#if you think you might be an asshole we can talk about it :)

[petew21-blog]

Workout routine

My best friend from school, Emily, married last summer while still being at university with me. She is still young, but claimed that her boyfriend truly loves her. Bullshit if you ask me, he never respected here and treated here like a trophy wife since the beginning. Yeah I hated him. He was a homophobic asshole and acting like some fuckin' alpha male. Why Emily dated him I never understood

One day we were on their garden studying for an upcoming exam. I was nervous most of the time cause James was working outside fixing stuff and eyed me like a prey. Emily went to get us some snacks and drinks.

He came up to me and started some homophobic talk how I could choose this path of sin and so on. I couldn't look up at him. Cause he was very close to me, very shritless and VERY sexy. Way too much. If I looked up even for a second, I would immediately get hard.

"You gays are the worst thing about this generation. You can't even work, y'all do your artsy useless shit and nothing usefull"

"Can you just let me live and go on about your life? I don't want to listen to this."

"Well you're on my property so you'll listen to whatever I have to tell you"

A call from inside the house. Emilly called him

"You're lucky. If it weren't for her you'd be already on the ground biting dust"

What an idiot. I was raging. I think I'll just leave and go home. I can't calm myself down and I don't want to cause any drama with Emily. Even if I think her husband is horrible, I don't want ot loose her a s a friend"

Emily came out of the house, smiling. She brought the snacks and water. She looked at me "Sorry for... taking so long. I had to sort something that couldn't wait. Now drink up, you haven't drank for hours. I should have brought drinks sooner."

I took the glass and took a sip. But then I felt really nauseaous. My vision was blurry now and I felt like vomiting. All I could make out of Emily's face was that she was smiling.

Then my vision started getting clearer again. But it was strange, I wasn't outside anymore. I was in their kitchen, holding a glass. "How did I get here?" went through in my head. As I looked for the nearest surface to put down the glass I noticed that I was shirtless.

Wait, what?!? This isn't my body!!!

I let go off the glass destroying it. But nothing could have prepared me for being this ripped in the matter of seconds. This is something I always wished for, but never thought I would get. I was always the skinny twink trying to build more muscles, but couldn't. And now, I have massive muscles.

I found a mirror in the hall. No, this can't be happening. I am James. I can't be him. He is an asshole. A homophobic asshole.

But his body thought otherwise. His dick got hard. And it isn't small. Which might be cool to play with, but now I was still angry everytime I looked at the mirror.

"Enjoying yourself?" Emily asked as she entered the house

"What have you done, Ems?"

"I gave you a new body. The one you have been lusting for. And as a side effect I got myself an improvement for a boyfriend. I loved him before, but I was blind and deaf to all the things he said on your account and to all the things he commented about me. Never appreciated me. But you are the best man I ever knew. And I wanted to be with you even if I wasn't your type. But now, I think I might be" she said as she placed her hand on my new crotch.

I thought I wouldn't like this, cause I was gay for my entire life, but James's body is still straight. But in my mind I could even picture myself with a dude and not be disgusted

"Ems, I think you didn't turn me straight as you wished for. I think I'm bi, actually"

"Whatever is best for both of us. I got a cute gay friend who you might like and who would love to explore your body, with me. But I think there might be some emotions involved, you know. Cause of the previous ownership and so on." she said and laughed out loud.

I took her up and put her on the kitchen table. Embracing her and going for a kiss.

"Ems, you are the best friend I could have ever wanted. I love you and I will love you now as your husband"

We could hear a scream outside coming from the garden. We could only smile at each other as we knew what was coming

Two months later:

"Hey, my name is James and this is my colleague Robert. Robert is a small gay dude friend from my wife. We are going on a road trip to get to know each other better with the permission from my wife. So we would like a room"

"Oh, there's only double bed? That's absolutely fine with us, right Robert? Bro's will be bro's and NO HOMO. Hahaha"

A story request from Inbox: Could you do a swap with a Twink and his best friend’s bodybuilder husband?

#body swap #body switch #gay to straight

[gh0stsp1d3r]

Rafe’s revenge worked

Might make a part 3?

pt 1

Warnings: lying, slight manipulation, mentions of sex

You unlocked the door to the chateau, your heart pounding at the afterthought of what you just did.

You had sex with your brothers enemy.

The 2000 dollars sat heavy in your pocket, you had no clue what type of excuse you would make for having it.

You went to the kitchen, grabbing a glass and filling it with water. You downed the water, and when you turned around John B stood in front of you.

“Where were you?” He asked, leaning against the wall, asking as if he didn’t know the answer.

“Work… it’s Monday.” You said, as if it was obvious.

“What took you so long?”

“I stayed a little longer helping close up. It’s not that serious.” You shrugged, attempting to push past him.

“Don’t bullshit me.” He held his hand out, stopping you from walking away.

“What are you talking about? Are you drunk or something?” You scoffed.

“I know you were with Rafe, and I know you had sex with him.”

Your face dropped and your heart pounded. John B pulled out his phone, opening up the audio and shoving it in your face.

“I- I didn’t! That’s not even me!” You tried to defend yourself.

He then pulled out another picture, of Rafe standing with a giant smile and the apron with your name on it in his hands.

You looked down at your waist, fuck. You must’ve forgotten it.

“John B-“

He scrolled through the messages more, the conversation between the both of them proof.

“I’m sorry, JB, I’m sorry-“ tears started to fall down your face.

He sighed.

“I- I think you should leave for a couple days, y/n.”

“W-what? You’re kicking me out? Over this shit?”

“He- he- he tried to kill me, and my friends! I’m sorry, y/n. Go… pack your stuff and stay with one of your friends. Only for a little. Okay?”

You wordlessly went to your room, grabbing bags and shoving things in there.

“We can talk when you get back. I- I just can’t right now.” He told you as he followed you into your room,

He stuttered your name out when he walked onto the patio behind you, but you didn’t even look at him as you went outside, sobbing and walking. It was dark out, dangerous, and cold. You shivered as you walked through the cut.

“Oh shittt, look what the cat dragged in.” Kelce nudged Rafe. He had shown, and boasted to all his friends about you. Rafe turned his head, looking at your distraught figure.

“No shit.” Rafe scoffed, leaning out his car window and whistling to get your attention from the other side of the road.

You snapped your head over there, your eyes widening. You stormed up to him.

“Oh, shit, someone’s ready for round t-“

You punched him, square in the face. He groaned, and chuckled at it, and before you could do anything else he jumped out the car.

“The fuck was that for?”

“You’re such an asshole! You ruined my fuckin’ life! I got kicked out, and- and now I have to see your stupid fucking face again!” You hit his chest, him just having a smirk on his face the whole time.

“Oh, shit. I’m… sorry. How’d your brother take it?” He asked in faux pity, slowly wrapping his arms around you and looking over to Kelce in the car with a grin.

“He’s pissed!” You sobbed into his chest. “And he’s upset, and he- he-“

“Shh. Shhh. It’s alright. Uh.. if you want, you could hang at mines for a couple of days.”

“No. I’m just gonna-“ you pushed him off of you, realizing who it was again.

“C’mon, it’s cold, you’re literally shivering! I got blankets and shit in the car. You can’t walk all the way there.”

“Rafe, I can’t-“

“Think of it as my apology. Please. I feel.. just so bad. And… I just want you to stay, just for a couple days. Think of it, we’ll have the house to ourselves for days. My dad’s on some trip with my stepmom, Sarah’s hanging out with your brother” he said it with a tinge of bitterness, making you suspicious.

“and my other one is at her friends.”

“Did you-“ you sniffled. “Did you fuck me because your sister got with my brother?” You asked him, catching onto the distaste he had about it.

“What? Course not. What type of crazy shit is that?” He scoffed. Yea, that’s exactly what he did.

“Fine.” You mumbled when you felt another breeze blow past, the cold making you shiver again.

“Poor thing.” Rafe mumbled as he opened the door, motioning for you to get in the back.

“Here.” Rafe threw his jacket at you, you taking it and quickly pulling it over your shoulders.

Kelce looked at him with a knowing look, and Rafe held his hands up in mock defense, turning the car on again.

——

@sublimepenguinpeach-blog @haruvalentine4321 @theoraekenslover @ilovemensomuchagh

#obx rafe cameron #rafe cameron x female reader #rafe cameron x reader #rafe cameron x y/n #rafe cameron x pogue!reader #rafe cameron angst #rafe cameron prompt #rafe cameron x you

[just-my-latest-hyperfixation]

⚙️ Steddie Big Bang 2024: Project Reveal ⚙️

I am stoked to reveal my project for the @steddiebang2024 - an action-filled, steampunk-inspired Steddie adventure. I'll be collaborating with the amazingly talented @cuips-not-cute on this one, and I can't wait to see what they'll create! 😍✨️

Summary and snippet under the cut

⚙️ Excerpt

“Look,” he finally says. “We've been over this. The doctors said it's perfectly normal. ‘s called phantom limb or whatever the fuck. Can take years to go away, sometimes never does. It's fine.”

Gareth shuffles unhappily. “Yeah, but-”

“No buts,” Eddie insists. “I appreciate your concern, Gare, I really do. But to be perfectly honest with you, I’d rather hack off another limb than go anywhere near those shallow, sanctimonious, rich assholes ever again, so they can take that money and shove it right up their-”

“Eddie, shut up, for fuck’s sake!”

Gareth's voice cracks around the last syllable and Eddie trails off with an irritated groan.

“What? Why?”

“Just-” Now that he thinks about it, Gareth is sounding weirdly nervous. Eddie frowns at the wrench in his hand. “There’s, um …”

“No, by all means,” says a new voice. “Let him continue. He hasn’t said exactly where to shove that money yet.”

Eddie shoots out from under the transporter and nearly crashes into a pair of legs.

“What the fuck?” he blurts, slamming his feet down in a desperate attempt to brake. His right leg creaks and the metal foot scrapes over the floor with a harsh, grating sound. Eddie thinks he sees sparks, briefly. “Hey, look where you’re-”

There’s a guy staring down at him. A guy in an embroidered waistcoat with tails so long they nearly brush the shafts of his shiny leather boots. He's leaning on a carved walking stick, raising an elegant eyebrow from under a swoop of shiny, chestnut hair. Eddie decides then and there that he hates that douchebag.

“Where I’m going?” Douchebag finishes his sentence. “I was just standing here. Maybe you should-”

“Yeah, well,” Eddie sneers, finally remembering to sit up and push his goggles back. The movement leaves a black smudge of oil on his forehead, wet and sticky. “It’s still my damn shop, good sir, so excuse the fuck outta me if I don’t go out of my way to kiss your-”

“You’re Edward Munson then?” another voice pipes in. “Of Munson’s Machinery? You own this place?”

Eddie blinks. A girl is peering over Douchebag’s shoulder. She reminds him a bit of one of those tall monster birds with the long necks he saw at the zoo once - all gangly limbs and jerky movements and nervous eyes. Ostriches? Yeah, he thinks that's what they're called.

“Eddie is fine,” he says automatically, then remembers he's still mad at the both of them. “I mean … what's it to you?”

Douchebag huffs a sound that might pass as a laugh, if only his face matched the noise.

“Nevermind,” he murmurs and turns to go, making to put his preposterous top hat back on. “This was a stupid idea anyhow.”

“Steve?” The girl latches on to his arm and yanks him back. Douchebag makes an annoyed, whiny sound and Eddie can feel his own mouth twitching into a grin. “Be nice?”

While Douchebag pouts and grumbles something unintelligible under his breath, she turns to Eddie with a strained smile.

