#I know I said I don’t wanna get political on this blog but like

[bonewreath]

𝐬𝐦𝐨𝐤𝐞 𝐦𝐞 𝐨𝐮𝐭 | 𝐞𝐥𝐥𝐢𝐞 𝐰𝐢𝐥𝐥𝐢𝐚𝐦𝐬 𝐱 𝐫𝐞𝐚𝐝𝐞𝐫

description: you’ve been getting closer to ellie lately and, unbeknownst to you, your blossoming crush is entirely reciprocated. cue your first smoke sesh together… and a little something more, too. [modern au, ellie and reader are both over 18]

warnings: weed use, oral sex, fingering. this fic is 18+, minors do not interact.

author’s note: my first ellie fic and my first fic on this blog! pls be nice :) let me know what you think <3

The first few times you hung out with Ellie, she’d offered you a joint. It’s no secret that Ellie’s the town’s top dealer, a welcome sight at rowdy house parties, her backpack stuffed with ziplock bags of the best bud around. You’d tried weed before, had taken a puff or two from poorly-rolled blunts here and there, but you’d never particularly enjoyed it. Mostly, you’d just coughed up a lung and felt nothing but a vague lightheadedness. So when Ellie rolled up a joint the first time you’d come over to her place, offering you a drag after she’d sparked up, you’d politely declined.

Ellie had arched a brow. “You mind if I smoke? Shit - I can put it out.”

Before you’d had the chance to respond, she was already reaching for the ashtray on her nightstand, ceramic and painted to resemble an eight-ball.

“No, no, it’s fine,” you interjected, reaching out and touching her wrist almost involuntarily. You pushed down the flurry of butterflies that erupted in your stomach at the contact. God, you had to be touch-starved or something. Since when did touching someone’s arm make your heart skip a beat?

Ellie looked at you with a guarded kind of suspicion, like she didn’t believe that you were fine with her smoking. “You’re sure?”

“I’m sure,” you said, lips curling into an encouraging smile. “I don’t mind weed, it just doesn’t do anything for me.”

“Huh.” Ellie nodded. She lifted the joint to her lips again and you glanced away, chest tightening from the sight of her lips pursing.

“If you ever wanna try again,” she paused to exhale a plume of smoke, intentionally avoiding your direction, “let me know. Not to, like, toot my own horn or anything, but I’ve never had someone try my weed and not like it.”

You let out an easy laugh. “Okay, we’ll have to see about that.”

Ellie was smiling at you, those green eyes twinkling like so many stars. “No pressure.”

That was months ago, when the summer heat still blazed from sunrise to sunset. It’s mid-winter now, the chill nipping at your cheeks and the end of your nose. To your agony, it hasn’t gotten any easier to breathe when you touch Ellie - when she greets you with a hug and a smile at her front door, you feel like you’re paralyzed with want. And Ellie’s probably none the wiser, of course. You wonder if she’s ever noticed the way your breath hitches when she stretches out on the couch beside you, leaning her head on your shoulder while some tacky eighties film lights up the television screen. You figure she’s oblivious - she’s just being friendly. She probably doesn’t even know you like girls, anyway. Plus, she doesn’t shy away from talking about the girls she’s been with before. You’ve spent more than a few nights seething with jealousy as she recounted her latest hookup, schooling your expression into one of disinterest or even mild enthusiasm.

It’s been a while since she’s talked like that, luckily. You’re grateful you don’t have to feign excitement about Ellie’s latest conquests anymore.

“Whatcha thinkin’ about?” Ellie interrupts your internal monologue, hands still working at the joint in her lap. She’s got a pile of ground-up weed on a rolling tray, sprinkling it into the perfectly-rolled cone like it’s muscle memory. It probably is.

“Nothing,” you blurt, cheeks warming. “Sorry, just zoned out for a second.”

“Oh, bullshit,” Ellie quips, rolling her eyes despite the smile playing at her lips. “What, you can’t tell me? I thought we were friends, cherry.��

You flush anew at the nickname. She’d picked it out for you after you’d scarfed down an entire jar of maraschino cherries one night, after Ellie had bought them for ice cream sundaes. You’d never live that down… But you’re not sure you want to, because every time the nickname leaves Ellie’s lips, you feel like you’re glowing bright red with admiration.

“We are friends!” You nudge Ellie’s shoulder with yours, rolling your eyes with that same playfulness she’d expressed. “Sorry, it’s just - it’s embarrassing.”

Ellie narrows her eyes. It’s like you can see the cogs turning in her head. “Embarrassing? What, you got a crush on some guy or something?”

You open your mouth to respond, but before you can, she’s prattling on again. “Y’know, just ‘cause I’m gay doesn’t mean you can’t talk to me about your crushes. Swear I won’t be weird about it.”

Oh god.

“It’s not - I’m not…” You sigh, gaze lowering to your lap, where you’re fiddling with your hands. Should you tell her? You should probably tell her.

“I like girls, you know.”

It’s quiet for so long that you need to look up at Ellie to make sure she’s still there, still listening. And she is; her eyes are glued to you, wide in disbelief.

“What?” You feel like a bug under a microscope with her looking at you like that. “Is it that hard to believe?”

Ellie shakes her head emphatically. “No, no - it’s not. I just didn’t expect that.”

She turns away to finish rolling the joint, twisting the very end of the paper until it forms a little point. “Guess you’re just full of surprises, huh, cherry?”

You bite your lip to stifle a smile, but Ellie sees it anyway.

“So who’s the lucky girl?” She asks, rummaging through her pocket until she finds her lighter. You watch Ellie spark the joint, the twisted end catching fire until the cherry starts to glow. Ellie takes a few puffs and the scent of smoke tickles your nose.

“I’d prefer not to say,” you tell her, chewing on the inside of your lip. Your nerves are off the wall; you’re so anxious that the joint in Ellie’s slender fingers is suddenly tempting.

Ellie scoffs. “Boring.”

She looks up at you as she flicks ash off the end of the joint, and when she notices you eyeing it, her brows lift.

“Want some? Will that make you spill?”

You huff a nervous laugh, toying with the ends of your hair. “No… I don’t know. Maybe?”

Ellie whoops, her free hand curling into a fist of victory. “Fuck yeah. Here, take it.”

She offers you the joint and you take it, but not without a moment or two of hesitation. You will the anxiety away with the thought that you probably won’t feel anything. Ellie watches as you bring the joint to your lips and inhale, praying you won’t cough and make a fool of yourself. Especially not with Ellie watching so intently.

By the grace of some kind of divine being, you don’t cough. Your throat tickles, and you feel emboldened to take one more hit, letting the smoke fill your lungs. You imagine your body relaxing, the knot in your stomach unwinding. You hand the joint back to Ellie and she takes a puff of her own, her lips curled into the faintest little smirk.

“So…” Ellie trails off expectantly.

“God, you’re persistent,” you groan. She just peers at you knowingly from behind a veil of smoke.

“There’s not much to tell,” you say. “I’ve had a crush on this girl for a while now, but I don’t think she feels the same.”

“Have you asked her?” Ellie prompts, flicking ash off the joint.

You shake your head. “No way.”

“Then,” Ellie pauses to take another hit, “how do you know she doesn’t feel the same?”

You should be feeling anxious with her drilling you like this - you know you should. Usually, you’d be retreating into yourself with every prodding question Ellie asks. But all you feel now is yearning; there’s an ache in your chest that only she can remedy. And, clearly, Ellie’s clueless about it.

You don’t want her to be clueless, you realize.

The words leave your lips before you can think better of them. “Do you, Ellie?”

Her brows knit together, forming a crease that you’ve memorized by now - like every other freckle and wrinkle on her face. “Huh? Do I what?”

You reach for the joint and she yields it without question.

“Do you feel the same about me?”

The weed has certainly helped with your nerves, you think, watching Ellie’s expression shift from confusion to realization. Her plush lips part, but all that comes out is a series of stammers and false sentence starts: “I—you—what?”

Fuck it, you think. You stretch out to reach the nightstand beside Ellie’s bed, leaving the joint in one of the ashtray’s notches. A steady stream of smoke ribbons upward from the fading cherry.

“Ellie,” you start, settling back into your place on the rug. You look at her to find her already staring at you, blinking. “It’s you. I have a crush on you. It’s been—”

“Why didn’t you tell me?” Ellie interjects, voice softer than you’d expected.

You blink. “I didn’t want to ruin our friendship, I guess. And you always talked about other girls, so I thought you just… Weren’t interested.”

“Cherry.” Ellie sits up on her knees so she can get closer to you, the sleeves of her oversized flannel slipping down to her forearms as she reaches out and grabs your face. Her touch is gentle but firm, insistent. You can feel the callouses on her fingers against your skin, her thumbs brushing up against your cheekbones, and the air is suddenly so thin you can hardly inhale.

“I have… I’ve had feelings for you for so long. So fucking long, cherry.” Ellie’s gaze is intense, eyes boring into you. You feel exposed, raw, alive with something electric.

You stare right back at her, frozen in her grasp.

“But you were always talking about other girls,” you say. Doubt lingers in the back of your head; this is too good to be true. Right?

“I know, fuck, I’m sorry,” Ellie sighs. “I thought you weren’t interested in me. Thought it was hopeless, y’know? My perfect best friend having feelings for me? Unreal.”

One of Ellie’s hands smooths over your hair; it’s something she’s done plenty of times before, but it feels different now. More intimate, with your shared confessions between you.

“Wanna know something?” Ellie asks then plows on, not really waiting for an answer, “I stopped hooking up with other girls a while ago. I just… Couldn’t.”

You nod in understanding. Your eyelids feel heavy all of the sudden, each blink heavier than the last.

“They weren’t you,” Ellie adds.

They weren’t you, her words echo in your mind.

“Ellie,” you breathe. Her face is impossibly close; you can pick out every detail of her face. Each pore, each freckle, each fleck of brown in her green eyes. You can smell the weed smoke on her breath.

“Cherry,” she responds, voice hushed just as low as yours. “Cherry. Can I kiss you?”

“God, yes,” you practically whine.

When Ellie kisses you for the first time, she tastes like relief.

Her lips are soft and insistent against yours, the pad of her thumb warm against your cheek as you lean in closer to kiss her back. It’s like time has gone still; the hum of the speaker on Ellie’s dresser fades away, as does the sound of the winter winds hissing and whooshing against the window. All you know is Ellie: her hand slipping down the length of your back to grab your hip, her mouth hot and needy against yours. It’s a desperate sort of kiss, one that you’d both been yearning for, and months of pining drain from your mouth to hers, then back again.

You’re not sure if you’d been kissing for seconds or hours when Ellie finally breaks away, gasping.

“Fuck,” she whispers. The tip of her nose brushes against your cheek, then your nose. “We should stop, before I…”

She trails off but you know exactly what she’d left unsaid. And your stomach flips in response; the mere thought of what else Ellie might do with her mouth has your cunt throbbing.

Ellie’s hand leaves your hip and it’s like she’s left a burn there - one shaped like her touch, a scathing outline on your skin.

“I don’t want to stop,” you find the courage to admit.

You’re not sure who makes the first move this time - only that you’re kissing again, swallowing Ellie’s pleased moans as your tongue prods between her lips. You gasp and pant into each other’s mouths, hands roaming on newly discovered skin; Ellie’s hands slip beneath your tee, her palms hot against your abdomen, your hips, your lower back. When her fingers find the clasp of your bra and unfasten it, you practically shiver with anticipation, back arching into her touch.

“Whoa there,” Ellie laughs, nudging her nose against yours. You go in for another kiss, annoyed that she’d stopped, but she pulls back. “You’re sure you want this, cherry?”

“Please,” you say, taking advantage of the moment to pull your shirt over your head and set it aside. You toss your bra into the growing pile, turning back to Ellie to find her gaping at you.

“Christ,” she says, licking her lips, “you’re fucking perfect.”

