” You take a very noisy slurp of margarita. “I’m so afraid that I’m gonna be nothing that I can’t stop.”

Eddie throws his gaze around the room. It’s no coincidence that your friend Dornie keeps looking his way; the night is winding down and there’s barely anybody dancing. It’s home time. 

“You won’t be nothing,” he says, easing the margarita out of your hands. He might’ve bought you one too many. “I’m sorry for, uh, getting you drunk.”

“I got myself at least three parts there. Out of five.”

“At least three parts,” he agrees.

He wants, very badly, to touch your face. Hold your cheek in his palm. “Hey,” he says lightly. “Uh, you got something. On your cheek.”

You brush your dewy skin with an embarrassed look about you, shoulder risen and eyes all droopy with booze. “Here?”

“Higher.”

He watches you scrub at nothing. He’s tricking you. He feels awful. 

“Still haven’t got it?”

“‘Fraid not, baby.”

“You get it.” You brandish your cheek.

Eddie keeps a good distance. He knows what he’s doing is weird, he just wants to touch you for a second. He rubs the pad of his thumb down your face, tracing the path of a tear you haven’t shed. Eye to chin. 

“You’re good,” he says, dropping his hand. 

“Thank you.”

You’re slurring. He thinks you’re more tired than you are tipsy (though you are, undeniably, inebriated), and he wonders where all the time went, how it’s suddenly been an hour with you and your conversation. There’d been a moment where he thought he’d fucked it and your eyes had shone with hurt, but you’re smiling, he’s smiling, and Dornie looks aggrieved. All good things.

“I think you better get going,” he murmurs. 

“Sick of me?” you ask, not teasing. 

“No. Your friend’s waiting for you.” 

You look over your shoulder and your smile glows. You start babbling about how that’s your friend Dornie (he knows, you’ve only told him five times) and how Dornie is sooooo nice. You deserve somebody being nice to you right from the start. Eddie’s trying to make it right but he’s said some shit he can’t take back. He wants you to have someone who’s a hundred percent sweet on you, he just doesn’t wanna have to hear the adoration in your voice when you talk about it. 

Eddie’s a dick. Self-admitted. 

You go home with an arm looped around Dornie’s waist. (Dornie said high-pitched, wide-eyed.) Eddie pulls a handful of bills from his wallet to pay for the drinks he’d bought, stuffing the change in a tip jar on the way back to the dregs of the coffin crew. Jamison’s long gone and Jeff didn’t wanna come, but Gareth’s smoking a cigarette with another guy’s hand mysteriously lapward. 

He clears his throat. “I’m going home and taking the car.”

“Wait for me?”

Eddie cringes. “Sure.”

Eddie sits in the car. One hand on the wheel, the other in his pocket. He thinks about tonight, your hair, your smile, the way your arm had brushed up against his. He wonders if this is the right move. Eddie’s not mad at you anymore for forgetting who he was, for your teasing at the Prover Theatre or your rookie comments. And Monsters of Rock, that had been half spite and half bravado. Spur of the moment bravery. Idiocy. Yeah he’d kissed you to piss you off, but he’d also done it because he wanted to. 

He sighs and takes your discarded pull tab out of his pocket. He thumbs the rounded edge, thinking harder than one guy should ever think about anything that isn’t metal. Shit, he thinks. I gotta go home.

𓆩❤︎𓆪

note: they are not done hating each other I am just warming up! thank you so much for reading, I hope you enjoyed <3

#eddie munson x reader #eddie munson x you #eddie munson x y/n #eddie munson imagine #eddie munson #stranger things fic #eddie munson x fem!reader #eddie munson fanfic #stranger things fanfiction #rockstar!eddie #rockstar!eddie munson #rockstar!eddie munson x reader #rockstar!eddie x reader #eddie munson fic #eddie munson angst

[reashot]

A Final Goodbye... (Lancaster in the end.)

So with RT gone and with RWBY never going to get a satisfying ending I made this instead.

Salem: ... It has begun.

Tyrian: May I ask, what has begun exactly, your evilship?

Salem: The end of the universe.

Tyrian: Oh... Can we stop that?