“Sorry about him,” she says, fingers awkwardly tugging on the dispensers of her billowy pants. “We talked about this before coming here, or at least I thought we did, only right now I'm honestly wondering if we had the same discussion, because you're sort of our last chance, so it would really befit us to treat you with some basic-”

“For fuck’s sake, Robin,” Douchebag blurts. His hand flies up like he’s trying to scrub it down his face, or pinch his nose maybe - one of those theatrical, overdone gestures of long-suffering exasperation - just that he’s still holding the stupid hat and almost whacks himself in the forehead with it. “Just go ahead and tell him everything, why don't you? That'll do wonders for our negotiation position, I'm sure.”

“Excuse me, what position?” asks the girl. She throws up her hands, so suddenly that her dispensers twang with it, and Douchebag flinches. Eddie’s starting to like her more and more. “And I'm asking that in all honesty, dingus. This place is the only option we have left. Our position isn't just shitty, it's literally non-existent. There is no position, Steve. So you can either try again and behave like a decent human being or we can just go home and forget about the whole-”

“Ugh, alright,” Douchebag snaps. “I'll do it, I'll do it.”

He shoves himself past the girl and her shit-eating grin so that he can glare down his nose at Eddie. Eddie, who is still crouched on the ground, glares right back, head tipped into his neck.

“I, um-” mutters Gareth, shuffling off the workbench and gathering his half-finished breakfast. “I'll just … I’ll come back later, I guess. See ya, Eddie.”

Eddie makes a vague sound of acknowledgement as he bustles out, but doesn’t bother breaking his staring contest.

“So, Mr. Munson,” Douchebag drawls after a second or two. “Would you be interested in a job offer? I heard you’re one of the best mechanics on this side of town.”

#steddiebang24 #steddie #steve x eddie #steve harrington x eddie munson #steddie fanfic #steddie brainrot #fanfiction writer #fanfiction #fanfic #my writing #updraft steddie fic

[miraculousares]

Okay so I have some thoughts about the end of full moon and more specifically on Blitzø's rant at the end. I already posted a little analysis about how he only knows how to communicate through raw emotion, and I think that his venting is such a clear example of that. I feel like this is the most honest Blitzø has been at least in the last 15 years if not ever, and I can't stop thinking about how hard he's trying to talk openly with Stolas. So spoilers for Full Moon obviously.

*deep breath*

"What? Fuck you, Stolas! You spring this feelings bullshit on me, are you fucking kidding?!"

As we well know, Blitzø has never felt worthy of love. He's always blown up every relationship (sorry for the pun) he's ever been in. Be it romantic, platonic, familial, even in the workplace he struggles. So the few occasions when Stolas has thrown out hints that he might love Blitzø for more than the sex, he's never been able to even process it. Stolas has never given him a clear indication that he feels anything more than horny for him and without any warning he's suddenly confessing his love in the middle of what Blitzø thought was just yet another transactional bang sesh.

"Can I get a fucking minute to think?"

Sure, Blitzø got the chance to have a genuine, in the moment conversation with Fizz, but that was nothing compared to this. He'd had 15 years to process his feelings of regret and he was someone he'd been vulnerable with before, albeit a long time ago. Here, trapped in a huge silent room with Stolas and all of his half-processed feelings that are tangled around so many other problems, Blitzø has no tools for this type of situation.

"After everything you put me through you pompous, rich asshole!"

While it hurts to say, Stolas really has put Blitzø through a lot. Aside from everything I'm gonna mention with the next line, he's hurt Blitzø time and time again. Be it covering his face at Ozzie's, humiliating him on stage at the Harvest Moon Festival, constantly degrading him and reminding him of his 'impish' lower status. It's obvious to the viewer that Stolas does care so deeply for Blitzø and that he's trying to change and atone for all of that, to Blitzø all he's done is give him space for a few months and then suddenly confess his feelings out of nowhere.

"Treat me like one of your little butler imps, you can't just dismiss me like that. I mean you royal fucks think you can do this every time. Like you can just play with our feelings because we're smaller and not as important!"

Okay here we go, diving into probably the biggest problem they have to tackle before they can truly accept love from one another: the class difference. Stolas' palace is crawling with imp servants who are treated as objects by the whole family and Blitzø has seen that. And then there's Blitzø, who is being treated with the respect of a living, breathing, independent-thinking demon but that's about it. He still talks down to him and goes so far as calling him his plaything on several occasions. I don't know exactly how the horns work/feel for imps, but I imagine Blitzø having a cigarette put out on his probably felt degrading at best. To Blitzø, he's providing a service for Stolas in exchange for reward, just like the rest of his servants. They both clearly know how wrong that is, but that dynamic needs to be seriously broken down from both ends before anything could possibly work between them. Blitzø is trying to do that with this line, he's trying so hard to tell Stolas how it made him feel because it hurt him but he wants to fix things.

"Well I'm not letting you, bitch! Let's go!"

Fuuuuuuuck this line hit me so hard. This whole time, he's been venting and yelling and in doing that he's sorting through how he feels. He's being confronted with something so far out of his comfort zone but instead of trying to run or hide like he usually would, he's trying to figure things out because no matter how afraid he is he clearly wants to have this conversation. He's trying to open it up to Stolas after airing out everything he was able to sort through, he's telling him that he wants to have this conversation.

"Stolas wait, I'm s-"

God this is so heartbreaking and I know a lot of people are pissed off about how Full Moon ended, I honestly think that this was perfect writing for each of these characters. Stolas has only ever been talked to in fanciful language, subtle comments, and straight abusive yelling, he doesn't know how to hear anything Blitzø is saying and instead only hears his tone and his harsh words. But Blitzø doesn't know how to communicate any other way and gah this argument/confession/breakup was exactly what they needed to push them forward to actually facing the problems between them rather than tiptoing around them

#I cant stop thinking about these emotionally constipated dads and their complicated depressing love #full moon spoilers #helluva boss analysis #helluva boss full moon #helluva boss #blitzø #helluva boss blitz #helluva boss stolas #stolitz #stolas goetia #blitzo

[condensed-ink]

I've been thinking a lot about #FixTF2 and I know that some might have their doubts about the movement, however, I've realized that, even if it does not succeed in getting Valve's attention, it will end up contributing towards an important development in recent years - the shift in the public perception of Valve.

If you are person who was growing up in the early 2010's then you obviously remember how Valve games were essentially the cultural zeitgeist of the time, how you would see pictures of King Gaben on every meme/YouTube thumbnail during a Steam Summer Sale. As I understand it, Valve essentially rode this wave of good will throughout the 2010's. Even when everyone was getting frustrated with the lack of sequels for games such as HL2 and L4D2, some people would just excuse it with "ah y'know Valve, not communicating and not doing anything is just their style, this is just probably part of Gaben's 5D chess - tier master plan". However, the cracks in this image have been slowly showing up for a long time:

Portal fans haven't had anything since Portal 2's release back in 2011. We have had some small VR titles but that's hardly any consolation.

Left for Dead 2 came out all the way back in 2009 with nothing afterwards. As of June of 2024, the game still has more than 10 thousand concurrent players yet it is also unplayable for a significant amount of people due to reported DDos attacks.

The suffering of Half - life fans at this point is a meme in itself. The only thing we got was HL:Alyx back in 2020 and, even though it's a very good game, it was inaccessible to a lot of people at launch due the costs and lack of VR hardware. We were left on a cliff-hanger AGAIN and four years later we have no news of any follow-up.

In my opinion, Valve to some extent could ignore these fandoms since they were smaller compared to their big earners. But it is the recent issues with these bigger titles that have started to test everyone's patience and tolerance for Valve's bullshit:

Team Fortress 2 - I mean what else is there to say: rampant cheating and idle bots, bot hosters doxxing and swatting people. The bots crisis has been destroying the game for the past 5 years. If we remember the original SaveTF2 movement, it had a more positive tone, i. e., people talking about how much they love the game and pleading Valve to fix it. Well, one shitty tweet and two years later the tone has gone from "Please fix the game" to "FIX THE FUCKING GAME YOU ASSHOLES" and rightfully so.

CS2 also has a myriad of issues. CS:GO became CS2 after the game jumped to the Source 2 engine, but the resulting game, by many accounts, is a downgrade. A lot of game modes and maps from the original game were not included and are still not present as of June of 2024. Cheaters are rampant. To what degree I cannot say but it is to an extent where a significant enough portion of the player base is affected. Also, the game hasn't had an operation (major content update) since 2021. The player count is still high, but a lot voices in the community have been chewing out Valve for this level of incompetence.

With DOTA 2 I cannot say for sure. Some people talk about neglect whilst others say the game is in a decent state considering the game still gets frequent updates and patches. At most I can say that there is a portion of players that are dissatisfied with the state of the game but most likely to a much lesser extent than in the previous cases.

HOWEVER

All of that is just one part of the double whammy, the second part is probably is much worse than the first - a lack of continuity for Valve's legacy.

I mean, let's think about it for a second here: most of us who grew with the Valve classics are probably in our mid-to late twenties at this point. Of course, I'm not saying that there aren't any younger fans but the bulk is the old guard. I'm pretty sure a lot of kids and teenagers don't even know a lot about these games and it's not their fault, they weren't old enough to experience them. The blame lies SOLELY with Valve because they have done NOTHING to boost the visibility of their older series due to the fact that they haven't bothered to make a single proper sequel for any of them.

And speaking of visibility, Valve's advertising strategy is non - existent and downright insulting . They really have this holier-than-thou perception of themselves, where they think "I am THE Valve softworks, makers of TF2 and Half-Life! How could you NOT know of us?!?!" and then expect everyone else to spread news of their games through word-of-mouth. Like, I'm sorry, Gabe, but we don't owe you shit. I'm not gonna advertise your shitty card-game and upcoming mediocre 5v5 hero shooter just because I had fun playing TF2 back in high school. Like, it's no surprise that you're not gaining any new fans when this has been your modus operandi for the past 10 years.

TO CONCLUDE

This is where we are right now: the old guard is either apathetic or straight-up hates Valve for their negligence, the younger generation barely knows about most of Valve's OG game series due to the lack of any meaningful output. At the end of the day, Valve isn't going to bankrupt, they're gonna keep taking their 30% cut from Steam and peddling gambling addictions to kids via cases. However, the era of good will is over, nobody is cutting them any slack anymore and, frankly, they deserve all the shit that's going to get thrown at them.

#ngl I kinda got sick of my writing half-way through but I squeezed it out in the end #this is the shit that I do instead of doing my academic writing lol #valve #valve games #tf2 #team fortress 2 #fixtf2 #savetf2 #portal #left for dead #csgo #cs2 #counter strike #half life #gabe newell #dota 2

[dngrs-untld-hrshps-unnmbrd]

Sweet Little Killer

Ghoulcy | Cooper x Lucy | post S1 | touchstarved | hurt\comfort | angst | sometimes he's an asshole | there was only one bed | overprotective and jealous Ghoul | eventual smut

Those big eyes, Cooper thought, his anger rising. Those big eyes of hers were glistening with tears, and twice as pretty for it. He wondered if she knew the effect she had on men with those soulful eyes of hers. If she did, she was damn well making those tears brim on her dark lashes on purpose, trying to wrap his withered heart around her pretty little finger.

As Ghoul and Lucy journey across the wastes to New Vegas both of them learn a helluva lot more about each other, and circumstances and mutual attraction drive them into each other's arms.

CHAPTER ONE

The ghoul walked quickly, his back straight, eyes fixed on the horizon, while the dog and the girl trailed along behind him. A million stars scattered the vast heavens above the trio, pinpricks of cold, sparkling light.

The revelations of the past few hours had left Lucy’s insides hollow from grief. Who her dad really was, leaving Max behind, and worst of all, realizing who was tied to the chair beside Moldovar. Over and over, she heard an echo of gunshot. Had she done the right thing, ending her mother’s life? Or had she done the selfish thing so she could be rid of her? Had she taken the easy way out, when the truly good and kind thing to do would have been to take her mother’s snapping, snarling corpse back into the vault and cared for her?