She gives you one last heated kiss before her mouth moves to your jawline, then the column of your neck, where she leaves a trail of wet kisses. She sucks on a spot right on the crook of your neck, just shy of leaving a hickey, and your toes fucking curl.

Ellie only gives a low hum of approval at your reaction before she’s moving lower, lower. Her kisses cover your breasts, every inch of skin worshipped by her lips until she finally takes a peaked nipple into her mouth. You feel her tongue swirl against the sensitive bud and you nearly cry from the pleasure, one hand flying up to knot into her hair and tug.

Her gaze moves up to meet yours, and your cunt tightens again at the look of unbridled desire in her eyes - her lids are heavy, too, but you can’t tell if it’s from the weed or sheer lust. Maybe both, you’re not sure, but you don’t have much time to consider it before Ellie’s moving to your other nipple, tongue laving against the taut flesh before she closes her mouth around it and sucks. A ragged moan tears from your throat and you tense, tugging again at the locks of Ellie’s hair in your fist.

She leaves your nipples flushed and sensitive, shining with saliva, and you’re suddenly very aware of the layers of clothes separating you from her. Separating the wetness of your cunt from hers, the bony curve of her hips from your needy mouth. You need those layers gone.

“Ellie,” you whine, pulling at the collar of her flannel.

“Shh, I know,” she coos, voice dripping with syrupy sweet lust. “Why don’t you get on the bed for me, hm?”

You nod and oblige, but not without stopping to slip out of your jeans. You leave your panties on because, well, they’re cute. A white lace thong with a tiny, silky pink bow just below your navel - Ellie’s eyes linger there as she stands at the edge of the bed, unbuckling her belt and stepping out of her cargos. You can feel the wet patch on your panties as you press your thighs together and watch her undress. She’s always been on the thinner side, but as she slides off her flannel and pulls her sports bra over her head, you realize that she’s much more toned than you’d imagined. Her arms flex with each movement and her abdomen is clearly taut with muscle; every inch of new skin she reveals only adds to the agonizing desire churning in your stomach.

Luckily, she seems just as eager as you are. She’s still in a pair of oversized plaid boxers when she grabs hold of your hips and yanks you toward the edge of the bed, pulling your knees apart so she can see what’s between them.

“Look at you,” she says, eyes wide at the sight of your soaked panties. “I didn’t realize you were so needy, cherry. Should’ve let me take care of you sooner.”

Her words send another gush of arousal flooding from your cunt, your stomach twisting. “‘M sorry, Ellie.”

“Don’t be sorry,” she says, lowering herself onto her knees before you. Her fingers hook beneath the lace of your panties to pull them down, leaving them in a crumpled heap on the rug.

Her face sinks between your legs, and the first stroke of her tongue against your folds makes you shiver with relief.

“Oh my god,” you gasp. Ellie moans against your pussy, tongue splitting through your folds, spreading your wetness with every swipe and lick. Your back arches involuntarily, your toes curling in sheer pleasure.

She laps at your cunt like a woman starving, hot tongue drawing circles around your puffy clit. It’s maddening, the way she knows exactly what you need, speeding up and slowing down in accordance with your moans and sighs and whimpers. You’ve never felt so close so quickly, but you don’t want it to stop - her mouth is magic between your legs, and as you hurtle towards your orgasm, she slips a finger into your clenching hole. You nearly scream.

“Ellie,” you moan shakily, your thighs tightening on both sides of her head. “Ellie, I’m gonna…”

She just moans again, mouth working at your clit while her finger sinks in and out of your cunt. She adds another not long after and it’s hardly a stretch with how wet you are. You’re trembling with every stroke of her tongue against your clit, and soon enough, you feel yourself slipping off the edge into oblivion. Your orgasm tears through you like never before, hot and electric, every muscle tensing as Ellie finger-fucks you through every wave of pleasure. Eventually, you push the heel of your hand against her forehead, too overstimulated for her to keep sucking at your too-sensitive clit. She pulls back and sits on her heels, fingers leaving the tight grip of your cunt as she wipes her mouth with her other hand. Your slick covers her from the nose down, the shining evidence of how good she’d made you feel.

“So fucking pretty when you come,” Ellie tells you, standing up and lifting a knee onto the bed beside you. Her hair is a mess, you’d made sure of it, but she doesn’t seem to notice or care.

“Think you’ve got a few more for me?” She smiles at you, wolfish and wicked, and her hand moves to grope at one of your tits.

“Mm,” you hum, reaching out for her. “Only if you have a few for me.”

When she’s close enough, you slip your hand between Ellie’s legs, your fingers brushing through sparse curls to find the heat of her folds. She’s soaked, you realize with self-satisfaction, your tongue swiping over your lower lip.

This will be fun.

#ellie williams x reader #wooo first fic! #ellie x reader #ellie williams fanfic #ellie williams fanfiction #ellie williams x y/n #ellie williams x you #ellie williams smut #ellie williams fluff #tlou fic #tlou fanfic #tlou fanfiction #tlou2 #ellie tlou #ellie tlou2 #lesbian fic #! #ellie fanfic #ellie x fem reader #kira writes

[aesthetic-bbyg]

HEY EMO BOY - Bill K.

In which you dedicate your performance to your celebrity crush, but he doesn’t know until the press gets ahold of it.

Bill Kaulitz x fem!reader

AUTHORS NOTE: this idea may be floating somewhere on somebody else’s blog but this I just came up myself so I’m not trying to copy nobody! I also had to change some of the lyrics for the sake of the story! Thx bbyg’s <33

Pt 2!

YOU LET OUT A HEAVY BREATH, finishing up the song, you reached down for the bottle of water by your feet, chugging the last of it. The concert has reached it’s final song, and you’ve got an idea that you’ve been planning for weeks. The crowd is still booming with shrieks, practically making the whole place rumbled. A grin appeared on your lips as you walked over to the microphone.

“Can you guys keep a secret?” You questioned as the crowd yelled in return, you giggled and a felt an overwhelming feeling of joy fill your body. “Well, I have a huge crush on this guy who totally doesn’t know I exist.” A string of boos followed after. “You guys may know him, he’s German, he’s the lead singer of a band, I believe he has a twin brother.” Within moments the crowd began to screamed, realizing who it was, there weren’t many German lead singers who have a twin brother, well..not that you knew of. You had a proud smirk on you face, bitting your lip to contain more nervous giggles from slipping out. “I think he suuper hot, so I decided to make a song about him, you guys ready?”

“Yeah!” At the sound of their approval the song immediately began to sound through the massive speakers scattered through the stage. You gripped the bedazzled microphone in your neatly manicured hands, the lights flickered with pretty pink colors, radiating your signature color as it reflected off your diamond studded belt. You couldn’t contain the large smile as you lifted the mic to your mouth.

“Saw this boy at the mall last week, got the kinda look to me me freak!” You skipped around the stage, your denim mini shorts riding farther up your thighs then it already was. “That long ass hair with the tightest jeans, my chemical romance on his tee.” You ran a smooth hand down your body, exaggerating your attraction towards him. “He looked so sick like he was dying, if I said he wasn’t hot then I’d be lying. Please, handsome, don’t be coy. Come on fuck me emo boy!”

The repetition of the lyrics echoed throughout the large stadium, it was actually hilarious how such a large crowd of people jumped and shouted come on fuck me emo boy, over and over again. You giggled, raising the microphone back to your lips, “This boy just unlike the rest, one look and I bitch I loose my breath. Wanna fuck in the back of the hot topic? Lift me up and then I drop it. He’s with his band, goin on tour. Should I go? Well, bitch, for sure!” Your favorite was coming up, it was a little explicit but what would be the fun if it wasn’t? “He might not look he gets bitches but honey that dick is eleven inches.”

With your pearly teeth out, your lips stretched into large smile you bounced around the stage, hearing the the beat blast into your ear drum. A collection of things were thrown onto the stage, it was a common reoccurrence during all your concerts. People would launched flowers, letters, bras, sunglasses, and far to many things that just piled up on the floor until you finished your set list and had all the gifts delivered to your dressing room. You admired your fans, the way their wristbands glowed in the dark night, the creative posters that were raised above their heads, it was hard to grasp onto it sometimes but the feeling never failed to make you proud.

“Hey, hey, hey emo boy!” The song had concluded, though the fans were far from quiet, you gave them a polite bow as the crew behind you began to pack up all the instruments. You were stuck in your spot, waving to all the giddy people who nearly broke down the barricade in excitement. “Thank you! Hugs and kisses to all of you who made it here tonight, I love you guys!” Your feet began to move towards the backstage, a part of you absolutely devastated that the show ended, but also relieved to get some rest. Although, before you could fully leave you jogged back over to the microphone. “And make sure to keep the song a secret from the emo hottie.” With that, you walked towards your assistant, Teresa, who held a bottle of water ready for you.

“You looked amazing, baby!” The dark haired girl giggled as you took the cool liquid and let it run down your sore throat.

“Thank you, I felt amazing!” You smiled, “Was the song good? It wasn’t too much, was it?”

“Absolutely not, the song was great, and I’m proud that you finally got around to preforming it.” Your assistant grinned, “It’ll definitely get his attention.”

“Yeah, well, that’s the goal.” You mumbled, looking over at your dressing room, ready to go in and remove all the makeup and heavy accessories you had on till you noticed that your name tag was gone from the front door. “Hey, what happened to my name tag?”

Teresa looked over, “Oh, they’re replacing it because Tokio Hotel is preforming here tomorrow.”

“What!” You nearly chocked on your water, eyes practically bulging out of your face as you stared back at your assistant. “Why didn’t you tell me that they were literally preforming here the day after me?”

“To be fair I didn’t know until they started moving stuff around.” Right as the words left her mouth a random man came over and slipped in a paper to the plastic cover on the front door. It wasn’t a mistake, the bold letter stated back at you: TOKIO HOTEL

“Well, I’m most definitely fucked.”

“BILL!” TOM PRACTICALLY ran across the tour bus, holding his baggy pants up in one hand while the other held a laptop. His twin sat on the couch, munching on a pack of sour candy. “Bill, you have to look at this!”

Bill stared at his brother with furrowed brows, wondering what has gotten him so giddy and grinning like a child. That was until the laptop was shoved in his face, some random article pulled up with some dramatized title that he didn’t even want to read. “What is this?”

“Read it!”

POP STAR, Y/N L/N WRITES EXPLICIT SONG TO GERMAN LEAD SINGER, BILL KAULITZ; COULD THIS BE THE START OF A NEW ROMANCE?

Bill’s fingers slid on the mouse pad, scrolling the through the article as his eyes quickly scanned the words in front of him. “This surely isn’t about me, Tom, it’s just fake news that they’re trying to shove down people’s throats.”

“Don’t be stupid, Bill, the y/n l/n is crushing on you and dropping subtle hints, hence, the song about wanting to fuck you.” Tom shook his brothers shoulders proudly, his grin wide.

A hue of red spread on Bill’s pale skin, clicking on the attached video that gave him the whole performance. Sure enough, there you were, singing a song about wanting to fuck an emo boy. “I don’t know, Tom.”

The oldest twin let out a groan, “Bill, she wants you, think about it. She’s our age and she says that the song is dedicate to a German lead singer who is touring with his band.” He had a good point, and that’s what made Bill smile a bit, it made a puff of pride filled his chest. “That’s what I’m talking about.” Tom laughed, “She wants you, Bill, and I wouldn’t want to pass up on that.”

“Enough.” Bill sheepishly smiled, closing the laptop and shoving into Tom’s chest, curling up on the couch as he felt a wave of heat wash over him. If the song was about him, and you meant what you said, then it really turned him on. He couldn’t help it, his already tight skinny jeans grew tighter.

“BILL, WHAT ARE YOURE opinions on y/n l/n new song about?”

“Bill is it true that you are y/n’s baby daddy?”

“Bill look over here!”

“Are you and y/n a couple?”