Salem: I'm afraid not. It has been decided by someone higher than me.

Tyrian: Someone higher. Is it the twin gods?

Salem: Ehhh..... Someone much higher than even them I'm afraid.

Tyrian: I see... So this is it then?

Salem: This is it.

Tyrian: Then I'm proud that I was your number one henchman.

*flash*

think of this as the same thing that destroyed the multiverse during the crisis on infinite earth.

Somewhere in Vacuo

Yang: Well this sucks.

Blake: Tell me about it. Just right when we're finally together,

Yang: I know babe. And before we get to be erased from existence I want to say to you again.

I love you.

Blake: Come here...

*flash*

Tai: There goes my daughter.

Raven: At least she died with someone she loved.

Tai: ...It doesn't mean she hates you know.

Raven: Tai. We're about to die. So you don't have to lie to make me feel better.

Tai: If it makes you feel any better Yang doesn't want to spend her final moment with me either.

Raven: Some parents we are.

Tai: The last time I check I was the parent. And you were the one that left us.

Raven: I know that! Do you think I want to leave her in the first place and leave you?! But it's too late for that now.

Tai: You know maybe we can try again. You can apologize to Yang in the next life.

Raven: I-I would like that...

*flash*

Willow: I really picked a bad time to stop drinking.

Whitley: At least we can spend our last family time together.

Weiss: As much I hate saying this. I'm glad I at least got to spend my last time on Remnants with you, mom and.... Wait a sec, where did Winter go?

Qrow: Boy. I really picked a good time to start drinking.

Winter: Qrow. There's something I wanted to tell you.

Qrow: Fire away Ice queen.

Winter: *gets down on one knee* Qrow Branwen will you marry me?

Qrow: Uhhh.... all right.

Winter: Great. Let me introduce you to my family. Weiss meet your new brother in-law.

Qrow: Uh hey Ice princess. I guess I'm marrying your sister now.

Weiss: WHAT!!! If you think I'm letting a drunk deadbeat marrying my sister then you must be fuc...

*flash*

Ruby: This it Jaune. Are you scared?

Jaune: Very. So how do you feel Ruby.

Ruby: Same... It's not supposed to end this way.

Jaune: I know Rubes, but what done is done. And I'm glad I got to spend the end of the world with a friend.

Ruby: Yeah... Ah screw it. Jaune please don't get mad at me.

*kiss Jaune on the lips*

Jaune. I love you.

Jaune: W-what?

Ruby: I said I love you, you dork! I've been in love with you for a long time. I always wanted to tell you this but there was never a good time to do so.

Jaune: I see. Then I also have a confession to make. I feel the same way too. For a long time. I thought you don't feel the same way as I do.

Ruby: Well now we know. I just wish we have more time. To go on more dates, to go on a beach together, to get married, have kids and grow old togethers....

I don't want to die Jaune. Not yet. Not until we achieve our dreams together.

Jaune: I know Ruby but it's too late for that. At least we will die together.

Ruby: I guess there are worst ways to die. Jaune I love you and I hope we get to see each others again in the next life and the next life after that.

Jaune: Ruby I love you too. And I promise to always find you no matters where you are.

Ruby: And I will promise to always love you.

*kiss Jaune for the last time*

*flash*

Will make an epilogue if this gets 100 likes.

#rwby #jaune arc #ruby rose #lancaster #lancaster rwby #jaune x ruby #ruby x jaune #rwby lancaster #yang xiao long #weiss schnee #blake ​belladonna #blake x yang #bumbleby rwby #bumbleby #qrow branwen #winter schnee #willow schnee #salem rwby #tyrian callows #rwby tyrian #qrowin #tai x raven #tai xialong #raven branwen #rwby shitpost #rwby ships #rooster teeth #crisis on infinite earths

[spdrvyn]

i love my husband — miguel o'hara drabble

fluff. heavy inspo on this video.

sorry for the inactivity and the lazy ass title, exam week came around before i could even start on the next request and i did nothing but relax the entire break (which was only FOUR days) so i'll bring this out and see if i can clear my sched enough to actually do shit. enjoy!