Rubbing her wind-chilled arms, Lucy wondered about the golden rule. Did the golden rule even apply to a miserable situation like this? But that was silly. Of course it did. It always applied. Didn’t it?

The wind blew dust into her face, and she had to stop to cough and blink it from her eyes.

Ahead, the ghoul paused at the crest of a low hill, and examined the landscape. This strange, dangerous man had asked her to come with him to New Vegas for reasons she couldn’t quite fathom. She was anxious to think about something that wasn’t her dead mother and her murderous father, and so she strode up beside him, moving dials on her Pip-Boy.

In as confident a voice as she could manage, she said, ‘Sorry, I’ve not been helping at all. I can find us a route if you give me a moment to—’

The ghoul spoke harshly. ‘I know the way.’

He set off again, his shredded duster billowing behind him, but not before Lucy caught his narrow-eyed, angry expression. Anger crackled through his frame as he stalked forward with single-minded purpose. Anger directed squarely at their destination.

Maybe anger was the correct emotion under the circumstances. Lucy dropped her arm back to her side and followed him. She tried to summon up some anger to keep herself focused—maybe even warm—but the cavern in her chest refused to fill up with anything. 

The three of them eventually made camp for the night in an old shack that might have once been part of a bigger dwelling. The floor was sand. The roof was broken open in places and starlight shone through.

Wordlessly, the ghoul dropped his saddle bags to the ground, lay down with his back propped against the sloping sand and his booted feet up on an old tin box, folded his arms, and closed his eyes. The dog stretched out alongside him.

Lucy gazed at the ghoul, and then sat down cross-legged a few feet away. She’d thought there would be words spoken between them tonight. That they would explain to each other his astounding request for her to come with him, and her monumental decision to say yes.

But the ghoul looked like a man whose only desire in the world was to go to sleep.

Maybe he was already asleep.

Lucy cleared her throat.

The ghoul plucked his Stetson from his head with gloved fingers and covered his face.

It was a pointed message, but she ignored it. Tentatively, she called to him, ‘I thought we could talk seeing as we’re traveling together.’

‘S’late,’ the ghoul muttered.

Lucy leapt on his reluctant reply and started talking quickly. ‘True, but there’s no time like the present, as we tell each other back home. I never thought I’d say this, but you and I have something in common.’

The ghoul pushed the brim of his hat up with his forefinger and turned to her. ‘And what might that be?’ he asked softly.

Lucy gave him a weak smile as a pang went through her heart. ‘My dad. It’s not much to have in common—actually, it’s a terrible thing to have in common—but maybe you and I can be…’

Lucy trailed off as the ghoul’s eyes narrowed. His attitude rarely changed from either antipathy or anger, but she realized that right now he was dangerously close to losing his temper as his jaw flexed to one side.

Strained silence fell in the little shack.

‘Let’s get one thing straight, sweetheart,’ the ghoul said in a slow, deadly drawl. ‘I ain’t gonna be your friend. I ain’t your bodyguard or your protector, neither. You’re a liability and a goddamn pain in my ass.’

Wow. That was what she was afraid he’d think of her, but he went and said it out loud. A shameful, painful lump formed in Lucy’s throat and her voice was husky as she spoke around it. ‘If I’m so useless, then…why did you ask me to come with you?’

Those big eyes, Cooper thought, his anger rising. Those big eyes of hers were glistening with tears, and twice as pretty for it. He wondered if she knew the effect she had on men with those soulful eyes of hers. If she did, she was damn well making those tears brim on her dark lashes on purpose, trying to wrap his withered heart around her pretty little finger.

‘You vault dwellers are supposed to be the smart ones. I’m sure you can figure out why I brought you along.’

Her eyes searched his face, and then her features transformed in horror. ‘You said you let my dad go so you could follow him, but you still need me to get close to him and the rest of Vault-Tec. Is that it? You’re using me as bait. Again .’

Cooper gave a nasty laugh. ‘Oh, no, sweetheart. You’re not bait. You’ve been upgraded to leverage.’ As that revelation washed over her and ceased to bring her any comfort, as he’d intended, Cooper closed his eyes, put his hat back over his face, and settled back onto the sand to sleep. ‘There’s no reason for us to say one word to each other for however long it takes us to cross the wastes to New Vegas,’ he told her. ‘Once we get there, we’ll do what needs to be done, and then we’ll go our separate ways.’

He was ready for sleep, but sleep refused to come. The girl was cold, or she was miserable. Probably both. Cooper grit his teeth against the pathetic, shivery sounds she was making and glared at the inside of his hat. One more minute and she’d fall asleep.

One more minute.

Several minutes passed and the girl didn’t stop crying. The more she tried to smother it, the harder she choked and whimpered. Sure, she had a lot to cry about, what with putting a bullet in her mom’s flailing corpse and discovering her daddy’s a murderous asshole, but they had a plan. There was no need to get all weepy now they had a plan. 

Not having a plan, that was something to bawl about.

Lucy’s breathing hitched in a sob.

Cooper seized his hat and yanked it off his face. God fucking damn it. He opened his mouth to snap at the girl to shut the hell up, but Dogmeat’s liquid eyes reproached him in the moonlight.

Cooper closed his mouth. No way. He wasn’t going to comfort her. There would be no comforting on this little trip of theirs. No one needed to unburden their heart or ask why did this happen to poor little me. Answers were what they were going to get. Important fucking answers.

Out of the corner of his eye, he saw Lucy wiping away tears. A long-forgotten impulse flashed through his heart, one that belonged to the man he once was. The husband and the lover. The protector. A man who took joy in holding someone’s tender heart in both his big hands. Who would soothe and kiss away tears, pressing his lips to a cheek or a forehead or a throat.

Cooper pictured himself getting up stroking Lucy’s hair back from her hot, tear-streaked cheeks as she gazed up at him in the moonlight. I’ve got you, darlin’. I’m here.

I could…

He nearly sat up before he remembered the man who was so good at murmuring soft words was long dead. No one wanted or needed his scarred hands or lips anywhere near their tears or soft, smooth skin. In this ruined world, Cooper looked like death and that’s what he delivered. Death. Dear little Lucy’s daddy would soon be dead by Cooper’s hand, and then more of her pretty tears would pour down her cheeks. Even though she probably wanted her daddy dead, she’d still hate Cooper for being the one to put the bullet in him.  

Dogmeat gazed sadly at him, and glanced at Lucy and back at him again.

Silently, Cooper pointed at the girl and gave a quick jerk of his head. Dogmeat obediently got up, trotted over to Lucy, and lay down beside her. There was a wet, sad little gasp from the girl, and then she wrapped her arms around Dogmeat and buried her face in the dog’s fur. With a warm body to hold, Lucy’s crying ceased. A moment later, she lay down with the animal. 

The tension in Cooper’s chest and shoulders finally relaxed. When the girl’s breathing evened out a few minutes later, he settled his hat back over his face, closed his eyes, and went to sleep.

***

Lucy’s eyes felt puffy from crying when she sat up the next morning. The ghoul was already up and repacking his bag. She heard the tinkle of glass, so maybe he’d just inhaled some of his medication.

Maybe that had put him in a better mood.

The dog’s warm, furry body had brought her comfort in the night, and maybe, just maybe, they were both feeling better. There was no way she was going on this journey in complete silence. If she was hurting, he was hurting too. A person didn’t get so angry and closed off for no reason.

As she got to her feet, Lucy said, ‘Mr. Ghoul, um, sir. I can’t call you Mr. Ghoul. What’s your name? I’m Lucy, by the way,’ she added hastily.

Cooper didn’t look up from his bags. He knew her name. He’d heard her father and that can of cram—the Knight—call her by the pretty, girlie name of Lucy. But he didn’t want or need to know her name. Vaultie was just fine, or if he was particularly annoyed with her, sweetheart was even better. A cold, sarcastic reminder that she was anything but sweet to him. Darlin’—now that was something he was saving for when she really got on his nerves.

‘What if I told you I don’t remember?’ he muttered. It wasn’t a lie if he framed it as a question.

He glanced up to see Lucy’s mouth fall open slightly, and the saddest look he ever saw fill her big eyes. Sadder even than last night when she was crying for herself.

She was pitying him? Oh, this was too fucking much. No amount of leverage in the world was worth seeing a girl pity him.

‘You really don’t remember? I’m sorry,’ she whispered.

Cooper wished to fuck that he didn’t remember, but two hundred years later, his irradiated brain remembered every goddamn moment of betrayal, grief, and loss.

 ‘Well, doesn’t it just hurt to be me,’ he sneered. ‘Move it, vaultie. Let’s get going before the radscorpions do.’

Lucy dusted her ass off and started following him, but then stopped dead. ‘The…what?’

With his back to the girl, the ghoul grinned at the bright sunny morning. Something about her trepidation filled him with happiness. He was going to torment her all day, and he couldn’t wait.

He strode jauntily out of the shack, whistling as he went, the dog trotting happily at his heels.

-

Thank you for reading! Chapter Two is here.

#ghoulcy #vaultghoul #cooper howard #lucy maclean #fallout tv series #fallout fanfiction #ghoul x lucy

[hella1975]

we may have lost another one to the bisexual hotgirl and straight loserboy agenda but trust i am fighting it comrades 🫡

#IM TRYINGGGGG. the fuck of it all is that we've been going on dates on and off for WEEKS now #and i said to him at the start im not looking for anything serious and there's a chance he might be mugging himself off #bc i am just NOT emotionally available and low and behold we were at the pub the other night and wound up having a pretty #serious talk about how ive really liked getting closer to him and i genuinely enjoy our time together but i just cant see anything #serious coming of it NOT BC OF HIM BC GENUINELY I FEEL LIKE IVE MET MY MATCH WITH THIS BOY #NO ONE IRL CAN BANTER WITH ME LIKE HE CAN AND THAT IS SUCHHH A CRUCIAL BOX TO TICK WITH ME #but i just dont think im mentally or emotionally in the place for a relationship and i dont like him ENOUGH to fight for it #like it's been v illuminating v much that 'you never realise just how mentally ill you are until you try persuing a romantic relationship' #bc DAMN. i feel insane like why cant i just be normal about things and enjoy nice things and people in my life #BUT despite me saying all this to him and TRYING NOT TO BE THE ASSHOLE he has fully admitted that he likes me SO MUCH #that he'd like to keep going on dates and stuff regardless of the end result. like he genuinely just likes my company #and will take it in any capacity he can get he literally SAID that he's whipped for me 😭 #and im like HOW DO I WIN HERE. IF I TAKE ADVANTAGE OF THAT IM AN ASSHOLE BUT CUTTING HIM OFF ISNT FAIR EITHER #AND I LIKE OUR LITTLE DATES AND BEING SPOILED AND HAVING SOMEONE BE A LITTLE OBSESSED WITH ME #SORRY IF THAT MAKES ME A BAD GUY. GOD FORBID WOMEN DO ANYTHING #ughhhhhhh. so yeah we're going on another date tonight. shoot me i dont care!!!! #hella goes to uni

[fluorescentbrains]

for some reason it continues to shock me to my core every time I encounter a j*hnny d*pp stan

#another grad student I don’t really talk to at a party casually mentioned something disparaging about amber heard #the conversation moved on so quickly but if it hadn’t I might have taken it outside #the sheer contempt I felt in that moment #he’s made a couple of sexist remarks before which is why I don’t talk to him. god I hate him so. #d #anyway you ever meet a 6 ft musclebound asshole cracking misogynistic jokes and the chimp inside you is like. I think we can take him #antagonize a man twice your body weight do it now

[crystalkleure]

Characters who are intentionally written to be horrible little bastard goblins: ✔️ Hilarious