A flood of questions and bright, flashing lights came his way as he made his way towards the doors of the venue. He stuffed his hands in his pockets, attempting to move past the paparazzi and avoid there strange questions. His band mates followed behind him, struggling to keep up with him due to the crowding. He finally let out a breath of relief as he made his way inside. The flashing cameras replaced with colorful lights and the screaming substituted with the shaky bass of the music booming from the dance floor. Tom had already separated himself from the group, going off to the bar to try and find a new girl to bring to his hotel. Georg had dropped out, opting on talking with his girlfriend through phone all night instead. Gustav had also followed Tom to the bar, craving alcohol in his system.

The crowd of people were familiar, he had seen some of them at the event from before, there were many famous faces. Yet he stood by a wall, eyes looking around awkwardly, despite the many times he’d been to these events he always had to ease his way in throughout the night. After a few drinks he’d start getting loose, but for the moment he’d just scan the dance floor till he caught someone he knew.

That’s when he gaze was in trapped by a spark, a beautiful glow that confidently bounced on the dance floor, happily dancing. It was you, you were dancing with your friend, a half drunken drink in your hand while your swing your hips and shimmy you chest with a surge of confidence. The short dress having to constantly be tugged down your plush thighs, as you giggled, you felt something. A sense of being watched, but there was hundreds of people around, and a lot of them liked to stare.

You leaned into your friends ear, excusing yourself to the bathroom, you heels carried you to through the crowds of drunk people and to a small opening where you could go to the bathroom. Bill’s eyes watched your every move, were you coming towards him or was he fucking crazy? He nervously stared at you, your features became more clear, it was you. Y/n l/n. You were getting closer, he felt his breath hitch, what was he going to say? Well, he didn’t have to worry since you walked right past him, eyes not sparing him a glance as you rushed into a hallway. He furrowed his brows, staring as your figure disappeared, it was then that he noticed many people exiting and passing to enter the same hallway you just entered. He glanced up and saw the clear sight that read. RESTROOM.

He huffed, crossing his arms with a frown, maybe it was a sigh that he should talk to her but now it he had to wait till you walked back out. Finally, you left the restroom, shoving the lipgloss back into your bra and strutting out. You were excited to go back to dancing, a big smile on you lip, that was until a large hand wrapped itself around your wrist, tugging you back before you could go any farther. You looked back with furrowed brows, you had to crane you eyes up to look at who was the man behind the touch. You mouth went dry, eyes widening, your knees nearly giving out and dropping you on the dirty floor of the venue.

It was Bill fucking Kaulitz, the emo boy you made a whole song about. The song in which was leaked and slapped on every article with your name in the title. You were so happy that the lighting covered the blush that warmed your face. He leaned down, lips brushing you ear, hand still wrapped on on your wrist.

“Hey, I’m Bill.” His hot breath fanned against the shell of your ear, he could smell the faint scent of your perfume, it was intoxicating. “I like your music.” He pulled away, a smug smirk on his face as you swallowed the lump in your throat. His accent was much more hotter in person then it was in the interviews you watched on TV.

“T-Thank you.” You replied, but he simply gave you a confused look. You sighed, attempting to reach his ear, “I said thank you, I like your music as well.”

He nodded, “Thank you, it seems as though one of your songs has gotten quite popular, people have told me all about it.”

You needed to pull yourself together, this was a moment you’ve been waiting for and you couldn’t back down. So you rubbed your lips together, spreading the shiny, sticky gloss. You gazed up at him through your lashes, a flirty smile on your face. “Yeah, I was hoping you’d say.”

“Yeah?” He raised a pierced brow, “Why’s that?”

“You’re the only one I wrote the song for, of course.” You giggled, watching his expression change, he was surprised on how upfront you were about it. You were proud, cocky almost, it turned him on. “So, did you like it?” He nodded in response. “You wouldn’t mind doing what the lyrics say, do you?”

“No.” He replied, watching your smile widen. “I can take you back to my hotel and do exactly what you want me to do, schatz.”

You were getting giddy, you running a hand up his arms, staring up at his smoky eyes with lust. You bit your bottom lip, “Can you kiss me?” A small smirk played on his lips as he leaned down, leaving a slow kiss on your lips. Your hands were on his cheek, leaning up and desperately kissing his lips. His hands wandered, feeling you up in the tight pink dress you were in. Though his same hands seemed to favor a spot in particular, you ass, they ran up and down your sides before they eventually planted themselves there. His head was titled to the side, neck curved down to reach your height and to continue kissing your additive lips. He pulled away, lips sticky with you gloss before he trailed it down to your jaw and neck, his cheeky hands squeezed the flesh. You gasp, allowing him to suck lightly while the music blasted in your ears but it was all tuned out as you focused on the sensation of his tacky lips kissing your skin.

You were most definitely gonna fuck this emo boy tonight.

Y’ALL WANT A PART TWO W SMUT? Either way I’ll probably write one bc this game out better then I expected🤭🤭🤭

#bill kaulitz imagine #bill kaulitz #bill kaulitz x reader #hey emo boy #bill kaulitz fic #bill kaulitz x you #tokio hotel #tom kaulitz #bill kaulitz smut #Tokio hotel imagine #fluff

[sweetracha]

Sigh.. so I know you probably have so many Felix request coming in butttt.. I wanted to ask if you could Felix with a s/o that falls into subspace easily (don’t judge me.. 😓) and Felix guiding them through it? Soft dom felix? (His insta live got me soft for him 😖)

(P.S Im a shy annie and since I chat on your blog the most I’m only brave enough to ask you 😤)

-☁️

Oh my little cloud!!!! Don't be shy sweetie! I'm right here, I won't bite! You can always talk here! and there is never any judgment in the bakery!

Felix was well aware of your tendency to fall into subspace. Honestly, it was one of the parts he loved most about you.

The first time it happened he stopped the session to bring you out of it. Afterward, you two had a long discussion about the situation. He wanted to make sure you were okay with the session continuing while you were in his headspace. The pride that filled his chest when you agreed made him want to cry. You trusted him enough to have him see you at your most vulnerable. You knew Felix would care for you.

"Shhh baby, so close now. Just let go for me, princess. Let Lix take care of you." He whispered as he bound your wrists together behind your back.

"Lix, I--I…" You stuttered and mushed your words together.

"What is it baby, someone is already losing her words? She is already lost in that empty head of hers? It's okay baby. I know you are, that's why I am here to take care of you. Can I take care of you, baby?"

"Yes---please"

"So polite baby, always remembers her manners even when she is so deep down in her fuzz."

Felix was pulling your second orgasm of the night when he noticed a change in your eyes. Water brimmed the edges and threatened to spill over.

"Baby, I know you are so sweet right now. My soft little subby baby. Lix needs to know your color, okay?" He was met with a blank glass expression. A few gentle taps to your cheeks caught your attention.

"Color, my sweet girl"

"Gr--gre-green" It almost came out like a question.

"Are you sure baby? I need to know you understand what you are saying. If you say green, what does that mean" He made sure to keep a hand on you at all times, knowing skin-to-skin brings you back to reality.

"Means I am good. I feel good. Continue." While what you said was broken, Felix understood.

His cocked worked his way in and out of you. He liked keeping an eye on your face when you were in his headspace. It eased him knowing he could see your thoughts so clearly. Words were hard, but your face never lied.

"Fuck I can feel you clenching, wanna cum? Does the sweet girl wanna cum all over my cock? Be a good girl and finish. Do what you were made to do, baby. Please me."

He finished on your stomach not long after you came down from your high. When he came back, soft tears trickled down your face.

"shh baby, What is wrong my sweet girl?" Felix knew how emotional you could get once it was all done. He wanted to avoid you dropping.

"I'm not needed, Lix doesn't need me" You hiccuped

"Baby, is this because I said you were made to please me?" A soft nod came from you. "Baby that job isn't over. You please me every day, even by just being you! It doesn't mean you are my sex doll, okay? You are my sweet girl."

"Promise?"

"I promise baby. Can you do me a favor? Can you tell me where you are? Maybe tell me some things you see?" Felix wanted to ease you out of it, a harsh snap would be too much.

You answered his questions and it was like he could see the fog leave your eye.

"I'm back Lixie" you giggled "Enough with 20 questions"

"Okay okay, one more though. Bath or shower?"

#🍑 answers #☁️ anon #stray kids #skz #stray kids smut #skz smut #stray kids fluff #skz fluff #Lee Felix #Felix Smut #Felix Fluff

[th3-0bjectivist]

Springin' Chip with a 24' page update!

Greetings, dear follower! th3-0bjectivist has appointed me, Chipper the Springer Spaniel, as the official page mascot and acting spokescanine of this blog moving forward. It sure is great to be here! And might I say, the range of my vernacular as a mere canine has increased something like 28000% in just the last few weeks thanks to the hard lessons I’ve endured so far. Late nights in front of an English dictionary, lots of treats, and tons of sleepless nights have transformed me into perhaps the only English-literate puppy that has ever existed on planet Earth. From this point forward, I plan to operate as an empathetic, humorous, and nurturing presence to all of those on Tumblr into 2024 and beyond!

If you wanna know a little more about me to start, so far in life, I enjoy 1. Voraciously sniffing all manner of ass and crotch (if you approach me, please just spread fully eagle for one full minute, it lets me know who you are without you saying a word) and getting my own ass/crotch sniffed! 2. Pissing indoors (preferably on carpets to create an overpowering urine-miasma that permeates the entire room) 3. Attempting to playfully bite th3-0bjectvist directly in the balls with my nasty, bacteria-laden, inverted Spaniel teeth on a weekly basis!!

My pal, th3-0 and I, have long discussed my potential nickname on this blog. It has run the gamut from… Chip the Dip, to Chipper the Dick, to Chip the Prick, to Chipper the Testicle-Destroyer. In particular, the phrases ‘Stop biting me’, and ‘Hey, A-hole, cut that biting shit out’, and ‘Hey, dickhead, stop trying to bite my fuckin’ balls!!’ have strongly resonated with me as a puppy. I’ve realized very early on; it is essential that I improve my behavior otherwise I’m going to be hard-up on quality treats. And that’s what this blog will be all about moving forward… gradual improvement! Luckily, I have the good fortune of being cute as all hell. So, we graciously settled on the tentative title Springin’ Chip to instead highlight the positive aspects of our collective spirits and aspirations moving forward. New year, new positive goals! Folks, just look at my pics! Check out my feathered-ears and adorable face! Do I not have the perfect mug to represent a proper renewal of this blog?? And mug I will! If you continue to follow th3-0bjectivist, you’re going to see me grow up slowly over the next few months and years! Anyways, onto a bit of business…

My new friend, th3-0, has instructed me to give you an official page announcement! He will be back soon (end of March) with new art and drawings, music and commentary, goofy-ass memes, and more! This year (2024) th3-0 will be putting an artistic focus on dimensionality and expression by doing lots of drawings of expressions on human faces! He will also attempt to make some paintings with a little more -- POP -- than in previous years by incorporating a liquid background behind a solid mass of brushwork. If you like music, and who doesn't (??), this year will be the year of the musical double-feature! That means every time you see music on this page moving forward, there will be TWO SONGS by the featured musician(s) to highlight the range of said musician(s). Also, it’s election year! Now, I don’t have the vote myself, but you’ll have me around as your comical, politically neutral, and stalwart companion while everybody else on Tumblr is being just about as polarizing as they can be without directly and openly supporting terrorist organizations on the left or right side of the political spectrum! It’s gonna be a great year with this dog n' this blog!

Alright, gettin’ sleepy over here… you guys can fuck off for now. MORE 0bjectivist! END OF MARCH! NEW ART!!! DOUBLE-FEATURE MUSIC SHOWCASES EVERY OTHER WEEK!!! MEMES AND GIFs!!! SNARKY-ASS COMMENTARY!!! AND MORE OF MY BALL-BITING ADORABLE ASS!!!