the moonlit sky reflects beautifully onto the shining surface of your mug, filled to the brim of chamomile tea and flooding your nostrils with delight as your body melts into the couch.

work kept you on the edge of your seat for the entire week, it was non-stop meetings and non-stop emergency calls even outside of your working hours that had you so stressed. you were sure you'd picked enough hairs out to make a wig.

the weekend is truly a blessing, you want to stay as far away as humanly possible from your phone and shut yourself out from civilization before you come protector of debra's last minute files.

you missed the soft cotton of your pajamas, not like you haven't worn them in the past couple of days but to actually be able to appreciate what it means to wear them and the greeting of a good night's sleep had you sighing and moaning almost a little too much.

you worked hard, you definitely deserved this. you grab a spare pillow and tuck it under your head turning to the side and looking at the city that surrounded you, your patience and tenacity at the office has now been rewarded with the view you're able to appreciate.

however, the shadow that looms over the carpeted floors of your flat don't go away even after rubbing your eyes. you look up and a faint red glow in the symbol of a very familiar spider catches your eye immediately, you smile lazily through the glass.

miguel slides open the door with no hesitation, cape still drifting in the wind from what you can only assume to be his own previous working activities. you can sense the tension wafting off of him like waves especially as he stomps all the way over to where you are on the couch and looks down at you.

his mask isn't off, he's still fully geared, and all you can do is stare back into those lenses.

that is until he surrenders, body giving up, and his body flops right on top of yours. it doesn't really surprise you, there have been times where miguel has come home after a worse day of saving the multiverse and traps you in a hug before you can protest or move. though you've never really seen him do this before.

he adjusts his position, but still keeps his arms tightly wrapped around you as you move as well so that you're holding him back. his face is buried into the crook of your neck and the feeling of his nose tickling your skin tells you that he unmasked already.

not a single word leaves his mouth, you silently adore the way he's melted into you already, the way the muscles on his back rise only to slowly fall again.

you don't want to break the silence, neither of you do. right now, the only form of communication that matters is touch. your lips burning kisses into his curls, your nose now erasing whatever of your tea was left and making the way for miguel.

he shies away from your touch with a small groan, "i stink."

a giggle threatens to break out from the back of your throat, as many times as he would insist that you'd keep going anyway. "so when you do it, it's fine? i see how it is then."

miguel chuckles, he inches himself into you further. deeper. his breaths become less and less shallow, it's clear that he's taking his fair share of sniffs from you as well. "because you smell good."

"i ran a bath, that's why." one last peck to his head and you opt to just comb his hair instead, running your fingers through the strands and observing as they twist back to curl after brushing it some more.

both of you stay like that for a while, not saying anything, not doing anything, just being here. existing with each other. you always find moments like these beautiful, even when miguel is probably one work call away from shaking hands with the grim reaper.

in miguel, you've found yourself open to so many new experiences and risks you could've never imagined on your own. despite the many amount of times at the start of your relationship that he'd give you space and wouldn't be mad if you left, you kept still by his side anyway. you knew that he was worth it.

in you, miguel found that mundanity that he's never had his whole life. passing out on the sofa on his own never felt the same, most times he'd wake up still in his suit and would have to go to work right after anyway. yet with you, the stress ebbed away over time because he knew that you'd always be waiting for him.

whatever historians had with their relics, miguel had with you. not to keep them confined in a metal case, of course not, but he felt as if you were to be revered. kissed and touched with utmost respect and you'd bring the people their good fortunes and long lives. you certainly did for him and miguel might as well be immortal now.

his hands wander, fingertips delicately grazing over the skin tucked beneath your nightwear. he goes slowly, traveling up to your chest where he—

"miguel?"

his hands freeze, face going red. the guilt of possibly going too far is ready to break free from his heart and consume him until he can feel your body trembling with laughter.

"since you apparently stink so bad, shouldn't you shower first before getting so handsy?" miguel pouts at your comment, he already had the apologies locked and loaded for you.

"just a few more minutes, corazón."