Characters who are supposed to be viewed as being A Good Person in spite of them continuously doing horrible asshole things that would make any reasonable person fucking punch them IRL: ❌ Infuriating

#.It speaks #About me yo #I HATE THAT SECOND THING SO MUCH #INTENTIONAL ASSHOLES MY BELOVED. UNINTENTIONAL ASSHOLES MY BELOATHED. #The Goody Two Shoes Good Guy Protag @ their sad friend: ''Hey buddy! I am going to shame you for Not Being Happy!'' #''Don't you understand that that's rude to all of your friends? You're killing all of our vibes! It Is Morally Bad To Be Visibly Sad!'' #All of the other characters: ''Yeah!! What protag said!! We love you and forgive you @ Sad Guy but you need to stop being sad Right Now!'' #And Everybody Claps #Literal worst thing in the world. #Like it is DRAMATICALLY DIFFERENT if the protag doing something like this has ACTUAL ACCURATE CONSEQUENCES #Like. Say. Sad Guy bottling too much up for too long and then eventually finally exploding in protag's face. #[And NOT being portrayed as Evil for doing so. Might be SEEN as evil by the protag but Is Not Narratively The Bad Guy For It.] #THAT does not bother me. Fuck yeah Sad Guy tell the emotionally abusive fuck and all their flying monkeys to eat shit. #BUT IF THE LITERAL ABUSED CHARACTER TRYING TO STAND UP FOR THEMSELF MAKES THEM THE VILLAIN OF THE WEEK/SEASON I'M MAD #You know? #Protag who THINKS they are Morally Infallible but is actually perfectly human and wrong/does bad shit sometimes: ✔️✔️✔️ #Protag who is a total penis and their dickheadery WINS every time it causes conflict; the /conflict/ is portrayed as unreasonable: ❌❌❌ #If you know me really well you can probably guess which specific two characters I am talking about #I hate both of those little bastards so much

[razzek]

Haha, oh the troubles of a filthy multishipper! XD In any given fandom I probably have an opinion on every possible ship. I'm pretty sure this is impossible to parse and trying to list everything is literally overwhelming me. XD Alas I don't know who made the template, but thank you, this was fun!

OTP - one true pairing, best of the best, I will kiss you on the face for making content of any of these ships! - Magnus x Pickles - MagPickles - Magnus x Toki - Hammertooth, Magtok - Pickles x Toki - Tickles, my first MTL ship <3 I will lose my shit in a good way if anyone besides me ever did anything with the unholy trinity of Pickles x Toki x Magnus. :D

Honorable mentions: Abigail x Toki x Magnus, Skwisgaar x Murderface, Charles x Magnus x Melmord.

I feel like it's worth saying that I do look at content in the "nah" and "NOTP" categories if there's something even a little interesting to me in it. In many cases I used to be more fond of some ships and either saw/read something so upsetting I can't enjoy the ship anymore (SkwisTok, Nickles) or met too many assholes who soured the ship by association (PickleGail, NateGail, MagCharles). But even with those ships you can get my attention by writing them in a certain way (still love me some twisted sociopath Charles lording it over Magnus :D). I'd tip my hat to anyone who could make a Knubbler ship that isn't DickFace work. XD

#metalocalypse #magnus hammersmith #pickles the drummer #toki wartooth #if you can even see this post you're probably not an asshole btw :) #if you think you might be an asshole we can talk about it :) #but for real I've done my best to block the people who treated me like shit over cartoons or other things #there's tons of folks in this fandom I still like I just don't know if we're still friends or not #so I'm kinda just hanging out in my own little corner for now cheering y'all on :) #come say hi if you wanna or don't if you don't wanna XD

[gremlingottoosilly]

Beekeeping age [Dilf!Konig x fem!Reader]

You're ex-boyfriend is an asshole, so you decided to fuck his hot military dad instead. You're going to find out why his first wife ran as fast as she did, very soon - but Konig is still the best dick that ever happened to you.

CW: Daddy kink(obvi), power imbalance, possessive Konig, perverted Konig, age gap(Reader in her early twenties, Konig in his early forties), mentions of cheating(your ex is a douchebag anyway), slightly obsessive Konig, size kink, unprotected sex.

FIRST PART (can be read separately) AO3

— Why your wife left you, again? 

You stuff your face full of…something. He cooked it – gods did he cook it well. It’s meat and vegetables and spices, and it feels like your dad cooking but twice as good. It feels like pure sin because he says you shouldn’t worry about calorie counts or how fat the meat is, or how good everything tastes fried because he needs his special girl to feel good and healthy and fatten up a little bit, and you…gods, you’re down. Bad. 

You wonder if König’s wife left because she couldn’t compete with his cooking. You wonder if his wife left because he was feeding her too good. 

— Why don’t we leave uneasy questions for later, Schatzi? 

He brushes his hand over your hair, taking in the way you look – dressed up in his shirt, skin covered in bites and bruises from his hold. He can’t see it right now but can almost testify to the way your lipstick was all over his collar – good thing he wasn't wearing his uniform shirt, wouldn’t want to make dorks from Kobra jealous. 

He brings you another plate, he fills your glass – you never knew beer could taste this good, but he whispered something about having his own little homemade brewery for wine and beer somewhere in the mountains, in his Summer house. This man has a hug apartment in Vienna and a Summer house – you think you heard him having enough land to go hunting and to keep bees, and you might have cum a little bit just here and there. 

— I would like to know the story, actually. To not repeat her mistakes, you know. 

— You won’t, Liebling. I can already picture you with a ring on your pretty finger. 

— Not so fast. Maybe I don’t believe in marriage. 

— You’re too young to stop believing in it. 

— Way to talk when you’re the divorced one, sir. 

— Shut it, Schatzen. I can still take care of a good girl like you, ja? König leans in to kiss you, his lips brushing over your mouth – it’s wet and swollen, he bite you quite a few times already, and you feel dizzy just from the way his tongue lingers just a second before going in, taking your arousal even more. His hand gently brushes some hair from your face and you giggle from the sensation of his rough fingers on the softness of your skin. It never failed to mesmerize you, just how seasoned and old the colonel might be – and his hands would still tremble as if he is handling the finest porcelain doll in his hands. He has the expression of an anxious, devoted follower – you are not sure how his wife could left him. If he was looking at you like this every day, even as you go through with pregnancy and a piece of shit kid like Paul, you would die before leaving him. 

— Could you two please stop fucking each other? 

— I thought you wanted to move to dorms.

— This is my house too!

— Not on the documents, it’s not. — You can’t just throw me away, dad! — Your new stepmom needs her space. 

König grasps your shoulder as you try to stop them from arguing again – it’s embarrassing enough that you’re fucking your ex’s dad. Colonel makes it a whole fucking show, parading you around as his controversially young girlfriend, making sure that his son will hear your moans and whimpers as you get fucked at every surface of this apartment. You were wondering if you could ask him to move to the Summer house – even with your college and all. You can take a gap year and write a journalist investigation about lonely veterans and their mastery at brewing alcohol. You can take a gap year and try your best in the new trophy wife gig. König’s hand is firm on your shoulder – you know better than to try and argue with him, the silent recognition of authority loud in your head. You sigh, trying your best to just stop yourself from acting too damn weird. It’s their male thing, and you’re just an intruder in a big T-shirt and old leggings. König said it wasn’t his wifey’s – that he burned all of her stuff when she left. Somehow, you find peace in that statement. 

— How could you even…Jesus fucking Christ, this is disgusting. She is my age! — And the most beautiful girl in the world. I can see why you liked her. — She is my girlfriend! — Schatzi came to me in distress and begged me to take her. I think we both knew you weren’t…the best option. You feel more embarrassed with each second of their conversation. You don’t want to listen, you don’t want to take in their words, you feel like a trophy being discarded between two different winners. You feel like a prized mare on a farm – and they won’t even look at you. Too distracted by the sound of their voices, you eat your dinner in somewhat somber peace because you need to eat, after all, and you really like what König cooks. You like what König does most of the time. All of the time. 

Paul storms off the room after a few minutes of bickering. You feel guilty for not stopping him because he was still kinda your boyfriend. You ex-boyfriend. Your asshole incel-ish ex-boyfriend whose assholless literally made you go and sleep with his dilfy dad, and…god, you feel like a whore. Good. Paul was calling you a whore a lot of the time, you may as well take the new name and plaster it in your new badge. 

König’s hand lingers on your back, caressing it gently. You whimper because you feel bad and you’re still in college, and Paul’s disgusted reaction reminds you that fucking a guy in his forties isn’t the best business decision. Even if the said guy is a retired colonel with shitload of money, even if he still goes to work sometimes, just because he wants to feel cool and shoot guns at bad guys, even if this guy buys you cool gifts and he promised to renovate your car or buy you a new one, and he makes plans and takes you to places that don’t make you feel like begging for attention. 

If anything, you feel like he is drowning you with attention. 

His hand lets go of your shoulder – he was holding you so tight the whole conversation, you can sense the bruises forming on your skin. You lick your lips, and he moves to kiss you again. You feel like drowning, you feel like this is all just a dream – and you’re also drunk because gods, König knows how to make a good glass of…something. 

— You shouldn’t act like this. He is your son. 

He laughs dismissingly. He dismisses a lot of things you said – you think it’s the age difference. You think he is just being traditional, and you don’t want to be too nagging. You don’t want to end up like his wife and wake up from the dear you’ve been seeing. 

König’s lips are soft, and you can look past his hands, taking you too possessively – you can close your eyes, and you can just listen to his accent, smiling as his tongue worms its way into your mouth. He is good, you think – at this whole kissing thing. At this whole “Hi there, I’m a retired old dog and I am fucking the girlfriend of my only son. I’m divorced btw” .

He has experience – you know it when he tucks your lip between his teeth, when he massages your shoulders as you spread your legs already, so wet for him, it’s almost embarrassing. You never slept much with Paul – his poor excuse of a son – it was always never enough lube, it was always never enough attention, he always needed you to shave or to leave your hair to grow a little bit, it was either your perfume being too sweet or you no wearing anything at all. You thought he would have much more fun masturbating to his anime chicks and poor gaming sessions with his friends. 

But König isn’t like this – every time he drops on his knees to eat you out like a man starving, you feel utter and complete devotion. In his tongue, in his mouth, in his teeth as he sucks little marks into your thighs, making sure you will remember it tomorrow when he will ask you to stay for breakfast and then ride you to whatever you need to come next. Last time he promised to drive you to the library, he took a few turns and took you to some restaurant instead. You gushed about not having proper attire, he was still in his half-uniform and rocking dark cargo pants, and he was apologizing every time his fingers hit that special spot in your cunt as he fingered you during the second course of meals. He said that he was so, sorry about not fucking you properly, about having to resort to public displays like this – and you were too high on loving him to care. You still are. — I don’t think we should be…

— He left. Won’t bother us anymore. 

— I’m not in the mood right now. 

— You’re always in the mood, Schatzen. Enough to drive me crazy. — You’re a pervert. Like Paul. 

— He takes on after his father, ja?

It would alarm you how much contempt he had for his own child right now. Then, again, you were the one who dumped his son for the powerhouse of a dad. Maybe it was your daddy issues, maybe it was your dumb reasoning and the summer break that you didn’t want to spend with your family. Good thing you’re spending it with the other. 

König’s face is buried between your legs, his teeth tugging on the soft fabric, forcing your leggings down. God, it feels good – he is so high on wanting you, can’t even wait to take off your clothes properly. You never had a man wanting you so badly before – it’s addicting, it’s crushing, it makes you feel like a goddess among men. Makes you feel wanted, a thing that your ex never did. 