Best, Springin’ Chip

#th3-0bjectivist #page update #2024 #this year #new art #new music #new gifs #my new page mascot #GOOD BOY #learned English within 8 weeks #true story... #new content end of month #trying to improve my craft #despite no inspiration what-so-ever #chipper the spinger spaniel #springin' chip #back soon...

[evansbby]

https://twitter.com/ecomarxi/status/1754485473798402318

Girl I just found this and I'm so shocked and disgusted. Like how have I never seen this before and I've been in this fandom for more than 2 years or so. Like this is so shocking and dystopian bc who in their right mind even signs bombs? Chris has created his entire career on being political and an activist—especially during the trump thing and racism etc—and especially lately. So I'm so disgusted to see this. How has his team kept this hidden—ppl were right when they said his good boy Americas golden boy image was created, a faux. His pr team works harder than the devil bc how have they kept this hidden?!?!

Making me realize that we don't know these celebs and that white celebs especially are anti Arab and racist 😔

I saw this the other day on tiktok and i hated it so much that i don’t even wanna speak on it lol

I think at the end of the day I’m just not a fan of him anymore. I still write about his characters and that’s fine. But he is just… whatever like it’s not even worth getting upset or bitter about bestie bc it is what it is.

I really am gonna make a conscious effort not to talk about him (the actor) on my blog anymore. And I know i always say that and then i do talk about him but this time fr, like I just don’t want to anymore. It’s tiring and pointless. ATP I’m just here to write my stories and connect with other girlies. There’s no point getting myself worked up over a random white actor tbh. We are all better than that. So please, let’s just not talk about him anymore and no one send me asks about him anymore bc I just don’t wanna answer them now 😭😭😂😂

#anon

[babyjakes]

untouched, perfect. and all for him.

〈 disclaimer: this blog posts content not suitable for individuals under the age of 18. minors are strictly prohibited from viewing, sharing, or interacting with this blog. for more information on this blog's commitment to protecting minors, read our full statement here. 〉

summary | when ransom finally gets his hands on you after countless failed attempts at taking you willingly, he shows no mercy when stripping you of what he wants: everything.

pairing | dark!ransom drysdale x innocent!reader

warnings | very dark very filthy!, evil ransom, non-con/resistance, restraints, crying, unprotected s!ex, a little oral (f receiving), fingering, squirting, many forced orgasms, overstim, forced taking of virginity, praise kink? size kink? also pretty long? idek

word count | 3,182

requested by @secretturtletaco | Can I request “ I like when you struggle” “ I might have to tie you down ” and “ how many times do you think I can make you cum ” with Ransom × innocent reader?? please 🥺👉👈

an | okay so i went really dark with this, i hope that is okay with you(!) (if not please send another ask and i will write you a different one<3) but like i could totally see ransom taking what he wants from (innocent) reader regardless of her cooperation so. yeah :’-) if this is not your cup of tea that is so so valid and i would be more than happy to write you something else! also bonus points for using my three fav emojis lolol

“Ransom, wait-” you beg as the man’s strong arms force you down onto your back against the plush duvet of his large king-sized bed. The look of hunger in his eyes is unmistakable and terrifying; you know you need to remove yourself from his presence before he takes things any further.

It had all started with an innocent dinner date. You weren’t thrilled to go, but you figured it would be the polite thing to do after he had asked so many times to take you out. Then, when he was driving home, he had made a few wrong turns, and suddenly you were at his house. He said something about wanting to show you a book he thought you might like; after all, you had met in a library, but when he escorted you to his bedroom and closed the door behind the two of you, you finally knew you were in a much more dangerous situation than you had originally thought.

“Come on, doll. I just wanna have some fun,” he smirks darkly, his eyes sparkling with lust as he runs a hand across your cheek, trailing his fingers down your neck carefully. Neither of you have had a swallow of alcohol all night, and maybe that’s the worst part: that he’s doing this completely sober. That he’s bold and sick enough to ignore your lack of consent with a clear and free mind. “God, you were a pain to get here, but I finally did it. You’re finally mine,” he whispers as he brings his lips up right against your ear, his breath hot on your skin as tears build in your eyes.

“Please, stop,” you whimper weakly as his hands begin exploring your neck and chest, playing suggestively with the neckline of your dress. “I-I don’t want this, Ransom. I don’t.”

“Oh, but you need this,” he purs in response, sucking and kissing at a soft spot on the side of your neck. “You’re so pure, baby. So clean. Need someone to loosen you up, show you how good being bad can feel.” You shake your head in protest, jumping as a hand drags over one of your breasts.

“Please, Ransom, please,” you implore, the fear and stress in your voice clearly audible, though it only seems to excite the man more. “I won’t tell anyone, I-I- I promise, I swear.”

“Shh, sweetheart,” he mumbles as he begins tugging at the sleeves of your dress, causing you to writhe beneath him. “Don’t cry, I’m just gonna make you feel good, pretty girl. Gonna make you feel so good,” he hums as he drags your dress off of you, letting it fall onto the floor in a lump. Now you’re left in nothing but your white bra and panties, the innocent lace trim causing Ransom’s mouth to water. He’s wanted you for so long, worked so hard to get you here, and now you’re his. All his, as it should be. Ransom Drysdale always gets what he wants.

“Look at you, so beautiful,” he croons as he runs his fingertips along your stomach. You shiver under his touch, squeezing your legs together in shame as tears continue to trail down the sides of your cheeks. “Untouched, perfect. And all for me,” he enthuses greedily as his face comes down between your breasts. You squirm underneath him, but one of his strong hands comes down and clamps over your neck, not enough to cut off your air but just enough to hold you still. Compared to his giant, muscular frame, you’re nothing; fear surges through you as you realize you’re not going anywhere without his permission. “God, I love it when you struggle,” he admits, the serious and steady tone of his voice making you sick to your stomach. “But you need to learn that good girls hold still. D’you think you can do that for me, darling?”

“N-no, I won’t,” you fight back pathetically, earning a fake frown of sympathy from Ransom as he sticks his bottom lip out at you mockingly. “Let me go, Ransom. I d-don’t want this. I don’t want-”

“Uh-uh uh,” he cuts you off by tightening his grip on your neck ever-so-slightly. “This isn’t about what you want, doll. This is about what I want,” he reminds you, bringing his free hand down to his waist and unbuckling his belt. “And since you’re apparently going to put up such a fight, I guess I’m just going to have to tie you down,” he shakes his head as he pulls the long leather strap off, removing his other hand from your neck and using both of his to grab your wrists, pulling them tightly together above your head.

“N-no, stop!” you beg, panicked as he drags you up towards the head of the bed by your arms, beginning to work the belt around your wrists as tightly as he can. “Stop, p-please,” you whimper, desperately trying to think of a way out of this mess.

“Shhh, it’s okay,” he soothes as he secures your wrists to the headboard, buckling you in place. “You’re gonna love it, sweetheart. I promise, I’ll make it feel good.” Now with you restrained and at his complete mercy, he takes a moment to sit back and look you over, admiring the soft, untouched quality of your innocent body. Ransom is well aware that you’re a virgin; over dinner you discussed how you’ve never dated anybody, never even gone out alone with a boy before. To him, this makes you all the more desirable. Something pure, something clean. Completely his to destroy.

“God, you’re perfect,” he breathes as he runs his fingers over one of your breasts, causing you to flinch at the tingly sensation his touch sends shooting across your skin. “So sensitive, too. I bet my hands are just going to ruin you,” he amuses as he pulls his thick, cableknit sweater up and over his head, leaving him in a tight white undershirt and his dark pants. “How many times do you think I can make you cum, hmm?” he taunts as he tugs playfully at your brastrap.

“None,” you insist quickly, the urgency in your voice causing Ransom to chuckle. “I-I’ve never cum in my life, Ransom, and if you think your sick assault is gonna change that, then-”

“Then how about a deal?” his deep voice rises over your own. An overly-confident smirk has formed its way onto his face, making your eyes burn with irritation. “I get to play with you for… let’s see…” he trails, glancing at the gold watch on his wrist. “Ten minutes. No real sex, I keep my pants on. Just foreplay,” he clarifies. “If I can’t make you cum in that amount of time, then I let you go.”

“What?” you ask, his proposal sounding ridiculous.

“You heard me, sweetheart,” he says. “Ten minutes. No cumming, or I get to fuck your brains out.”

“That’s ridiculous,” you shoot back, “why on earth would I agree to something like-”

“What other choice do you have?” Ransom laughs at your continued resistence. Sighing, you see his point. Narrowing your eyes at him, you spitefully agree. A wide grin spreads across his face as he rubs his hands together, licking his lips. That asshole.

“Alrighty then,” he coos excitedly, “I guess we better get started, then.” Bringing his large hands down on top of your breasts, he begins kneading them, the forceful tugging on the tender muscle causing you to let out a whimper. “You’ve seriously never been touched like this before?” he asks as your cheeks burn in humiliation. “Guess I can believe it,” he shrugs, “your body’s clearly been hungering for touch like this for quite some time.” Pausing, he reaches a hand into his pocket, pulling out a pocketknife. Faster than you can form any sort of protest, he flicks it open, grabbing your bra and slashing it three times, once across each strap and once between the cups.

“R-Ransom!” you cry out as he pushes the useless garment away, leaving your chest completely exposed now to the cold air and his hungry gaze. He drops the knife down beside him, bringing his hands back up and cupping the undersides of each of your breasts.

“Sorry, doll. Don’t have time to take it off the right way,” he apologizes as he begins kissing at your collarbones, working the base of your breasts gently with his hands. A stray tear still escapes down your face every few moments and you squeeze your eyes shut in embarrassment, wishing you could fall through the mattress and disappear completely. Your eyes shoot open again in surprise when you feel Ransom’s warm tongue dragging down your chest, finding one of your nipples and beginning to suck softly.

You let out a quiet whine, something between a whimper and a moan, and he sucks a little harder, taking your other nipple between his fingers and rolling the hardened bud skillfilly. “That feel good, pretty girl?” he pulls his mouth away to ask, a knowing smile already formed on his face as you bite your lip in attempts to keep from admitting it. You both know the truth, though; despite not wanting his touch, your body is betraying you and opening up to it. And there’s nothing you can do but lie back and take it.

“I hate you,” you mumble through your tears as he continues to stimulate your nipples, a warm feeling building up in the pit of your stomach.

“That’s not very nice, sweetheart,” Ransom scolds as he pinches a bit harder on your sensitive nubs. “I don’t have to be gentle, you know.” You roll your eyes, trying to focus all your attention on ignoring the sinful feelings rising through your belly.

Continuing to work your nipples with one hand, Ransom brings the other down and places it over your cotton panties, causing you to flinch at the new sensation. “Don’t worry, though, babydoll,” he murmurs as his fingers dance over the top of your lips through the fabric. “I want to be gentle,” he tells you as he begins rubbing at a spot that sets your whole body on fire, a place you hoped he’d never find. “You’re just an innocent little thing. Gotta be careful with you,” he hums as your tears become more steady, your breath catching in your throat. “Oh, look at that,” he coos, noticing the way your legs are shaking under his touch. “So sensitive, and I haven’t even touched you down there yet. So wet already, I can feel it soaking right through your panties.” Your cheeks burn pitifully as you whimper, trying to squeeze your legs together in attempts to keep him away.

“No, no, that won’t do,” he chastises as he makes his way down between your legs, positioning himself between them so that you can’t close them even if you try. “Gotta make sure you’re nice and spread out for me,” he says, taking his knife and snipping it across your panties, pulling the ruined fabric away from your heated sex. “Fuck. So fucking beautiful,” he curses, his eyes soaking up your bare pussy, your arousal dripping down onto the duvet underneath you. “I make you this wet, sweetheart?” he asks, faking surprise as he runs his fingers through your slit, causing your body to jerk up at his touch. “‘m starting to think you like this.”