#spiderman: across the spiderverse #spiderverse #across the spiderverse #miguel o'hara #miguel o’hara #spiderman #spiderman 2099 #miguel o'hara x reader #x reader #fluff

[lualuabestningdungie]

I miss you, I’m sorry… -lee heeseung

Pairing exboyfriend!hee x gn!reader; genre second chance; warnings angst, mentions of injuries and blood, fluff ending; wc 913

-

A loud knock on your door interrupted your sleep. You looked around and checked the hour; 3 am. Why was someone knocking at this time?

You got up from bed and walked towards the door. Turning the doorknob, you peered through the side of the door. A heavy weight leaning on the door made it go open. You stepped back and you saw him.

Lee Heeseung, sitting on the entrance floor covered in blood.

“Heeseung- what the hell?” You kneeled beside him. “What happened to you?” Your hand cupped his face making him wince in pain shutting his eyes.

“Hey…” he half smiled.

You sighed. “Did you get into a fight?” He opened his eyes, but didn’t turn to look at yours.

“I did.” His head lowered. You could see bruises on his cheeks and a cut lip. The blood on his face was now smeared all over your hands.

“Why…?” You asked looking at him concerned. “What happened?”

“It’s not a big deal.” His voice came out in a raspy tone. “It’s nothing.” His lips trembled as he spoke.

You didn’t believe it by the concerned look on his face. He looked like he was holding back tears. You took his chin in your hand and made him look at you.

“Heeseung… tell me.” He sighed and looked away from your eyes.

“It was the only way you’d talk to me again.” He mumbled. Your hand fell from the grip on his chin. “I just wanted to see you again…”

“You’re crazy.” You were confused. Why would he do that? It's not really a surprise that he got into a fight. He used to get into fights all the time back when you two dated. Everyone told you he was dangerous and that he wasn't good for you.

"It's driving me crazy not to talk to you anymore..." He sighed, leaning his back against the doorframe. "You used to heal me wounds back then, after I got into fights." He chuckled bitterly.

Your heart ached at the memory of it. How he spend nights at your place for you to take care of him. How he asked you to sleep with you so he wouldn't feel alone, and how you started falling slowly for someone who everyone saw as dangerous.

"I can't be the one to heal your wounds anymore, Heeseung," you said, it hurt you as much as it hurt him. "You need to move on. You can't keep coming back."

"You don't mean that." He said, lifting his gaze and turning to face you.

You looked at him surprised by his words. "I do-"

He interrupted. "I know you don't, so stop pretending you don't love me anymore because i know it's a lie." He spoke firmly.

He was right. Love doesn't fade in just a few weeks. You missed him the way you thought you'd never miss anyone. He became a part of you, and when your parents forced you to leave him, you felt like the world was ending.

"Heeseung, it's not that simple," you tried to explain, your voice wavering. "Love doesn't erase the problems we had. We can't go back to the way things were."

"You don't sound like yourself." His words felt like daggers. "You sound like your parents." He sounded disappointed.

"I'm not my parents," you defended, sadness lacing your voice. "But we can't ignore the reality of our situation. Love alone isn't enough to fix everything. We need time and space to heal."

Heeseung's eyes bore into yours, searching for the person he once knew. "The yn I know wouldn't give up so easily. We fought for each other before. Why is it different now?"

"Heeseung, I'm not giving up. I'm trying to protect both of us. Our love doesn't have to be defined by pain and chaos. We deserve something healthier."

The cycle kept repeating itself. You felt like this conversation had already happened in the past. And the urge to ignore everything that happened and go back to him was killing you inside.

"You were the best thing in my life, yn. I don't want anything else because you were good to me. You made me better. Why didn't you see that? Why did your parents have so much power over your decisions?" He made a pause. "I'm going to ask you something, and I want the truth..."

You sighed and nodded.

"Do you still love me?" He asked, his voice was softer now. Before you could reply, he grabbed your chin delicately, making you look at him. And he spoke again. "Look at me, do you still love me?"

A tear roll down your cheek. "I do..."

Before you could react, he leaned forward closing the space between the both of you. His lips were soft on yours, the feeling you missed all this time was finally back. His lips moved slowly against yours, the taste of the blood on his lip made you pull away slowly.