You forget about guilt when he kisses your lower tummy, when his lips trace down to your cunt, taking sharp licks through your panties. You wore them this morning, something from a new lacy set he bought – one of the only ones that weren’t torn off from your body the moment you took them on. He always wanted you to make these little fashion shows for him, making good use of his money – you weren’t a sugar baby, not on paper, you still clutched to the last traces of your dignity, but he did buy you a lot of gifts. 

— S’ pretty for me, Liebling. The prettiest girl in the world.

— I assume after…af..ter your wife. 

You giggle when he frowns, his rugged face filled with concern. He doesn’t like jokes about his marriage – you don’t want to ask him about it because it would mean waking up from a dream you want to experience over and over again, but you heard what Paul was talking about. What his mom told him about. you heard enough to know that kissing a man like König is a safety hazard and a liability that you can’t afford, but it’s warm, and he is rich, and you don’t want to go back to your part-time job this season. You want to be dumb and you want to be young – right now, you’re doing both. — Don’t be so dumb, Schatzi. Although it suits you. 

— I’m not dumb! 

— Nein, you’re not. Just silly. 

— You just call me a different type of dumb. 

— I like it when you’re dumb. Makes you cuter. 

König is awkward and funny, and he buys you things that you could never afford. He is mysterious and kind – to you, not his enemies – and he uses German words randomly in his phrases because he knows the accent, and the pronunciation drives you crazy. You never thought of thinking of yourself as a dilf hunter but, hell, here you are. With his dark ginger stubble – and grey streaks that make you go wild every time you look at him – between your thighs. It’s tickling, and it’s a bit irritating, and he will rub some calming lotion in your skin after this, making sure to cover every inch of your skin with some expensive cream that he knows jackshit about, but you wanted it, and so he went out and bought it. Gosh, you felt dumb even asking him for this. 

He traces his kisses along your thighs, tongue lingers to press against your wet, swollen folds. Flirting in front of Paul made you embarrassingly hot, solidifying you as a shitty, bad, horny person who needs fat cock stuffed in your leaking pussy. You lick your lips, and you tremble when he pushes his tongue inside. He is starving, pushy with all of his needs – makes you almost beg for it, like a pet he took from the street. 

— I want to take you to the Summer house next week. 

You open your eyes, shocked. It’s nothing, really, you shouldn’t be this surprised about him wanting to show off his other properties. You want to check out his wine cellar and how sturdy the furniture is. You want to see if he had deers running around the house. If he had any pictures of his family – and if you could ever hope to compete with his ex-wife. It’s a petty competition, but you don’t have much to do and to think about. It’s obvious the love here won’t last until the end of the break, and you want to get as much from it as possible. Maybe even some hot bikini picks at his pool. He has to have one. — What if I have plans, sir? 

It’s innocent and you play the role well. You think some of your friends wanted to hang out or make a study group for the upcoming semester. You are a good girl at heart, with nice grades and a perfectly played-out future, and not as many working opportunities as you may like, but you could manage with something. Writing a killer essay about your life with a smoke show during Summer would be easy with someone like him. 

He laughs, his hand lightly smacks your butt. You bite your lip and whimper, not accustomed to pain feeling this good. 

— You will change them, little one. For the whole Summer. 

— I wanted to study. 

You moan when he lightly presses his tongue on your swollen clit, kissing and licking it. Slick runs down your legs, and he collects it with his mouth. You whimper again, tears prickling at the edge of your eyes – the sensation is sudden and overwhelming, makes you get your hands in his hair and slightly tug. He groans, pleasure from having you so active, so participating is overwhelming. He loves you, loves you, loves you, adores you. God, you’re beautiful. And so, so restrained – just his special good girl. Only for him. — You can study at our house. 

— You mean you and your ex’s house. 

He smacks you again for the foul language – although you know you didn’t even curse, he is still punishing you. In the lightest way possible, of course, you know you won’t handle anything too harsh – still, you feel nice and warm when he isn’t just eating you out, but also smacks you for speaking in such unpretty words again. 

You don’t even register the way he called the house yours too. All too dumb for this, again. 

— I mean our house, Schatzen. Just you and your daddy, ja? You worry too much about studying. 

— I want a nice job. Without…distractions. 

He slips one finger in your warm, tight hole – even just one digit is enough to make you shiver, clenching it like a sloppy whore. He is big in every way – just two of his fingers are bigger than a normal cock, and no, you didn’t want to compare a son with his father, but even Paul’s cock, as big as it was, was still way thinner than his father’s. 

— Why you need a job? 

— Not everyone are retired military. I need money. 

— You have me. 

— I d…don’t want to be a sugar baby. Sir. 

— I have no problems with being your daddy, Schatzen.

König is build like a powerhouse – when he slips just the tip into you, ignoring all previous preparation because, by god, you both need to feel connected, he is dragging you on top of the table, tossing aside the dirty dishes with remains of his perfectly cooked dinner…and you feel like home. Almost. 

You imagine waking up with his cock every morning, and with the nice cup of coffee only he can make. You imagine him gushing about rebuilding the house and working on his tight and neat desk job at the mercenary company – something about instructing, dumb recruits, only the most elite missions as an operator in retirement, creating strategies and tactics for the warfare – and thinking that, wow, your husband is really cool. You shouldn’t be thinking this because this is just a summer fling. Your relationships with Paul weren’t too serious either, you just didn’t want to be alone. 

König gently caresses your fingers, whispering something about numbers – you think you could recognize the word for a ring a bit later when he was making a call to some friend. In German, of course, you don’t quite understand it, but you worm your warm on his lap like a spoiled cat, purring on his crotch like a good fucking girl. But it was a while later. 

Now, you’re gasping and panting, his cock spreading you open and stuffing you like the poor bird he was cooking for dinner. You know you won’t be able to walk after a short while – would probably have to spend the day at his house, with him cooing and gushing about your sore body while he is quietly proud of himself. If you’re lucky, you could convince him to let you go in the evening. If you’re not, he will ask you to stay the night, and maybe even a bit more, and then he will just get the bag with your stuff from your room in the dorm by himself, and then… — What do you think about getting married in August?

Maybe, you do know why his wife left him. 

#cod #konig x reader #konig #yandere konig #cod x reader #call of duty #yandere cod #cod x you #fem reader #konig cod #konig x you

[specialagentartemis]

I get variations on this comment on my post about history misinformation all the time: "why does it matter?" Why does it matter that people believe falsehoods about history? Why does it matter if people spread history misinformation? Why does it matter if people on tumblr believe that those bronze dodecahedra were used for knitting, or that Persephone had a daughter named Mespyrian? It's not the kind of misinformation that actually hurts people, like anti-vaxx propaganda or climate change denial. It doesn't hurt anyone to believe something false about the past.

Which, one, thanks for letting me know on my post that you think my job doesn't matter and what I do is pointless, if it doesn't really matter if we know the truth or make up lies about history because lies don't hurt anyone. But two, there are lots of reasons that it matters.

It encourages us to distrust historians when they talk about other aspects of history. You might think it's harmless to believe that Pharaoh Hatshepsut was trans. It's less harmless when you're espousing that the Holocaust wasn't really about Jews because the Nazis "came for trans people first." You might think it's harmless to believe that the French royalty of Versailles pooped and urinated on the floor of the palace all the time, because they were asshole rich people anyway, who cares, we hate the rich here; it's rather less harmless when you decide that the USSR was the communist ideal and Good, Actually, and that reports of its genocidal oppression are actually lies.

It encourages anti-intellectualism in other areas of scholarship. Deciding based on your own gut that the experts don't know what they're talking about and are either too stupid to realize the truth, or maliciously hiding the truth, is how you get to anti-vaxxers and climate change denial. It is also how you come to discount housing-first solutions for homelessness or the idea that long-term sustained weight loss is both biologically unlikely and health-wise unnecessary for the majority of fat people - because they conflict with what you feel should be true. Believing what you want to be true about history, because you want to believe it, and discounting fact-based corrections because you don't want them to be true, can then bleed over into how you approach other sociological and scientific topics.

How we think about history informs how we think about the present. A lot of people want certain things to be true - this famous person from history was gay or trans, this sexist story was actually feminist in its origin - because we want proof that gay people, trans people, and women deserve to be respected, and this gives evidence to prove we once were and deserve to be. But let me tell you a different story: on Thanksgiving of 2016, I was at a family friend's house and listening to their drunk conservative relative rant, and he told me, confidently, that the Roman Empire fell because they instituted universal healthcare, which was proof that Obama was destroying America. Of course that's nonsense. But projecting what we think is true about the world back onto history, and then using that as recursive proof that that is how the world is... is shoddy scholarship, and gets used for topics you don't agree with just as much as the ones you do. We should not be encouraging this, because our politics should be informed by the truth and material reality, not how we wish the past proved us right.

It frequently reinforces "Good vs. Bad" dichotomies that are at best unhelpful and at worst victim-blaming. A very common thread of historical misinformation on tumblr is about the innocence or benevolence of oppressed groups, slandered by oppressors who were far worse. This very frequently has truth to it - but makes the lies hard to separate out. It often simplifies the narrative, and implies that the reason that colonialism and oppression were bad was because the victims were Good and didn't deserve it... not because colonialism and oppression are bad. You see this sometimes with radical feminist mother goddess Neolithic feminist utopia stuff, but you also see it a lot regarding Native American and African history. I have seen people earnestly argue that Aztecs did not practice human sacrifice, that that was a lie made up by the Spanish to slander them. That is not true. Human sacrifice was part of Aztec, Maya, and many Central American war/religious practices. They are significantly more complex than often presented, and came from a captive-based system of warfare that significantly reduced the number of people who got killed in war compared to European styles of war that primarily killed people on the battlefield rather than taking them captive for sacrifice... but the human sacrifice was real and did happen. This can often come off with the implications of a 'noble savage' or an 'innocent victim' that implies that the bad things the Spanish conquistadors did were bad because the victims were innocent or good. This is a very easy trap to fall into; if the victims were good, they didn't deserve it. Right? This logic is dangerous when you are presented with a person or group who did something bad... you're caught in a bind. Did they deserve their injustice or oppression because they did something bad? This kind of logic drives a lot of transphobia, homophobia, racism, and defenses of Kyle Rittenhouse today. The answer to a colonialist logic of "The Aztecs deserved to be conquered because they did human sacrifice and that's bad" is not "The Aztecs didn't do human sacrifice actually, that's just Spanish propaganda" (which is a lie) it should be "We Americans do human sacrifice all the god damn time with our forever wars in the Middle East, we just don't call it that. We use bullets and bombs rather than obsidian knives but we kill way, way more people in the name of our country. What does that make us? Maybe genocide is not okay regardless of if you think the people are weird and scary." It becomes hard to square your ethics of the Innocent Victim and Lying Perpetrator when you see real, complicated, individual-level and group-level interactions, where no group is made up of members who are all completely pure and good, and they don't deserve to be oppressed anyway.

It makes you an unwitting tool of the oppressor. The favorite, favorite allegation transphobes level at trans people, and conservatives at queer people, is that we're lying to push the Gay Agenda. We're liars or deluded fools. If you say something about queer or trans history that's easy to debunk as false, you have permanently hurt your credibility - and the cause of queer history. It makes you easy to write off as a liar or a deluded fool who needs misinformation to make your case. If you say Louisa May Alcott was trans, that's easy to counter with "there is literally no evidence of that, and lots of evidence that she was fine being a woman," and instantly tanks your credibility going forward, so when you then say James Barry was trans and push back against a novel or biopic that treats James Barry as a woman, you get "you don't know what you're talking about, didn't you say Louisa May Alcott was trans too?" TERFs love to call trans people liars - do not hand them ammunition, not even a single bullet. Make sure you can back up what you say with facts and evidence. This is true of homophobes, of racists, of sexists. Be confident of your facts, and have facts to give to the hopeful and questioning learners who you are relating this story to, or the bigots who you are telling off, because misinformation can only hurt you and your cause.