“N-no, I don’t,” you cry softly, wishing you could cover your eyes with your hands and hide away from Ransom’s predatory gaze.

“Mm, that’s okay, baby,” he murmurs as he dips a finger into your wetness, pulling it back up and circling it around your clit, causing you to jump again. “I’m sure you’ll change your mind soon enough.” And with that, he takes one hand and places it down firmly right above your pussy, pulling up on the skin so that your nub peaks out from under its hood. With the thumb of the other, he begins flicking over the swollen bud with intense speed and precision, the sudden overwhelming stimulation making you cry out in pleasure that’s almost too much to bear. “Oh, look at that,” he praises, “responding so well for me. That feel good, sweetheart?” he taunts as you try to close your legs, failing due to his large form being wedged between them.

“Wait, please,” you beg, the burning sensation spreading out from your clit through your whole body, a desperate feeling building in your tummy. “Please, please…”

“’Please’ what?” Ransom mocks, sensing your climax fast approaching.

“Stop, stop!” you cry, but he just grins, increasing his speed.

“Why would I do that, darling? What’s wrong? Gonna cum for me?” he asks darkly, and before you can stop yourself, his words come true. Your orgasm rips through you almost painfully, your toes curling up as your back arches, and Ransom grins. “Good, just like that,” he coos as you keep cumming, tears springing from your eyes as he forces the unwanted response out of you.

As you begin to come down from your high, you fully expect Ransom to ease up, but instead, he does the opposite and begins pushing a finger into your swollen opening as his other hand continues on your throbbing nub. “N-no!” you cry out at the unwanted insertion, your virgin pussy swallowing up his finger as he groans at your tightness.

“Fuck, princess. So fucking tight,” he grunts as he works his finger in you, the pad of his large digit finding a soft spot inside you that you didn’t even know existed, and you begin crying out in protest and pleasure once again. “Such a good girl, taking my finger so well,” he croons, his thumb not slowing as it rubs over your clit. “Think you can take another one?” he sings, beginning to pump a second finger into you as another orgasm begins building up before you can even recover from the first.

“Again?” Ransom asks, humiliating you with his quick recognition, “already? Must feel really good, sweetheart,” he says smugly as he thrusts harder and faster, extracting filthy sounds from your drenched folds as you clamp down on his fingers, your eyes rolling back as you’re once again sent over the edge. “Shit,” he chuckles as you squirt all over his fingers, “fuckin’ just like that, doll. Cum all over my fingers. That’s it.”

“P-p-please,” you choke as you come down, tears and spit dribbling down your face from crying so hard. Your whole body aches with overstimulation, and all you can hope is that Ransom will come to his senses and release you. But you know that’s probably too much to ask.

“Oh, poor baby,” he fusses as he twists his fingers slowly inside of you, causing you to yelp painfully. “You’re so pretty when you cry, sweetheart. So pretty, despite everything I’m forcing out of you. My pretty girl. So beautiful,” he hums, his face lowering between your legs as you scream in protest.

“D-don’t, no, n-not that, not that,” you sob, but your words do little to stop him as he begins pumping you slowly again with his fingers, his lips resting barely above your hardened nub.

“Need this little clit in my mouth,” he grunts hungrily, stroking it a few times with the pad of his thumb. “Need to feel it throbbing as you cum. Need you to cum again, princess. Think you can do that for me?” he asks, slowly gathering the bundle of nerves between his lips and sucking on it harshly, the increasing rhythm of his thrusts and the suction on your clit becoming altogether too much as you squeeze your eyes shut, screaming out as your third orgasm hits, your pussy spasming violently as you squirt right into Ransom’s awaiting mouth.

The climax lasts a painfully long time. After several moments, though, you finally begin to wind down. Your heart pounds heavily in your chest as the heat and pressure subsides, and your teary eyes blink open to find that Ransom’s pulled away completely, standing to the side of the bed as he finishes undressing. Your eyes widen at the size of his massive cock throbbing between his legs, new sobs bubbling up in your chest. Turning back to you, Ransom smiles sympathetically, cooing as he shakes his head, “Poor baby, couldn’t last no matter how hard you tried.” Climbing back up onto the bed, he resumes his position between your legs, and you simply continue to cry, having no energy left to beg or protest.

“Gonna fill you up, sweetheart. You’re not done cumming for me yet,” he grins as he places himself right outside your opening, the tip of his member beginning to force its way painfully into your overstimulated pussy. Ransom shushes you gently as you cry out at the forced penetration, soothing, “Shhh, baby. You can take it. Gonna make you feel so good, doll. Gonna fill you up so good.” He continues pushing and the pressure grows; it feels like you’re quite literally being torn open by his oversized cock.

By the time its all the way in, you’ve squeezed your eyes shut again, overwhelmed and terrified by the object now inside of you. “Good girl, such a good girl, taking all of me,” he praises, kissing your tear-stained cheek as he begins thrusting in and out slowly, bringing a hand down and rubbing at your clit to try to ease some of the pressure. You whimper as the pain begins to fade away, a degrading sense of pleasure rising up in its place. You’re just so full, stretched out to the max, with his skillful fingers working your exposed clit, and you know you can’t last long. You sob and Ransom shushes you almost comfortingly, the care and tenderness he’s showing somehow making the whole thing feel even worse.

“Fuck, so tight, sweetheart,” he pants as his thrusts grow faster and stronger, both of your arousal levels rising as a terrible coil builds in your tummy, a feeling you’ve grown to hate more than anything in the world. “That’s it,” Ransom praises as he sees the way your body’s beginning to respond. “Gonna cum for me again, aren’t you, doll? Gonna cum all over my cock as I stretch you out. Go ahead, baby; cum. Cum for me,” he instructs, and at his word, you do, crying out in agony as the climax sets off through your body. “Fuck. That’s it, gonna fucking cum,” Ransom soon follows as his thrusts become sloppy, his hot seed shooting through your quaking pussy as you both find your release.

When feeling finally begins returning to your limbs and your high dies down, the only sound remaining in the room is the heavy breathing of the two of you, accompanied by your soft cries of fear and pain. Pulling out of you slowly, Ransom settles back on his knees, grinning down at you as your sobs grow stronger. “Fucking perfect,” he sighs, relieved to have finally taken what he was so desperately seeking.

#eun's writing #untouched perfect and all for him #ransom drysdale #ransom drysdale fanfiction #ransom drysdale smut #dark!ransom drysdale #knives out #knives out fanfiction #ransom drysdale x reader #ransom drysdale x y/n #ransom drysdale one shot #ransom drysdale imagine #ransom drysdale blurb #ransom drysdale drabble #ransom drysdale headcanon

[ryuichirou]

Replies

Happy Sunday~ Here are today’s replies.

anxiously-sidequesting asked:

HIIII I haven't said anything in a while but I wanted to say I LOVE YOUR TWST ART (well all of your art actually)!!!!! It's very chef's kiss 🤌🏾 and I hope you have a good day ❤️

Ahh thank you so much!!! <3 This is so sweet of you, I’m very happy to hear that!

Anonymous asked:

🤖👑

Hey! It’s the OruVil shipper! Don’t worry this ask doesn’t need to be answered but I just thought I’d let you know after all these years (I last had a major active blog in around 2011-13 WOW) I’ve actually started one and it’s thanks to you!

I’m over on WrithingDepth shooting out my twst HC’s and little one shots, I’ve yet to drop any OruVil and the blog is pretty new but I’m an older tumblr user with a full time job and nice anon lifestyle so if you guys ever just wanna hmu for a chat me and partner spend a lot of time discussing HCs and world building as well!

I’ll most likely link up the OruVil fic eventually there too.

Have a great day!

After some thinking I decided to actually post this ask for anyone who could be interested to read your work. Anything Ortho-related is so underappreciated, and after the discussion we had via asks a couple of weeks ago, I think it’s only fair to share in this specific case.

I am very excited to hear it whenever people get inspired to create unapologetically self-indulgent content. I honestly think this is one of the most important things one could do creativity-wise, and having people to share this self-indulgence with is truly amazing. Thank you so much for sharing with us <3

furubatsu asked:

I feel like you may have answered this before, but if so I can't find it. Also I'm a sloppy whore for the childhood friends to lovers pipeline SO!

Thoughts on Jack/Vil? While I agree Vil probably lost his virginity to Rook I can see these two being eachothers first Kisses (for "practice" reasons, of course) and maybe even awakenings? I love your analysises so I'm really curious about your take on these two.

HONESTLY? A GOOD PIPELINE!

We do have one post about Jack/Vil, and it’s a hc post, but it’s 8 months old oops. But I still stand by everything I’ve said there lol so you can check it out of you haven’t already.

Jack and Vil could easily be each other’s first crushes, and honestly a handsome polite boy who doesn’t even watch TV is probably the best candidate for a young star that is Vil to have a first attempt at kissing with. It would also be a nice contrast to their other first time, because even though they were on the same page when they were younger, now Vil is the more experienced one of the two, and he’s probably going to enjoy guiding Jack as they do it. Well, if Jack gets overwhelmed, horned up and feral, there won’t be much guidance going on, but in theory lol I feel like Vil is the “oneesan” type partner in this ship.

Anonymous asked:

My only reason to genderbend twst is that it's literally an excuse for Riddle always end up into someone's plsuh chest (same could be said for Idia and all the tiny chest gorlies)

Honestly no other reasons are needed lol this one is good enough. It’s like big boobs just keep following Riddle everywhere, they torment her, they abuse her, they suffocate her… or maybe it’s all in her head? What if she is just way too obsessed with it? And yes, being literally suffocated by Floyd’s chest has absolutely nothing to do with it lol

And Idia constantly gets to feel like a vn protagonist, but the vn itself is very cursed. Where are all the nice ladies, why is everyone so dangerous and scary?? Delete the game and get a refund ASAP-

(Meanwhile Lilia’s out there just… hunting…)

#replies #jackvil #genderswap

[longlivelindsay]

Hi. I'm the problem. It's me.

I'm Lindsay, I'm 37, living in Texas, and I love writing poetry, listening to music, binge watching TV, wasting my time online, and reading. My top five artists are Taylor, Sleeping at Last, The National, Bon Iver, and Frightened Rabbit (in no particular order).

I'm a Twitter refugee, and just trying to figure out Tumblr.

I made a Tumblr for my poetry @wearethepoemspoetry after two lines in one of my poems "we are the poems / we are writing." I post once a day. I've been writing poetry since I was five, and it's my second love after reading. I would greatly appreciate it if you would check it out.

I also made a Tumblr for my political topics -- @liberaltakes which I'll be hopefully using along with my Twitter @liberaltakes12 and my blog, Liberal Takes.

“I wanna love glitter and also stand up for the double standards that exist in our society. I wanna wear pink, and tell you how I feel about politics. I don’t think those things have to cancel each other out.” -- Taylor Swift (and me!)

I made a list of my Top 125 Taylor Songs in Order, but they change all the time -- except hoax is ALWAYS first and exile is ALWAYS second. (In actuality, they're tied.) Actually, the top five are pretty much always the top five!

Apple Music:

(It says there are 123 because some were self-uploaded.)

Spotify (I update this less because I exclusively use Apple Music):

I used my blood, sweat, and tears (and hours) for this, and I plan to do it for my other artists!!!

My bio could be stated in Taylor lyrics:

"They said all my cages were mental, so I got wasted like all my potential... I was so ahead of the curve, the curve became a sphere. I fell behind all my classmates and I ended up here."

Not so great being ahead of the curve on everything...

Anyways, that's me. Feel free to message me. I'd love to get to know you!!!