"I love you, yn. I don't think I'll ever stop." He held your hand squeezing it slightly.

"I'm sorry, Hee..." Your eyes filled with tears as you leaned forward resting your head on the crook of his neck. His arms instantly wrapped around you, pulling you closer to him, just like he wanted. "I love you, I never stopped." You whispered against his skin.

"It's alright." He whispered soothingly.

That night, both of your hearts healed together the way they were supposed to.

-

Lua's note: Hello everyone :) I'm back from my small break. I just entered school again and I already feel so tired :/ i'll try my best to be active. Here's a small hee fic, bc i don't write enough enhypen. I love heeseung. anyway i hope you liked it. please reblog and interact with my posts, it helps a lot. <3

#k films #enhypen #heeseung enhypen #lee heeseung #enhypen fluff #lualuabestningdungie #jake enhypen #niki enhypen #enhypen jay #enhypen sunoo #enhypen jungwon #enhypen imagines #enhypen x reader #enhypen fic #lee heesung x reader #heeseung

[dramadramallama]

Thinking about how petrifying it must have been for Su-min to watch Ji-won detach herself from her in every possible way. How telling that their nickname for each other was "[my] other half." Where Ji-won thought of her as a sister with whom she could share everything, Su-min only ever thought of Ji-won as an extension of herself, the other half of her that matters, the other half whose dad did not abandon her, the other half who is loved. When you're loved, you're not empty.

Watching Ji-won stand up for herself and refuse to do all the things she used to do for Su-min is akin to watching her two arms and legs suddenly grow a brain and go on about their life, abandoning her completely. At this point I think she's beyond angry: she's horrified lol

She is incapable of thinking of Ji-won outside of herself: she doesn't see her as her own person. And Ji-won used to unknowingly let herself be eaten away. Su-min's weird coping mechanism for her abandonment issues is based entirely on that. She both resents and needs her.

In the original timeline, she slowly, insidiously took over that "other half" until Ji-won completely disappeared, and Su-min was able to replace her fully (righting a—perceived—wrong). But, in the new timeline, her other half doesn't act like a puzzle piece. Uh oh, Ji-won is a whole, complete person! Su-min still tries to "replace" her, but fails because Ji-won has become too solid to be moved or erased.

I feel like Su-min's reached some sort of milestone with the last couple episodes. It's like she expected to be spoon-fed sugar as always, but realized she was suddenly choking on salt lmao. We didn't see much of her in ep 14 unfortunately, but her outbursts in episode 13 were so good. Hands down the most interesting character lol (sorry Yu-ra, I can't be bothered to care about youuu, I'm bored).

She's certified cray-zy, and compared to her composed appearance of the earlier eps, it's almost like she's experiencing a descent into madness... but girlie's been insane the whole time, and for so long, so at this point it's not a descent; she can't go any lower. Rather, it's kind of an abrupt ascent lol. A violent wake up call. Everything is bubbling up to the surface, and she can't avoid it.

Even during the confrontation (finally!!!!) with Ji-won, she took so long to drop the act, she took so long to admit what really motivated her actions. 100% sure it was the first time she had to put words, Actual Words on her feelings and behavior. And after her whole monologue, for Ji-won to reply, "...what, that's it?"

Even her reasons are seen—by her own victim too!—as utterly empty, and devoid of any meaning. Oooooh, it must have burned.

#marry my husband #don't mind me i'm fascinated by this character she's so disgustingly pitiful

[gacha99]

Vertin is a very emotionless character

but that doesn't mean she's entirely void of empathy or care. She's just kind of a monotone person, and we can see from Chapter 3 that she's always been this way even when she was a child. In all the scenes she's in she's got a pretty flat and even tone, and doesn't sound as if she has any real dislike of other people.

Particularly it's when she's with Sonetto who's so different from her in every aspect, that we see that Vertin despite her need for freedom and to explore the outside world doesn't hold others in contempt for having different aspirations than her.

Vertin's not unaware of how hard it would be for someone to shake off the hold The Foundation has on them if they've lived their entire lives being told what to do and what to think by The Foundation. And while Vertin was also just like every other child who was brought in at a young age, despite this she still holds an insatiable curiosity for the outside world.