It makes the queer, female, POC, or other marginalized listeners hurt, sad, and betrayed when something they thought was a reflection of their own experiences turns out not to be real. This is a good response to a performance art piece purporting to tell a real story of gay WWI soldiers, until the author revealed it as fiction. Why would you want to set yourself up for disappointment like that? Why would you want to risk inflicting that disappointment and betrayal on anyone else?

It makes it harder to learn the actual truth.

Historical misinformation has consequences, and those consequences are best avoided - by checking your facts, citing your sources, and taking the time and effort to make sure you are actually telling the truth.

#history #history and the world #misinformation

[blueywrites]

baby can we smoke?

eddie munson x ditsy!fem!reader you're the last person eddie expects to leave a note in his locker, but he won't regret meeting you out by the picnic table.

2.8k

cw: 18+. innocent reader (not minor-coded), corruption kink, weed usage, allusions to smut while high, no y/n, no physical descriptions.

Another 'naughty nights' ask that got a bit lengthy (check out the original ask here). I had fun writing from this perspective! Should I continue this with a part two? 👀 Let me know what you think. (PART TWO IS HERE!)

enjoy xx

Eddie finds the note in his locker right before lunch. It's written on a quarter of a math worksheet, ripped carefully at the folds and decorated with little doodles of hearts and clouds and shooting stars drawn in sparkly purple pen. That's not the only note in there, but it’s the only one that has him curious, ‘cause it’s from you.

He stops by your lunch table just before the final bell, letting his eyes rove over you while you aren’t paying attention. You’re wearing your typical attire: a fuzzy, pastel-colored sweater, baggy and soft-looking like cotton candy, paired with a little pleated skirt and that heart locket he always sees hanging from your neck in the class you share. He hadn’t pegged you as the type of girl to smoke, and it isn’t just because of the way you look since his clientele is diverse, dips into almost every pocket of the high school social ecosystem. It’s more the way you carry yourself— you seem to kind of float through life, let it bob you about without any resistance or, like, awareness, even? Like, you hum to yourself while you take notes; you don’t talk a ton, but when you do, you’ll talk to literally anybody who’s in proximity to you, including the teachers; and you’re always either giggling or smiling or, sometimes, wearing a look of vague confusion where your glossed lips will hang open, parted in a little ‘o’ like with all your concentration focused on trying to understand something, you have nothing left over to control your face.

Eddie doesn’t wanna call you dumb because that’d make him feel like an asshole, but you just seem so… innocent to be asking him to teach you how to smoke weed. It briefly crosses his mind that someone might just be trying to fuck with him and you hadn’t actually written the note, but when you finally notice him nearby, your wispy-lashed eyes widen eagerly like you’d been expecting him. 

“Yeah, so,” you say, as if continuing a conversation you’d already been having with him, “I really wanna get high, and Susie said you’re the one who sells weed, but I just don’t know how to smoke. I’ve never done it before, not even, like, cigarettes or anything.”

You seem oblivious to the way several heads at the tables around yours swing around to stare, easily overhearing since you’re not making any effort to lower your voice. Eddie merely quirks a brow at them, and when they make eye contact with him, they turn back around. “So,” you go on, “I’d just need you to help me, show me how to smoke and stuff. Would that be okay?”

Eddie debates it for just a moment before relenting with a nod. He tells you to meet him after school at the picnic table behind the athletic fields and you agree right away, smiling up at him with an expression of such utter awe and glee that he has to stop himself from snorting in amusement. It’s funny, but it’s also kind of cute, too— Eddie doesn’t remember the last time someone was so excited at the idea of receiving his help, and your enthusiasm is endearing.

It’s simply endearing all the way up until he has you sitting facing him on the picnic bench, kicking your little feet idly while you straddle it, staring at him with that little ‘o’ face of concentration as he deftly grinds the bud. You plant your hands between your spread legs, leaning forward and watching with rapt fascination as he begins to pack the green into the paper. Your bare knees press against the inside of his, soft and warm through the rips in his jeans; his eyes flick to the hem of your skirt, the way it’s barely long enough to poke out from the pooling of sweater fabric at your lap, and he adds a bonus pinch or two to the joint. It’s fat when he finishes rolling, pinching it between two callused fingers as he tilts to the side and tugs his zippo from his pocket. The lighter draws your gaze like a fluttering moth, your attention snared by the flickering flame, and Eddie finds himself staring at you for a moment before he blinks his fascination away.

“Okay.” Eddie speaks once the paper catches, and your eyes dart from the smoldering tip to his face, expectant and waiting. You’re close enough that he can see where your mascara has flaked a little onto your lids, and from this distance, your helplessness— how dependent you are on him, how sweet and open and utterly trusting you look— elicits a pang low in his belly. He swallows. “So, you’re gonna wanna keep the smoke in your mouth first, and then inhale. Not too deep though, or else you’ll cough it all out and waste it. Here, I’ll show you.” 

Eddie watches you watch him as his lips wrap around the end of the joint and he pulls from it, fairly shallowly compared to what he’d usually do. He drops his hand so you can see, lets his cheeks puff out so you won’t miss the way he’s collecting the smoke. 

And that look on your face is so entranced, Eddie feels suddenly powerful. His chest expands on the inhale, and he smirks at you, closed-mouthed and crooked as your eyes widen at how long he holds it before he lets it billow from his nose like a dragon. That delights you, and the rest of the smoke escapes Eddie’s mouth on a raspy chuckle at how simple it is to please you.

“It’s that easy?” you ask as he waves the lingering smoke away, clearing the space between you.

“‘S that easy, sweetheart,” Eddie confirms. And he finds it curious when you bite your lip, dragging your teeth along the gloss there in such a way that it has him wondering how sticky it must feel. “You ready to give it a try?”

You nod, head bouncing like a dashboard bobblehead, but when Eddie maneuvers the joint in his fingers and holds out the end for you to take, you hesitate, fidgeting and pulling at your sweater sleeves so they cover your fingers. 

“You want me to hold it for you?” Eddie guesses, and you nod again, meeting his gaze with a sweet little grateful smile that has his belly panging again, stirring with the barest amount of low, liquid heat. He reaches out, letting his hand hover at the side of your face, hesitating as he looks to you. “Can I—?”

“Yeah,” you say, your voice small and wispy in a way that isn’t helping with those stirrings he’s feeling. And your cheek is so smooth when he cups it in his hand, using the light grip to guide your face up and hold you steady for him as he brings the joint to your pouty lips. They brush Eddie’s thumb when they part for him to place the joint between them, sticking your flesh to his as you hesitantly pull the smoke into your mouth. 

“That’s it,” he rasps, merely wanting to encourage you, but you just won’t stop staring at him like that as he feeds you the hit. Like, shit, can you really blame him when the stirring creeps lower, down from his belly into his groin? Your cheeks puff up with smoke, and he can almost feel what it’d be like to see the outline of his dickhead poking out of one— all soft and slick inside, plush skin stretched tight around his—

Your hands are flapping in the air between you like you’re trying not to grab onto him, and when Eddie notices the distressed pinch between your brows, he pulls the joint hastily from between your lips. You look like a fucking chipmunk, your cheeks are so full, and Eddie realizes that as he’d zoned out thinking about his cock in your mouth, you just kept sucking and sucking ‘til you literally couldn’t anymore. 

Quickly, Eddie clutches the joint in his teeth to free his hands, gently cupping your full cheeks; sympathetic, patronizing, he says through it, “You didn’t have to— s’too much, honey, just blow a little out, okay?” 

Smoke eeks out from your pursed lips in a steady stream until he pats your face with his fingertips. “Okay, that’s enough,” he says hurriedly, lest you release the entire hit. Obedient to a fault, you are, and damn him for where his mind wanders with that information. “Now, slowly—” he tips his chin, widening his eyes for emphasis, “slowly breathe it in. Take it nice and easy.”

You do as he says, and his shoulders nearly sag with relief when you do it successfully. “Okay, hold it for a few,” he coaxes, dropping his hands and absentmindedly plucking the joint from between his teeth, watching you closely for any signs of difficulty. When you remain placid, a proud grin spreads over his face, and as the seconds tick on, you grow mutually excited, your lips pressed tight and your eyes all lit up as you look back at him. Pretty, he thinks, and then again when you finally let the breath go and smile radiantly.

“I did it!” you exclaim, drumming your sleeved hands on your thighs excitedly as you giggle.

“You did,” Eddie replies, warm and fond at the sight of your happiness and the part he played in it. He takes another hit of his own— quicker but deeper than his first— and inclines his head once he’s released it, flashing his brows encouragingly at you. “You wanna try it again?”

“Definitely,” you say, tipping your face up and leaning in expectantly. Your scent washes over him, something fruity maybe, and Eddie has to try hard not to lean further forward and drag his tongue across your lips, to pry them open and see if the inside of your mouth tastes as sweet as you smell. 

For a good while, you and Eddie trade hits back and forth, one for you for every two of his until the whites of your eyes go pink and your body loosens, unraveling upon the picnic table. You end up in a deep lean against the tabletop, your head propped in your hand, your breast squished against the wooden edge in such a way that even in that fuzzy near-shapeless sweater, the sight tantalizes him. Eddie’s feeling as high as you look, mirroring your posture with his knees spread wide, engulfing your shorter thighs in a dark frame of denim. He’s high enough that he doesn’t have that typical discomfort pinching in his chest at the silence between you, doesn’t feel the need to fill it by talking about whatever shit pops into his head. He’s consumed instead with sensation— the breeze ruffling his frizzy curls, tickling him with broken strands along his hairline; the dull crunch of old, nearly-rotted leaves under his sneakers; the hollow thrum of his pulse in his ears and the flow of living blood through his veins, cycling with each slow, rhythmic throb of his heart. And as he looks across at you— sweet, soft, sensual you — Eddie finds that since the high has his nerves all alight, he wants to touch your skin again, see how it feels now under his sensitized fingers.

The weed-haze brings with it a certain fond, almost nostalgic influence. It’s one that breaks down barriers, creates closeness where there wasn’t any, or magnifies it where there was. Your bodies are certainly closer now, sagging inward toward one another as you laze in mutual drug-induced comfort. Eddie’s used to feeling that influence, but you’re not, so when he reaches out and runs his finger down the back of your hand, you let out a small gasp at the contact. Startled, he jerks his dipping chin upright, bloodshot eyes darting to your face. But he finds no upset there, only surprise and shy pleasure painted across your features. So he plucks your hand from your lap, tugging it gently over to him and letting it rest on his thigh so he can satisfy his fascination with the texture of your skin. Your fingers twitch a little as he laces them with his, slowly dragging his fingertips through the gaps and then down your palm to your wrist. When his thumb comes back up to trace the outside of yours, you nudge into his touch, relaxing into the sensation with a languid sigh.

“Does it feel nice? The high,” he clarifies when you blink at him, droopy-lidded and wearing your little ‘o’ face. He keeps tracing along the valley of your thumb, dipping down and then back up along your index finger, enjoying the tickle of your skin against his calluses.

“Mm-hmm.” You smile, your eyes dropping to your joined hands. “Feels really nice. Kinda floaty, like my head’s not as heavy anymore.”

Eddie crooks a smile, humming his agreement. Lax and pliant, you let him continue to play with your fingers, and he’s suddenly hit with a potent impulsive urge to bring your limp hand to his mouth and nibble your fingertips, lick the smooth polish of your painted nails, suck your pinkie into his mouth and tease your skin with his tongue to see what sound you’d make. He doesn’t do that. But he does let his fingers snake under the sleeve of your fuzzy sweater, let them creep along your forearm up to the crease of your inner elbow. He drags his thumb in slow circles there, crawling around and around until he finds what he’s looking for: a sign that you feel the same stirring in your belly that he feels, revealed by the slightest whisper of a moan his touch pulls from your lips.