#me #biography #taylor swift #apple music #taylor swift playlist #Spotify

[ashersanity]

Hi Pookie!!! (´• ω •`)ﾉ How've you been! I hope you're doing well and things have looked up for you, I've missed our brief but sweet interactions! ( 〃．．) I've been clicking in to read some of your rambles every so often, and the rate you churn out writings is something I can't fathom! Also, I know you said your dms are open, but i'm a tinge shy and awful at starting conversations, but I just wanted to return the gesture as well and let you know that mine are open if you ever wish to chat, or if you want/need someone to talk to! (ෆ˙ᵕ˙ෆ)♡ ( ˘ ³˘)♥︎ Giving you a little peck on the head, stay healthy and have a belated happy new year!!

POOKIE ANON!! Know you’re not on anon but I still do like to call you by that name if it doesn’t bother you. So have I. Every rare times that you send an ask in my inbox, im always happily answering back in a short amount of times compared to other ones since it just feels like a short, refreshing break from this chaos of a blog. I don’t know what to call it, guess your asks just have a calming effect on me however weird that sounds.

Happy to know that your DM’s are also open and that im free to drop by to chat though im just as equally awkward when it comes to starting conversations, mostly being overly polite that I just sound like a robot. Wouldn’t want to be a bother either. Y’know this might sound really, really weird with the few interactions that we’ve had only through asks but you’re actually one of the few people on tumblr that I genuinely wanna befriend. Like a friend crush or something. I just wanna be your friend so bad or something and that means a lot. (I rarely get ‘em, even rarer online. I find most people to be disinteresting.) Sorry if this comes off as too forward or being too upfront about it. You just seem so nice.

Yeah, I wouldn’t necessarily call it writing, more like ramblings since it’s like slapping my disorganized thoughts onto the screen but somehow people are reblogging my crap, tagging it #writing and #fics so I guess that’s how they see it in their eyes. That leads me to say that I’ve been getting pretty burnt out lately so I’ve decided to take a break from writing and this blog in general considering it feels more like a chore than for actual fun anymore, not originally how I’ve started. It might’ve been due to the sudden spike in followers and unexpected attention that I now feel obligated to entertain just for the sake of entertaining and I feel dissatisfied with myself.

Most of the things that are to be posted from now on are all queued unless they’re recent asks that im going to be answering if im really interested. I guess this is to say that I’ll be inactive and it’ll purely be reblogs or queued posts. Not to say I won’t come on tumblr sometimes to filter through some things but I just won’t be churning out content like this anymore.

Apologies for the overly long ramble, just needed to get that one out and you somehow hit right on the nail with the offhand comment of my quick posts. Thanks for checking up on me regardless even when you could’ve just left it at that despite it all, it’s very sweet. I hope the very same for you, read your about me status that you weren’t doing so well and I want you to know that it’s all the same for me, always here to listen if you ever need to talk.

Happy belated new year. :)

#q #queued post #this post is queued too.. #fucking ironic #YOU’VE COME BACK!! #quite sorry if you find what I said #as coming too strong #get attached to sweet people too easily #my weakness #yeah… #pookie anon #asher gets asks #asher mutters incoherently under his breath

[applcrumbl]

Picking Fights with Plaster Casts.

Pairings: Steve Harrington x F!Reader Warnings: Sexual Assault and Harassment, Canon Level Violence Author’s Note: Wayhey first fic on the new blog!!

Summary: He may still be nursing a broken hand, but like hell was he going to let anyone treat his girl, who wasn’t his girl, like that.

It was a stupid idea, both punching a hole through his wall and the subsequent events that followed. But, God knew, Steve Harrington was an idiot.

His reasoning behind his actions was never quite revealed, much less explored, but the broken hand that he was left with opened up a seemingly never-ending list of questions from Robin. The small video rental that occupied their time from noon until close was rife with business today. It was Saturday, by far their busiest of the days in the week, yet the pair never seemed to mind. The job was simple; help customers pick out a movie; ring up said movie as a rental; ensure that the movie was returned; sit and wait for the next customer. Mundane, boring, but miles better than their previous occupation. The simple green vest and name-tag were significantly more comfortable than the sailor themed get-up, complete with a tied neckerchief, and a sailor's hat.

Steve was thankful that his new uniform was much more attractive than his last, he still couldn't help feeling disheartened that he even had to wear the uniform at all. The former ‘king of Hawkins High’ stood alone behind the counter of the ‘Family Video’ almost upset. Last year he would have been out at a party, not stuck working for minimum wage with a huge plaster cast on his right hand. He handed over some children's film to a family, paying practically no attention to what it was. Eyes trained on someone who had just entered through the heavy glass doors.

Panic flooded the brunet’s features as he slid into the back room. Coming face-to-face with Robin, who was pulling off her coat. The shorter girl had just begun her shift.

“Evening, Dingus”

“Robin I need you to start out front” he practically begged, “I’ll clean up back here”

“Clean up?” She smirked, something was up. “Let me guess, Y/N’s here?”

Teasing him was just too easy, and something that never would have happened when the two were at school together. But previous circumstances had allowed them to become close, and Robin had learned that Steve was an open book. An open book turned to the page dedicated to you.

“She doesn’t know I work here and I don't really want her knowing.” He sighs, “I’m trying to impress her”

A roll of Robin’s eyes cued the ding of a bell. Someone was at the counter waiting to be served. “You owe me” She sighed, pushing herself through the two-way door. Steve peeked through the crack as Robin recited the rental terms and conditions. Picking up a nearby mop to use as an alibi.

The mop leant against his shoulder as he used his non-broken hand to guide the soapy water across the linoleum floors. It wasn’t easy, but Steve was proud of what he’d achieved. The simple things in life began to excite Steve. Robin slid the door open as he broke into a slight celebratory dance. She chose not to make fun of it.

“Hey, Steve? You might wanna see this”

He leant through the threshold. Brown eyes scanned the room until across they met yours.  Your vision was slightly blurry with the tears that filled them. In the parking lot, cornered by some drunk seniors that you knew from school. You tried to push one of them off of you, but it was no use. The three boys chanted words of harassment, and one even trying to put his hand down your jeans. Your friends just stood and watched, Your best friend giggled at your expense.

“You did it for Tommy, why won’t you do it for me? Huh, Princess” One spoke, almost spitting in your face. He was so close you could smell the mint from the gum in his mouth. It almost made you sick.

“Get off of me, please” Even when being assaulted, you were always so polite.

“God, Y/N stop pretending to be a prude, we all know the real reason why you stay single. So you’re not tied down to one man.” another hissed, earning a chorus of laughter. It made Steve see red.

Robin waited for his reaction. She would have given the group a strong word herself had she not been so frightened. All three of the boys were bigger than Steve, but they towered over her. Before she could even ask the boy next to her whether she should call the police, Steve had already thrown himself over the front counter, and to the front door. It slammed against the wall as he pushed through, causing the group to turn.

His hand throbbed as he threw the first punch, knocking the guy into the shop window, In his peripheral vision he saw Robin pick up the phone from the counter, undoubtedly calling for the sheriff's department. Another punch was thrown as the gathered crowd grew larger. Steve’s nose was bleeding, his opponent was much stronger than him but he stayed resilient, hitting the guy with his cast-covered hand once more. He may still be nursing a broken hand, but like hell was he going to let anyone treat his girl, who wasn’t his girl, like that. A final blow to the stomach had the group scattering away.

Steve was advised to take the rest of the day from work. His hand was bloody and clearly needed medical attention. Instead, He sat alone on an outdoor bench. Eyes closed and head hung. He didn’t move until you stood near.

“Thanks for that” you almost whispered, “you didn’t have to”

Admittedly this was the first time you’d spoken to him, you felt guilty that it was under these circumstances.

“I know” Steve smiled, “I couldn’t let them do that to you though, just basic morals”

“Still. Thank you”

The atmosphere was comfortable as you sat next to him on the uncomfortable wood. Yet you both stared straight ahead. Unsure of what to say next, too afraid to look at each other.

“I’m Y/N, by the way”

“I know” he smiled, before letting it fall, “I don’t mean that in a creepy way, I just mean that you were in the year blow me in school, and you know some people that I know. I don’t stalk you or anything, cause that would be weir-” He cut himself off, “I’m Steve”

“I know”

Steve nodded, a smile returning to his face. He fiddled with the edge of his vest, nerves getting to him. Usually calm, collected and a true ladies man, he let out a shaky breath. You never would have recognised the man in front of you had it not been for his mop of soft brown hair.

“Your hand. Is it hurt?” You asked, “Do you need to go to the hospital?

Steve shook his head softly. “No, it was broken before.”

“And you still fought with it?”

A soft smile and a chuckle. “Worth it” he whispered.

You reached for the cast on his hand. A tender moment interrupted as the sheriff's car pulled up. Steve’s heart pounded, not in fear, but in love. “Hey, Y/N?

“Mhmm”

“You wouldn’t want to go out sometime?” he stuttered, “with me?”

“Christ sake, Harrington, I thought you’d never ask”

#writing #steve harrington

[kendrixtermina]

Distinguishing 5 vs 9

(This started out as a reply but then I realized that it should be its own post/ could be helpful to more ppl than just the recipient or my usual blog readers)

It’s worth noting that a 9-fixed 5 can absolutely present as somewhat “soft”, shy and/or conflict avoidant, and that 9s can absolutely come off very philosophical & intellectual, especially if they’re, like, Ne aux. Also, as both are in the withdrawn triad there would genuinely be shared behavior patterns. 

That said, for this one there’s 3 good litmust test questions:

a) “What do you do when you’re talked at unexpectedly or suddenly asked if you can do an errand for someone”.

The more randomly the better cause that way one is more likely to just respond on automatic.

Basically, (& this has been confirmed to me by numerous accounts) the 9 is much more likely to humor the rando for a while or get sidetracked from whatever they were meaning to do, even if they may be annoyed or kick themselves for it afterward. “WTF did I agree to this? I thought I was chill with this but actually it does bother me/ piss me off... ” are common types of experiences. Priority sorting is not a strenght or at least takes deliberate effort.

A 5 generally would kneejerk default to either excusing themselves immediately (”ivegottogodosomething”) or limiting the scope of the interaction once minimum politeness has been served. They’d tend to have their priorities immediately present (”If I say yes to this now then I might not be able to do what I wanted to do this afternoon...  ugh theres never enough time...”) - they would be far less likely to agree to something they don’t wanna do & if they did, it would be the result of a considered deliberate decision. (often of the form of ”lets meet my quota for now so they’ll shut up about it & let me be”)

b) “Are you a forgiving person?”

This isn’t always conclusive but often if you ask this the person will say something that clinches it one way or another.

9s can and do disappear on ppl sometimes but generally letting go on old attachments can be a struggle & they’d rather get along if the option exists &  might be the sort of ppl who’d prefer to at least forgive inwardly for their own peace of mind, & will at least generally give ppl the benefit of the doubt, second chances etc.

5s may actually tend toward keeping grudges.  You only see that mentioned in a few sources because it doesn’t fit the general stereotype. (that, and because, unless pushed, they’d simply avoid whoever slighted or angered them, so maybe only their spouse or their bestie knows that they loathe that guy from work.)

- not every individual does, because it doesn’t seem worth the drama or, they’re trying to be objective about it etc. but even then there still tends to be a “once you’re out, you’re out” policy - not generally the sorts to stay friends with their exes.

c) When someone’s trying to type themselves: “What degree of inner running commentary do you have? How much do you “interpret” your experience moment to moment?”

Specifically in a random every day situation like walking down a street, not a setting where everyone would get their thinky gears spinning, like trying to solve a task oriented problem.

None too long ago I came by this excellent writeup on “how to write a 9 as a 1st person POV character” (by a 9 writer)

Especially this bit here:

I wouldn't use metaphors/similes if I were writing myself as a close POV. If I'm watching a sunset or enjoying a flower or something, I'm not cataloging, comparing, capturing, or evaluating it, I'm just experiencing its existence as itself. For something pleasant, my thoughts might momentarily narrow to the equivalent of a long, satisfied sigh.

That’s honestly a little hard for me to imagine.