So instead of trying to change other people's minds by forcing them to go along with her plans, or turning her back on them, she shows them the parts of the world that drives her to keep going. She shares the parts of the world that pushes her to keep going with other people in the hope that it just inspires them to join her, and nothing more.

And even though Vertin and Sonetto have very different opinions and views about The Foundation, we can see even in the earlier chapters when they're partners that Vertin hasn't stopped trying to bring others over to her side by simply showing them the outside world.

Vertin's care for other people is so strong that you can even see it in other parts of the game, such as the actual game mechanics for the game. I already mentioned on my other blog about how the Resonate game mechanic is a reflection of how Vertin impacts the characters in the suitcase, and I think it's pretty cool how they've managed to put so much of Vertin in the game even if she's not technically a playable character.

Whenever you "bond" with a character, the things they say are directly towards Vertin and not really "you" the player. There's a clear wall between the players and Vertin in terms of even the character interactions, and that's simply because the devs REALLY want you to know that this game is about Vertin trying to inspire people to come to her side on their own.

Reverse: 1999's core theme seems to simply be "Keep living for the future" and that's a nice message until you realize just about every character has a reason for why they'd want things to go "back to the way they were before". In the beginning, the games objective seemed pretty simple: Defeat these bad monsters causing the Storm, save Arcanists in each era, repeat. But by Chapter 2 it's pretty clear that Vertin didn't "win" in the end.

She managed to save some Arcanists, but she still lost people in the process and had no way of really saving those people's loved ones from the Storm. It's a bittersweet ending where Vertin has to ask these random strangers who have probably never interacted before they met her that day to say goodbye to everything they've ever loved.

So then ultimately what can Vertin do besides shelter a few people from The Storm? To her it is worth it to save even a few people if she can, because while she can't save their loved ones from a fate of being erased from existence, she can give them a chance to keep going forward "To the next era".

#reverse: 1999 #re:1999 #re1999 #vertin #reverse: 1999 meta

[keyofw]

I know it's no longer a novel observation how the entire internet is enshittified now but it's still shocking that so many of the things we depend on had such a sudden and marked decline in quality.

Google results are mostly ads. Facebook is 90% ads, 10% domestic terrorists. Twitter is... well, not Twitter and it's only good for Nazis to yell at each other in the hopes they make .0004 cents per tweet. Instagram is ads. TikTok is misinformation central. YouTube serves forty-seven ads per second of videos watched.

Every news article is behind a paywall, and some of them are just AI-text garbled from someone else's much better article, also behind a paywall.

AI art has made it impossible to find images you want. It's also exploded the use and potential use of misinformation. Your data is now being fed to generative AIs to make cheap slop that only makes information harder to find and source.

Everyone wants you using their app instead of a web browser so that you aren't allowed to block the 3,487 ads per page that have to load.

Amazon is full of fake or low-quality dupes of the things you actually want to buy. Netflix and other streaming services are raising prices, cutting available shows, and erasing the existence of shows in order to avoid paying writers. Art hosting sites such as DeviantArt allow your work to be scraped for NFTs and generative AI without your consent or any form of compensation. Spotify has demonetized over 80% of their tracks and pays the rest astoudingly low, worse than the other streaming services which also underpay.

Everything is a subscription service which means not only are you paying for the same product in perpetuity but you never technically own any tool you use and your right to use it can be revoked at any time. Everything has to be a "smart" product so when the business inevitably folds and/or the servers shut down, your product no longer works. Hope it's not something you need!

Every company no longer accepts phone calls but routes you through a series of automated messages until finally dumping you off to an overworked and underpaid person who has no power to help you. Speaking of phones, you can't use them for calls. There are so many robocallers and scams that no one in their right mind picks up the phone anymore. Texts are going the same way. No one wants to dig through 100 scam messages to find the one from the person they actually want to talk to.

It's all just the inevitable end result of capitalism. It doesn't have to be this way. But there needs to be regulation, and fast, or the "Dead Internet Theory" will no longer be a fringe theory.

#my precious feelings #enshittification #dead internet theory