Encouraged, Eddie’s hands travel then— tugging out of your sleeve to smooth up your arm and over the dip of your shoulder; palming your neck, dragging up to your ear to cup around the base of your skull; ghosting across your ribcage and down to your hip; then sneaking just beneath the pleats of your tiny skirt, flexing against the hidden skin there. All the while, that liquid heat sloshes around in his belly, spreading low between his hips, dripping down to tighten in his balls and fill out his stiffening cock.

He doesn’t know exactly how it happens, but eventually, you end up laid out on the rough wood bench, your legs dangling to either side of his head as he kneels before you, nosing at the tender skin of your inner thigh. Your sigh is a shuddery, eager thing when his teeth graze the lacy edge of your cotton panties, which to his delight are swallowed up a little by the plump of your pussy lips. “Can I take these off?” Eddie asks, forcedly casual and only slightly gritty as he tries to bite back his own rabid eagerness lest he scare you off with it. But you’re quick to say yes, so quick that it tells him you want this just as much as he does, and maybe even more, though he can scarcely believe that. 

The thought makes him cocky. He eases your panties down, deliberately slow to see if you’ll get impatient. Sure enough, you wiggle your hips, whining quietly to try to hurry him; the power your neediness gives him surges with his arousal as he feels just how damp the fabric is when he balls it in his fist. Hastily, he tucks your panties into his back pocket, his eyes locked on that sweet, swollen place between your legs. 

 "Aw, look’it her,” he croons, splaying his long fingers against your inner thighs to spread you more open for him. “Can't believe you been hiding her all this time under these little skirts you wear.” 

If you’re cute, your pussy is adorable— plump like a peach, wet and ripe and glistening as he presses into your slit with his thumbs and pulls your lips apart to see more of her. She yields easily for him, splitting with a sticky click to reveal your quivering hole and your fat clit already peeking coyly from its hood. “Oh, she's so pretty, baby,” Eddie praises, his mouth watering and his cock jerking in his tight jeans, stiffening further against his zipper. “And she’s so wet already. Bet I can make 'er spit for me." 

You coo, and he lifts his head to see you biting your lip through an eager grin. "Yeah? You excited for me to touch you?" Eddie chuckles, equally fond and condescending. "Aren’t you just a sweet little thing."

“R’you gonna eat my pussy, Eddie?” you ask, and the question is so dirty but your voice sounds so goddamn innocent that he can’t help but chuckle again, this time in disbelief. 

“Yeah, baby,” he rasps, palming himself quickly over his jeans to try to bring relief because his dick is suddenly so fucking hard it aches. “I’m gonna eat your pussy.”

#blueywrites #eddie munson fanfic #eddie munson x reader #eddie munson x you #eddie munson x y/n #eddie munson fic #eddie munson fanfiction #eddie munson smut #eddie munson imagine

[hyewka]

—what a loser! | c.bg

୨୧ synopsis. hearing rumours of your sex life travel around your campus for the first time has you standing in front of the very person that you’re convinced is responsible. your secret fuck buddy.

୨୧ warnings. stoner!gyu, bratty sub!beomgyu, mean femdom, humiliation kink, VERY public, hair pulling, hate sex kind of, cunnilingus, use of pet, fuck buddies, reader has a priest dad, bit of a toxic dynamic

“Why’re you here?” he mumbles casting his eyes down to his feet as he idly skates around, not paying you even a little bit of eye contact or actual acknowledgement.

“Can we talk somewhere else? More private?”

He ignores you.

You huff, rolling your eyes, adjusting the bag on your shoulder. The sun had already set, there were even less people out—no one was skating around at this hour but Beomgyu. “Why—" you take a breath, already feeling yourself get emotional and angry, “Why did you go around telling people about us?”

There’s a few reasons circling your head. Attention, bragging rights—attention was a big one but you hoped, no, a part of you believes it was an accident. That he let the information slip from his lips when he was drunk, or out of his right mind. But with the way he’s acting, it’s getting harder to hold on to the belief that Beomgyu was misunderstood and not just a fucking asshole.

Too much time goes by with silence and you think hes blatantly ignoring you again, but then he halts his skating, taking the time to run a hand through his hair. Hair that you’ve regretfully played with days on end, twirling strands around your finger, giggling as if the foundation you’ve built your relationship on wasn’t such a fragile fire that could be snuffed out in seconds if not the tiniest bit careful.

Look where you are now.

“Dunno, ‘cuz I can.”

His eyes are on you, bangs parted, looking straight at you. You can’t get it out of your mind, how the ends of his lips twitched up as he said that. Bitch. Fucking bitch.

He finds this amusing. A game. Your reputation was a game to him. Of course it is. He never took anything serious, not his career, not his relationships, not his future—he never cared.

Your nostrils flare as you stomp large strides towards him, charging and shoving his chest, having him stumble backwards off his board, dryly laughing. “The goody two shoes about to commit an assault?”

“Oh fuck off, you wouldn’t dare try suing me. God, I hate you so much. You’re such a—such a fucking loser!” you yell.

That wiped off the cocky demeanour.

“Here’s some two cents for you, I couldn’t give less of a fuck about whatever this is between us. I really couldn’t. But you—” your face gets heated up, pointing a finger at him. “You will never find anything better than what I gave you. And you’re going to live with that.”

He scoffs like he’s unbothered but it’s so clear with the way he clenches his jaw afterwards he’s pissed—it hit a spot. Good. Good, let him be hurt.

“What do you even—what did you gain by telling everybody my sex life? Having people call me a slut? Some sick pleasure from being superior to me for once? Attention? Huh? Why’re you acting out now?” Your eyes are narrowed as they implore answers out of him, searching his face and eyes, anything, anything that you can read from his unbearable silence.

“Yeah.”

You blink confused. “What?”

“Yeah, I wanted the attention. Happy now?” He walks to shoulder you but you let out a scoff, holding him back by his arm and pushing him in front of you again.

“You can’t for one second act like a man can you? You just run away from everything!” you feel like you could rip out your hair with how frustrating hes being.

“If you’re just going to stand there and insult me like a bitch I might as well just go and do something fucking productive.” he spits.

Your cheeks heat up and you think for the first time you understand the phrase of seeing red. Hes been poking and poking and poking with his nonchalance then later smugness then going onto just straight up disrespect—he was really pushing you. So he should’ve expected the hand that goes to strike him against his face—your chest rising up and down, brows furrowed deeply.

A faint red hand print blooms across his cheek, and his jaw falls slack, eyes blown out and wide. You suddenly grab him by the back of his hair, no doubt burning his scalp with the way he lets out a loud hiss. “I fucking hate you. I hate you. I hate you. I hate you.”

You’re so close to his face and everything about the way he’s looking at you gives you the chills. You hate him. You do. He’s insane, he’s selfish, he’s rude, he’s—

A shaky lopsided grin still manages to break from his face, “No you don’t.”

And that was your last straw.

The addictive nature about Beomgyu is what kept you coming back over and over again—he never lead, he just let you…take him. And sometimes, at a point of your life where you feel like everythings being controlled for you, not having the choice to make the decisions you like, this somewhat served as an outlet.

That’s the more…reasonable explanation.

The other explanation is simple. He’s so fucking sexy.

The way he still melts into a kiss so harsh and mean, attempting to cup your cheeks, but immedietely dropping it when he feels your disapporval, his whimpers already picking up, not taking any incentive to breathe as if this kiss was enough to keep him alive; it’s those little things that have you up in the middle of the night thinking about him. Him.

Beomgyu, the stereotypical bad-boy stoner hipster outcast—the antithesis of everything present in your picture perfect life—he keeps you up at night. The mix of weed and his hilariously bad attempt at covering it with febreeze and cologne wafts your scent, it overwhelms you, but you still can’t get enough. Everything annoying about him disappears when he’s touching you.

“Why? Why do you keep doing this?” you say, finally being able to pull away from him—only after you had jerked on his hair harsher.

His lips are swollen, red and glistening—he looks pretty like this. He really does. But those lips always end up saying something to piss you off. “Keep doing what? Letting everyone know how you really are? Not actually the good girl you pretend to be, huh.”

You don’t know if he’s goading you on purpose because he likes it rough, or if he’s just being an asshole in general. It doesn’t matter. If he’s going to act like a brat, he’ll get treated like one.

Your knuckles had turned white with how hard you were gripping his hair so it feels relieving when you finally let it go. He tries to lean in to chase after your lips again, but you have your hands on his chest to stop him.

The flash of panic in his eyes when you step back from him is hilarious, it really is. It tells you everything you need to know. He wants you. He really wants you. He doesn’t care if you hit him or ruin his life, he wants you.

If his next words are any indication. “Hey, hey what are you doing? Where are you going?”

You walk to sit on a step of the stairs. “Do you think I’m a slut? Is that why you thought you had the audacity? Surely because otherwise if you respected me you wouldn’t have spread those rumors about me.”

He huffs out a laugh, the biggest reaction you’ve gotten out of him so far. He also walks to get closer to you. “What the fuck is wrong with you? You haven’t even come up with one single reason that would paint me in a better light. You really do see me as a fucking douchebag loser.” He’s clearly getting emotional with the way his voice gets higher pitched, the nonchalant front cracking, his lips slightly trembling.

“Because that’s what you are. Douchebag. Loser. You’re. A. Loser. Choi Beomgyu.”

You can see his fists clench at his sides, tight lipped. If you knew any better, you think he might’ve just started crying, but you’re not interested in tears. You angle your feet to point to the ground, “On your knees.”

He only hesitates for a second, he only stands there staring at you for a second, only a second before he crumbles and does as you say, getting on his knees in front of you, between your legs. “Closer.”

“But-"

“But what?” Your skirts already half way ridden up and you stare him down, keeping your eye contact intense.

“We’re in p-public. Anyone can see.”

You know hes blushing when you see the tips of his ears peek out, bright red. Aw, he’s nervous? Embarrassed? Shy?

“You’re never seeing me after this Choi. Make of it what you can or piss off.”

His eyes widen comically at that. “What? What does that mean? Are you leaving me?”

You can’t decipher or understand why exactly hes so surprised but you shake it off, you don’t want your good time to be spoiled. Not when your underwears’ already sticking to your pussy seeing him on his knees, on the ground, with his ripped baggy jeans, no doubt a pavement burn getting to him. “Are you going to eat me out or should I get up and leave?”

He shakes his head vehemently, hands on your knees spreading your legs. “Sorry, ‘m sorry. Don’t leave. Gonna make you feel good, promise.”

He’s already rambling like he’s dumbed out, like he’s about to be a goner. But he’s still hesitant in his actions and you groan, throwing your head back. “What the fuck Beomgyu?”

A pout rests on his lips, “I—…I don’t want anyone seeing you..”

You think he’s giving a fuck for your decency, you think its about you for once. But then another thought pops up in your head and your lips twitch. It’s not for you. It’s for him. He doesn’t want any possible pedestrian to see what only him so far has been able to see.

This isn’t worth it.

You make an attempt to get up before Beomgyu immediately has you sit back down, wasting no time to press his face between your legs, skirt over his head. His tongue pokes out to lick on over your panties, gradually wetting it and you sigh, the tenseness of your body evaporating. “Yeah, thats it. Be good for me pup.” He whines at that.

Beomgyu doesn’t tease any longer the moment your hands go to grab his hair because suddenly he bunches your panties to the side and you feel the contact of his hot tongue on your cunt, already lapping away like a dog. Dumb dog. Dumb dog. Dumb dumb dumb—but shit he’s having you curl your toes at the speed he’s going, the way he moans against your pussy like hes somehow enjoying eating you out more than you are.