For contrast, this here is a 5 - and you can tell from the last paragraph that they are probably 9-fixed.  (The person didn’t know their type yet, so this is an almost completely untainted account) As you see, it’s almost the total opposite.

Which is super fascinating when you think about cause those 2 types can be among the most similar as far as outward behavior goes, especially if you grab yourself 2 specimens of the same mbti, yet at the same time the inner experience is night and day. 

What’s especially striking is how the experience of being struck by beauty leads this person to a lowering of activity rather than an increase of it. (I’m guessing this may be common for all the head types & gut types respectively. Some 3s, 2s or 4s please describe their experience of The Pretty for me so I can complete the set)

Earlier today I was sent a picture that made me go  “Wow this is so beautiful actually” though it was, like, a half eaten apple sent to me for the humor of eating it differently than expected.

But because it had been eaten from the top, & the core had this five-rayed structure, almost like a star, that isn’t visible when you cut it like normal, mostly cutting into the core from the sides.

I realized that it is from the structure of the flower - apple blossoms have 5 petals and of course the inner structure of the flower, the stamens, the ovary etc. also has that star-like symmetry and the fruit grows out of the inner parts of the flower. So there was an echo of a long-faded flower in that apple.

I suppose a star shape is pretty in and of itself, but much of me response came from superimposed layers of interpretation, not cause a half eaten apple is so appealing on a sensory level.

#enneagram #enneagram 9 #9w1 #9w8 #5w6 #5w4 #enneagram 5

[author-on-recovery]

Fanfiction :)

(If you follow me, I will follow you back with my main blog so don’t be surprised if a weird blog follows you after you followed this one ok?)

Wonderful Pairings I write about:

Tom Paris/Harry Kim (St: Voyager)

Spock/Kirk (St: Tos/Aos, but I usually talk about brown eyes in the stories so be warned)

Crowley/Aziraphale (Good Omens TV)

Data/Geordi LaForge (St: TNG)

Q/Picard (St: TNG)

Tuvok/Tom Paris (St: Voyager)

If your favourite pairing is not in this list, please request it anyway and I will see if I do it, depending on what you wish

Characters I write Reader stuff for:

Anyone I know, so again, please just request it!

Rules/Warnings for this blog:

I mostly post smut, so minors do not interact! (I have to say this cuz otherwise ppl could report me I think, but I won’t block you, I mean, when I first read smut I was 12)

Be polite. Tell me I’m an asshole but don’t say it like that. Say it politely.

Some real angsty stuff on here (drugs/alcohol etc.) so be careful. Every critical story will have its own warnings though.

Things you SHOULD do:

Tell me if you like my works. I love to read nice comments. It feels so warm inside me then and I feel so good.

Tell me if I forgot any warning or tag. It’s very important to me to be organised and that stuff (even though I am not).

Give me critics. I want to improve to give you a better experience because I love you.

Request something wether my Requests are closed or open. Nobody cares about if I said I wouldn’t do it because I’m doing it anyway.

Message me.

Things you definitely SHOULDN’T do:

Be impolite. It’s impolite, ok?

Harass others (idc about your insults lol but others do, ok?)

Be pedophile. It’s not allowed here and everywhere else in the world so get off on adults, not on kids. And also, I won’t write anything that involves pedophiles. Only if it’s about killing them or important for any angst, but not smut or graphic rape.

Think about requesting something and not doing it because this post says requests are closed. Request it anyway!!!

Requests: OPEN

Hope you enjoy reading!!!

If you wanna find something specific, just search it in the blog search thing. I will tag and label everything properly.

#poets corner #writing blog #introduction #intro post #introductory post #blog intro #pinned intro #pinned post #pinned info #masterlist #fanfiction #fanfic #reqs open #requests are open #requests open #send me requests #my wrtitng #writeblr #writers on tumblr #creative writing #writers #writers and poets #writing #writing inspiration #star trek fanfiction #ao3 writer #spirk fanfiction #authors of tumblr #author with too much time #please request

[kimchicollardgreens]

even if there’s a solution to a “problem”, someone can still talk abt how they don’t like said problem… you know that right? it’s always “then ignore them” or write them yourself”… who says that ppl don’t do that already. it was one opinion. no one was demanding black writers to not write wtv they want, the person only shared their view and everyone went crazy… you legit wrote a think piece over this. There shouldn’t be fighting yeah, but maybe ppl should stop feeling butthurt over opinions. users make the most trivial things a bigger issue on tumblr, legit arguing with a minor lmao

i ask you to read all of this before sending another ask, its another “think piece” but its literally the answer to why what these woman are askin is lowkey problematic and i dont blame folks for not noticing dogwhistles. im also not say all “soft girls” are spouting this stuff. (hell im one of them). im also not calling these women evil, cuz they may not truly know what they saying is problematic as we live in a capitalist yt supremacist system. im more than happy to answer more. im not somebody that gon dismiss you if you wanna have discourse💖

but yes, you can talk about a problem when its in good faith as it actually cultivates productive insight. but bad faith arguments distract us from the real problems that both groups actually want to see fixed. however we need to acknowledge that most ADULTS who come with this “soft life fic” opinion be in bad faith.

bad faith is trying to get us to come back to things both parties already agree on. we all agree that soft fic aint seen much. what we are saying is why you keep coming in the dark/urban fic inbox stating it for people who have no problem with you? we’ve assessed the “problem” and we all agree it needs fixing. its like we running in circles, instead of different directions to fix other problems. the question is how are you going to contribute to fixing it in a healthy way and how do you want us to help.

im sure cherry and her friends would love to recommend a homegirls work so long as shes respectful. HELL I’LL EVEN DO IT!!!

tho i don’t recommend coming into blogs who are strictly dark and askin’ them for anything other than that. just like how soft writers don’t want to primarily write dark.

its not butthurt when you come on someone’s page calling them “ghetto” “baby mamas” then try and position it against “soft life” “divine feminine” “old money” aesthetics.

im not saying thats what this little girl did, but ive seen grown adult women do that. and thats nasty as hell to be positioning that.

the reason she probably caught flack is because she unfortunately used a simple question thats been hijacked and used by bad faith arguers when they come to urban fic accounts.

thats usually the question to get a leg in the door to start spouting off lowkey antiblack and classist shit.

and i dont know where soft being only afforded to the croquette looking girls came from. some of the softest girls i know are high fem baddies. so thats very weird, especially when you consider that black women make up majority of that aesthetic.

essentially its respectability politics and thats why its not trivial. to most, this looks like a minor creative liberties dispute, but the underlying theme is actually steeped in so much politics that affect black women for real.

i mean just look at the whole bonnet and pajama pants debate. or the straight hair or braids for your birthday/formal event debate. or the wigs vs natural hair debate. baby mama vs wifey debate (if you believe how a woman carries herself in a way thats nondestructive to others, is a reason as to why she doesn’t deserve respect; you not a feminist.)

its grown folks bratz vs barbie all over again.

not even gon hold you, i didn’t know that was a minor. just reblogged @chrollohearttags post on my dash. anybody doing anything other than telling that little girl to get off they page is a weirdo. but cherry made a general post thats been a topic of discussion AMONGST BLACK WOMEN since we’ve been writing stories. so ofc thats what my “think piece” is about. she may have commented one question but some iteration of that same question has been around for years. i’m responding to that.

since i now know this is a minor, they could have very well been wanting to know why there is a saturation of these fics on here. and i would have told her about the culture of urban fic being ONE of the first pioneers in Black Smut Fiction. it literally helped shape the black writing culture whether bad or good. then i wouldve told her that when she’s older she could contribute to said culture. but right now she should not be consuming any sexual media.

and to ask a question like that, its clear she has some gripes about the way general media treats black women; which those are well-founded. i understand hating the “ride or die”, or the “settling for less” when it comes to media for black women. but how can you read about a specific aesthetic or lifestyle and immediately know thats was going on?

these women used to have valid points and some still do but like this little girl, they cant tell the difference and if they can, they want any kind of reputation for “ghetto” girls out the window. there’s nothing wrong with being “ghetto” and nothing wrong with being a “the soft divine feminine” but we do need to talk about why the latter feels comfortable coming on someone like cherry’s page too disparage girls who aesthetics and social values don’t align with them.

writers like cherry aren’t advocating abuse, their characters are living they best lives. doing “ghetto” shit and truly loving the partners they’re with.

there are legit women out there who are “ghetto” that love they life. and are in healthy relationships. its vile to say that the way someone simply chooses to exist is a direct result of how black women face abuse, especially as something as silly as wigs, body con dresses and long nails. or even activities like twerking, having babies, doing drugs and partying.

its kinda like this whole Sukiana situation vs the Home Depot girl. Both were sexually harrassed but people tried to victim blame Suki more cuz of the way she dress and act. thats nasty. (plus there was no versus to begin with cuz neither one deserved it)

like there IS something to be said about how women who tend to write urban fic -at least in its early days- really do live the lives they are writing about. granted, looking back, some of these women were so unhealed that they ended up romanticizing abuse. but most girls now understand that you can live a hood lifestyle and not put up with bullshit.

somewhere along the way, the “city girl/ghetto/high fem” aesthetic got associated with abuse, crime, and poverty. which is crazy cuz girls who look like JT be havin’ money, a good life and still have plug/rapper boyfriends who not killing or getting them killed.

so if these women would be honest, its not about the way the “urban” girls look or behave. the real problem is the abuse that these women face.

which i see how thats a problem but abuse doesn’t correlate to aesthetics and its not a causation of abuse either.

soft girls can experience abuse. they experience financial, domestic abuse, sexual abuse. these women who hate urban fic, keep forgetting that the soft girl is modeled after the tradition yt housewife who faced abuse too. just cuz you get out the hood and get a financial stable man that isnt a plug or gangbanger dont mean he not gon beat yo ass or expect loyalty when he do some dubious shit.

yall ever seen the Stepford Wives?

now you can have the vintage look without the vintage values, but thats not what most of these women who come onto cherry page be talking like.

they disagree with any depiction of your so called city girl —whether good or bad.

it’s counterproductive to feminism. it quite literally antichoice feminism which is a huge problem with feminism today because it relies too much on this yt viewpoint of responsibility politics. i suggest people really read “Hood Feminism” by Mikki Kendall.

anyway thats whats been making people like cherry become upset and rather than having patience, they ain’t got no more to give cuz they keep having to defend themselves and explain why talking like this is a microaggression. they exhausted.

anyway im free to talk more, if i didnt explain good.

#asks #come back tomorrow #im done for today over here #thanks for the convo #💖 #the menu

[wiypt-writes]

Spooky Stuff: Jake Jensen x Reader Kinktober 2022 Day 24: Almost Getting Caught

Disclaimer: This and all works on this blog are a pure work of fiction and classified as 18+. Please respect this and do not read if you are underage. This work and all works on this blog are not intended for those under the age of 18 due to explicit sexual content, adult content and themes, language, etc. By reading this work or any works posted, shared or reblogged on this blog , you agree that you are at least 18 years of age.

READER DISCRETION IS ADVISED. 

The author of this work claims not own any characters outside of the OC(s; original character(s)) here within. 

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Warnings: NSFW, 18+ MINORS DO NOT INTERACT! Offensive views and language that we do NOT share...

Kinktober Masterlist 

Main Masterlist // Jake Jensen Masterlist

A @spectre-posts​ & @wiypt-writes collaboration

W/C: 3.9k

A/N: A special edition of Kinktober 2022, written for my Jensen Request Anon. Hope this ticks the boxes for you!

The dry ice was fogging, the spider webbing was strung, and the buffet was set with finger foods and rum punch. The gravestones were back lit in the yard and there may have been a dead body or two floating in your pool. Festive lighting flickered around the house including the bathrooms that were haunted with ghosts.

You were adjusting the corset you wore so tight in your boudoir mirror while Jake was just getting out of the shower. He'd spent the afternoon decorating your house after a morning on base with the team working on training and a weapons course.