“You’re my toy, nothing else. But you just keep—you keep irritating me, you keep being a dick, you keep provoking me.” you breathe out, tightening your fistful of his hair in your hand, making his moans even louder, nuzzling closer in your pussy you think he might genuinely suffocate at this point. But knowing him, he’d probably like that. “God, you absolute loser.”

He whines something intelligible, wet eyes looking up at you with his brows pulling up—it makes you gasp as you bite down on your bottom lip. He’s so pretty it’s unfair. Why’s such a sinful person so pretty? God must really have the time of his life making this hell for you.

You take it upon yourself to lift yourself a bit, grinding on his face harder, trying to reach your high, obstructing your view of his face—even with the anxiety of doing this so out in the open resting at the pit of your stomach. He’s practically mewling in your pussy, and the sounds send vibrations, his nose bumping up your clit every now and then. He lets you use him, he just lets you.

When Beomgyu fully submits like this to you…you see stars, you come hard. “More…more”, he groans, licking up your arousal. It’s so dirty, it really is, but you can’t help but nod.

Having the skater eat you out till your legs were jelly at a skatepark late at night would surely guarantee your place in hell.

“You’re such a whore, letting me fuck your face like this baby—don’t soil your pants yet, I know how you get. Probably getting off at the fact that we’re out l-like this…h-hah—dirty, dirty boy.”

He shakes his head, the glistening sweat of his forehead and the matted strands on his temple proof of how hard hes really going at it. “Not dirty. Just wan’ your attention..”

The second you tut at him for stopping he immedietely dives back in—you don’t know if it’s more him being afraid of a punishmet or because he himself doesn’t want to stop. Never mind that, because now hes wrapping his pretty lips around your clit and you’re fucking losing your mind with how quick your head clouds.

There are so many things circling your head right now. And this always happens whenever he starts talking during a hook up. Yes, it helps you get to an edge even faster but its for all the wrong reasons. He’d dirty talk for a bit before switching up, and suddenly all of his words are loving and cute and adorable and, and that’s bad. When you see him other than the image he’s curated for himself—that’s when you start feeling the unfamiliar butterflies fluttering.

You don’t like it. He’s not good for you.

“Stop thinking, only focus on me.” You gasp, your fingers digging into his tangled hair, disheveling it even more. Only him.

He makes you orgasm again, and when you catch your breath you gently push his head away, then harder when he can’t seem to stop kissing your inner thighs. He sighs, dropping it, but not without giving you one last puppy plea. You avoid his eyes, pulling your panties up and scoping around the area, all of a sudden feeling exposed. Did you really just let this punk eat you out on a staircase?

You stand up, dusting your ass, taking note of the redness of his knees and the large wet patch in between his crotch when Beomgyu follows, getting up from his knees, wiping his ridiculously wet lips. You tuck a strand behind your ear as you awkwardly stand, thinking over what you’re going to say now.

We’re over, bye.

I’ll go home now, don’t call me.

I hope you know how bad you messed up. Bye.

I’m blocking you on everything so don’t even think of contacting me.

“Don’t leave me.”

…That has you snap out of your reverie.

His voice is low, no doubt vulnerable. This is the worst. This is bad. Shit.

You clear your throat. “Why? Why shouldn’t I? Even if I didn’t want to I’d have to…my dad knows about you now because of the little stunt you pulled and he definitely doesn’t approve of you.” You mumble the last part, crossing your arms and keeping your distance. But that’s not of any use when he steps forward every time you take a step back.

“I’m—” He runs a hand through his hair again, clearly frustrated. And you don’t understand why, does he really operate life thinking there aren’t consequences to his actions? If he didn’t want to stop this so bad why’d he tell people about your relationship when you explicitly told him not to? “We can—we can do it in secret like we did this entire time. He doesn’t have to know.”

You sigh, also frankly frustrated. “Beomgyu! Why can’t you just-"

Suddenly you’re in his embrace, engulfing you so gently and yet the desperation in it couldn’t have been any more tighter. “Please, please don’t leave me. I’m sorry. I’ll—I’ll really do everything you want, I’ll be your toy, your pet, whatever shit you’re into—just don’t leave me."

You really shouldn’t give in. You really, really shouldn’t.

But then he nuzzles into your neck, mumbling with that slight whiny drawl in his tone, “I’ll be your good boy, I promise. Won’t misbehave anymore.”

Of course you give in. Again.

୨୧ note. honestly don’t know where this came from, i was just making up backstory as i was writing. literally only had one thought and one thought only, what if sub!bad boy x dom! good girl? and that was the small attempt made here lol, i love hearing any feedback or even a theory or two concerning the story’s world as i might explore these characters again 🙏

#txt smut #beomgyu smut #txt hard hours #txt hard thoughts #sub!idol #beomgyu hard thoughts #beomgyu x reader #txt x reader

[bisexualchaosdemon]

So, I was thinking about how Andrew was in the car with Tilda when he wrecked it and how he could have gotten hurt and I just– Can you imagine if Andrew went deaf in one ear or something?

Like, he for sure wouldn't say anything about it. Aaron hates his guts, and he barely knows Nicky. Why would he bother telling either of them? He probably figures it could be temporary at first, but when he starts to think it might be permanent, he still says nothing about it. It's not like they would care, right?

So he would say nothing. People just think he's this asshole that ignores people (and, sure, sometimes he is ignoring them because people be fucking annoying) but half the time he just legitimately doesn't hear them. None of the Foxes notice. The staff don't either, since Andrew always keeps his hearing ear towards them. It causes issues, sure, but it's not like anyone would be able to fix it, so Andrew still stays quiet. But Neil figures it out.

It takes him a while, but he eventually notices that Andrew always sits on a certain side or has to turn to face Neil when he hasn't quite managed to pick up what he said. He starts watching and realises that he does it with the others too, and he's much more likely to completely ignore someone speaking to his left.

One day, when the monsters are hanging out, Neil finally decides to ask:

Neil decided to speak up during a lull in a conversation that Andrew was totally zoned out of. "Drew?"

"Hmm?" It's subtle, but Andrew definitely turned his right side slightly more towards Neil.

"Can you not hear out of your left ear?" Neil asked, and Andrew just blinked at him for a moment.

"Neil, what are you talking about?" Kevin shot him a confused look.

"I'm deaf in my left ear." Andrew said to answer them both.

"What??" Nicky looked startled. "Since when?"

Andrew considered that for a moment. "Since about a week before we met."

"Hold up," Aaron held up a hand. "Are you telling us you have been deaf in one ear since the crash?"

"Yes."

"And you didn't think to maybe say something about it?!"

Andrew shrugged. "I didn't think you would care." It wasn't a jab, it was just the truth.

"Andrew–" Nicky splittered a little. "Of course we care!"

"Telling you doesn't really make a difference." Andrew said, glossing over his own surprise at how much his family seemed to genuinely care about him. "The hearing loss doesn't just go away because you know about it."

"No," Neil agreed. "But there are things we can do to help."

And they do. They all make small adjustments, simple things that make Andrew's life easier. He and Neil even learn ASL together. It increases the amount Andrew calls them all annoying ten-fold, but he secretly appreciates it.

#aftg #all for the game #andrew minyard #neil josten #andreil #twinyards

[xdjville]

nct dream's voicemails

pairing: nct dream x gn!reader

genre: really all of them are different genres so idk buckle up; angst, established relationship (mark); comfort, established relationship (renjun); friends who have a thing going on and the dreamies are menaces (jeno); classmates, acquaintances but you're kinda cute (haechan); sick reader, fluff, established relationship (jaemin); basketball player and his "friend", bonus: he's drunk (chenle); idol x non idol, established relationship, kind of angsty if you squint but not really (jisung)

cw: cursing in mark's and jeno's, chenle's under the influence and he calls reader "pretty"

#mark

"i'm sorry. look, i... i know you probably don't want to talk to me right now, i get it. i shouldn't have said any of that and i'm so fucking sorry. i hate what i did and i have no excuse for being an asshole to you, but it's been almost two hours since you left and honestly i'm so worried i'm losing my mind. you don't have to come back yet, or call me back if you don't want to, but please, for the love of god, just let me know you're somewhere safe. shit, i'm so, so sorry. let's talk when you're ready, okay? i'll sleep on the couch tonight, so if you come back you can take the bedroom. i'm sorry. i love you."

#renjun

"hi, y/n. i'm sorry for calling so late, but, uh, i wanted to check up on you, you seemed a bit off today. maybe i'm imagining things, i don't know, but i couldn't stop thinking about it so i still wanted to ask. you don't have to tell me now, we can talk about it whenever you're comfortable, or not at all if you don't want to. just know i'm here for you, okay? it's normal to have worse days, so i'll try not to worry too much. i hope you'll feel better when you wake up in the morning. call me tomorrow, hm? we can go to that new ice cream place you told me about. sleep well, love you."

#jeno

"jesus, can you guys shut the fuck up– hey, uh, sorry for that, it's jeno. um, i'm calling because we're going to get some drinks at the bar down the street later tonight, and i– we were wondering if you maybe wanna tag along? we thought it could be fun hanging out outside of class since the semester is almost over. it's fine if you're busy though, no pressure. we're going out around, uh, nine, i think? so if you're up, call me back and i'll give you the details, yeah? alright, that's all, talk to you later. seriously, you guys are such fucking–"

#haechan

"uhm... hi, it's donghyuck. you probably didn't pick up since you don't have my number, but, uh, i called tell you that you left your sunglasses at the library yesterday. i asked mark for your number because we won't see each other untill chem next week and i thought you might need them, so... if you'd like to get them back just let me know? we could meet at the library again, or at get a coffee... or something. or i can give them to you in chem. whatever works for you! i don't mind either. just, uh, just let me know, okay? bye."

#jaemin

"hi, baby. how are you holding up? you must be sleeping, that's good. you need a lot of rest, hm? i hope by the time you're listening to this you will be feeling a little better. did your fever go down yet? there's food from my mom that i left in your fridge, you should eat that, i'm sure it's going to set you up. remember to stay hydrated too, yeah? i'll drop by with some groceries tonight, so let me know if you want anything specific. now rest well, love, i'll see you later."

#chenle

"y/n... you told me to call you when i get home, so why didn't... why aren't you pickin' up? well i– i'm home now, and, uh... renjun drove me there, so don't worry. anyways... i wanted t'say thank you, for coming to the game today. i honestly think we won only because you were there. you looked like... really, really... pretty. like... super pretty. when you, uh, hugged me after the match, i almost kissed you, you know? you're like my lucky charm... yeah, my lucky charm. i wanted to kiss you really bad. i wish you were here now so i could kiss you. can you come over tomorrow? mhm, 'm gonna go to bed now. bye, y/n–"

#jisung

"hey, how are you doing? it must be the middle of the night for you, you're probably asleep. i hope i didn't wake you up, i'm sorry if i did... i called you because i wanted to hear your voice. i, uh... i miss you, a lot. we had a day to ourselves to explore a bit, it was fun! it really was. but the whole time i couldn't stop thinking about how much more fun it would be with you there. i didn't want to kill the mood for the others, but i couldn't help missing you more today. did you miss me more, too? maybe it's like a soulmate thing... god, i sound so cheesy right now. anyways, the guys said they miss you too. chenle said we should all get hotpot together when we're done with the tour. sounds nice, right? oh, this voicemail is getting long... let's talk when you wake up, i'll call you after the concert. i lo– i miss you. sleep tight."

#taglist ➼♡ @bambisnc @suzayaaa

©xdjville

#nct imagines #nct reactions #kpop imagines #kpop reactions #kpop scenarios #nct fluff #nct angst #nct fanfic #nct x reader #nct dream x reader #nct dream imagines #nct dream reactions #nct dream #nct #kpop fluff #kpop angst