Your mind was in turmoil. Whilst you were looking forward to the party, the first one you and Jake were throwing since you’d moved into his ridiculously large New Hampshire home a few months ago, there was one thing you were certainly not looking forward to. 

And that was him meeting your father.

You thought that maybe a party setting would make the whole situation more comfortable. You were definitely wrong. Very, very wrong. The anxiety was far too high. Now, not only were you subjecting Jake to said meeting, but you were setting yourself up for a potential scene caused in front of your friends and the Losers.

You weren’t close to your father; he had left your mom when you were a very young child and since then your relationship had been rocky for many reasons. You didn’t hold his political views, you didn’t appreciate his opinions and you certainly didn’t like his loud, obnoxious long-term girlfriend. All in all, you did as much as possible to see as little as you could of him and that side of your family.

A soft kiss to your bare shoulder brought you from your thoughts.

"Get outta your head," Jake spoke softly in your ear. His arms wrapped around from behind comfortingly. Again, he kissed your shoulder, moving to your spine. "It's going to be fine."

“You don’t know him, Jakey…”

“No, you’re right. I don’t.” He nuzzled at the spot behind your ear. “But he can’t be that bad, surely?”

“Trust me, he can.” You scoffed. “He’s nothing like my mom…he’s…well, he’s a dammed Trump fan for a start!”

“Everyone’s got an idiot in their family. Although I can’t think of who mine is…wait…” he froze, “does that mean it’s me?”

You couldn't help the giggle that bounced your chest. Then you sighed, "alright," you met his spectacle-less eyes in the mirror, "you better get ready. Sexy Alice needs her Mad Hatter."

He grinned, goofily at you in. “You don’t wanna make like white rabbits and be late?”

"I mean..." You shrugged, "always."

He was about to reply when you both heard your front door open and a familiar, loud voice boomed through the hallway of your home. 

“Yo, Jensen! Thought this was supposed to be a party!”

He snorted. “You’re early, Clay!”

"I want my key back!" You added with a shout.

Clay’s signature chuckle echoed as you heard his footsteps making their way to the kitchen.

“I’ll go say hi. You hurry up.” You turned to face Jake, giving him a quick kiss.

"Yes, ma'am," he saluted you.

You giggled and just left the room. You stepped down the stairs, across the hall and into the kitchen, seeing a very robust and tall Frankenstein with his Bride already fishing around for snacks and cold drinks.

“Hi!” You greeted Clay and Aisha, hugging them both in turn. “I’m so glad you could make it.”

"Glad to be here, doll," Clay smirked. "Where's Jensen?"

“Getting ready.” You smiled, “he won’t be long.”

"You guys did a great job," Aisha smiled, looking around at the decor and set up.

"Jake did most of it before when he got home. Work keeps me busy and gone. He needs something to fill is down time." You snorted.

Then, again, the sound of the front door opened, and you peeked over the wall to see Pooch and his wife stepping in.

"Have no fear, the party is here!" He announced joyfully.

You grinned and stepped over to say hi, and just as you’d finished complimenting Jolene on her perfect Zombie look, Jake had appeared.

"Holy shit, crazy is as crazy does," Pooch snorted. "My friend, I expect no less."

“Pooch, Mrs. Pooch.” Jensen grinned, tipping his hat. “I like your dress.”

"Why thank you," Jolene winked.

Right on the heels of Pooch's arrival, Cougar waltzed in as, as expected, Zorro. Loud laughs and giggles rang out as he grinned, swiping through the air with his fake sword.

Bit by bit, the house began to fill with friends and neighbors, the few relatives invited while the food was consumed and replenished. The bar overflowing with drink and merriment, the ghoulish rum punch near gone and its third fill to be had.

A few hours in, and you were starting to think that your father might not show up. After all, it wouldn’t be the first time he has bailed when he’d made plans to show up.

And then you heard it, the laugh that you never enjoyed, the deep tone that sometimes wounded you without reason. He had arrived and in tow, his girlfriend. Both not in costume but dressed in matching his and hers tees that read 'this is my costume' in the front of hideous orange cotton.

You weren't shocked. Not really. Mind, you'd half expected them to arrive looking like Trump and Melania, so this you could handle. 

Still, a reflex action had you slipping your hand into Jake’s as he stood beside you, talking to one of your neighbours. His eyes shifted and he took notice to why you were gripping his hand with an iron fist. He squeezed your hand back and sighed. He then politely excuses the two of you to mingle until you were ready for the inevitable.

“Let’s just get it over with…”

"Charm offensive loading," Jake grinned and kissed the temple of your head sweetly. You turned to look at him and his lopsided smirk softened. “Look, baby, I know things ain’t great between you but…well, he’s here so…”

You simply nodded and took a deep breath as Jake led you over to your dad, who was currently eyeing Cougar with a little bit of suspicion. You inwardly groaned knowing exactly what his bigoted mind was thinking.

You cleared your throat and he turned to face you, along with his girlfriend who had a different hair colour to the last time you’d seen her.

"Dad," you said with little to zero confidence. "Thanks for coming."

Your father snorted, "seems a good time as any to check in on you."

"Hi, I'm Jake," he jumped right in with an extended hand. "I've heard so much about you." He smirked in a way that only those close to him was meant only as pure sarcasm.

“Wish I could say the same,” your dad shook his hand, “mind you, I ain’t heard much about anything recently. When was the last time we talked, Y/N, other than the monthly check in text?”

"Uh..." You struggled for an answer, "not that long, I don't think."

“Sixteen weeks, not that I’m counting.” You dad dropped Jake’s hand. “So, where’s your mom?”

“She’s on holiday with a girlfriend.”

“A girlfriend.” Your dad sniggered. “She turned into a dirty dyke now?”

You inhaled deeply, "would it matter if she had? You don't want her. But, no, a friend from work."

“Adam and Eve, not Adam and Steve…”  your dad scoffed.

“Well, in this case it would be Eve and Eve but…whatever.” Jake raised his brow as you stood there the nerve in your jaw ticking.

Your dad, however, simply laughed, as did the woman besides him and then he looked at Jake.

“So, from what little Y/N actually did bother to tell me about you, Jake, I hear you’re in the army…how the hell can you afford a place like this?”

“Dad!”

“It’s okay, I’m actually Special Forces," Jake gloated, declining to comment on the last part of your dads nosey assed probing.

"Hmmm, don't look too much like Special Forces," he judged, "are you the drone guy, seen no action?"

“I’ve seen my fair share.” Jake replied, his tone still casual, “took a bullet last time. According to the government I died too but…here I am.”

Your father frowned and harumphed. His girlfriend with the jet-black hair pushed through, "so, Special Forces, have you gotten to meet the President and First Lady? I know a handful of vets who have. He's such an amazing man, what he's doing for us here on our soil."

You inwardly groaned and thought, 'well there goes the neighborhood.'

“No, I’ve not met him. Or her.” Jake shook his head, “I have met President Obama though. He was cool. His wife was cooler, she gave me a cookie.”

"Cookies.. And you fixed their daughters' computers." You added.

Your father hummed, "so you're a tech guy?"

“Yes sir.” Jake nodded. “Master hacker and master of disguise.”

You smirked.

“Oh, and intelligence.” Jake added, looking at you. “Can’t forget the intelligence.”

"Interesting." Your dad nodded.

There was then a painful silence and thankfully, again, Jake rescued you.

"Well, welcome to our home," he emphasized the 'our', "the bar is in the kitchen and the snacks are along the counter and buffet. Help yourselves."

Your dad nodded, and then spotted another relative to speak to and you exhaled loudly as he walked off.

“That wasn’t so bad.” Jake said as you both watched him beeline for one of your cousins that you were still in touch with.

"He's only getting started." You groaned. "I need a drink."

“Hey, look…if he starts then I’ll just get rid of him. I mean I am a lethal trained killing machine,” Jake made karate moves work his hands and you snorted.

“Dork.”

"C'mon, I'll make you a Jensen Special." He took your hand and heads towards the bar in the kitchen.

Pooch and Clay were getting refills when Pooch glanced over at the two of you.

"What can I get a pretty lady?" He offered.

"She's getting a Jensen Special," Jake smirked.

Clay groaned, "Jensen, there's people here, leave it for bed."

Pooch laughed as he spoke, "Jensen Special? C'mon, Pooch has had the JS and the JS is nasty."

“Okay, imma bite. What is it?” Jolene asked.

"Remember as kids, we used to fill up the Slurpees with every flavor on the machine, it's like that." Pooch cringed, "a suicide."

“Yeah, it ain’t great…but it’ll do the job.” You giggled.

Jake grinned as if he'd earned a victory.

He made you one of his concoctions, which tasted kinda fruity in a strange way and then you set about mingling with the rest of your guests.

Another hour or so had past, and things seemed to be going well. 

Until you heard your dad’s loud voice, as he said something that made you physically cringe.

"I bet you're here on DACA. Enlisted to serve so you could stay."

You froze and turned slowly on the spot to see him talking to Cougar.

“Oh no…no, no, no…” you muttered to yourself.

Jake followed your line of sight and twitched his jaw.

Cougar was simply staring at your father, his expression blank.

"Oh, it’s the death look," Aisha stated.

"Pooch, Jensen, on me," Clay spoke calmly and quietly.

Now, you were worried. Body language said they were just going to listen, close enough behind them to pull Cougar back from your father if need be.

Your father, meanwhile, was completely oblivious. As Cougar stood there, not even responding verbally, he laughed.

“Don’t speak much English, huh?”

Again, no answer. Cougar was good at this game. The silent treatment, the brash berating of anti-immigrant bigots. He wasn't a stoic, expert marksman for no reason. His ability to be calm and statuesque made him perfect.

“Mind you,” your dad grinned, “least you’ll be the right side of the wall when it gets built, huh?”

"What side would that be?" Pooch popped in.

“This side, of course.”

"Do you think that's a fair approach? I mean, there are people in dire need of intervention and this country could help them." Pooch continued. "Wasn't this country founded on immigrants? People chasing freedom from their supposed oppression from the hierarchy."

“I’m all for immigration provided they contribute to society, but we should look after our own first.” Your dad simply shook his head, “I’m sorry if that offends the likes of you…”

“The likes of me?” Pooch raised his brow.

“Dad!”

“Yeah, you know…with your…ancestry.” Your dad ignored you and waved his hand flippantly.  You felt your cheeks heat in embarrassment.

“Oh. Right. You mean because I’m black…so, I obviously originate on the African planes, yeah?”

At that, you saw Aisha glance at Jake and smirk as he gave her a goofy grin. What that was about, you have no idea, but you had no time to ask as Pooch continued with a laugh.

“Hate to break it to ya, man, but I’m from Massachusetts!”

"Okay, let's just move on, huh?" You tried to intervene. "This isn't the time or the place, Dad."

Your dad groaned, “you’re too woke, you know that? What happened to freedom of speech?!”

"Woke?" You snorted. "You're a little old for that vocabulary." There was a tone of courage in your words, but the scene was growing heavier. Your eyes darted between your dad, his girlfriend and the Losers. It wasn't going well, and you weren't able to read the room anymore. Your anxiety was beginning to spike as you felt the fear of rejection growing near.

“Who you calling old?” Your dad looked at you, before he gave a scoff. “You know I love you kid but man I don’t get your ideology at times…”

“You don’t need to,” you sighed, “looks, we have this discussion all the time. I don’t…” you stopped and licked your lips, “no politics…no more, okay? And…stop talking about walls and stupid government schemes you don’t know anything about…”

"I know enough."

“Well…whatever just stop, please.”

“I think little Alice is right," Clay stepped forward, his commanding staunch apparent. "It's time to move on or take a hike."

Your dad remained quiet, before he smiled broadly, “time we were heading off anyway.”

There was nothing else said and wondering eyes began to look away, the blur of the music that was tone deaf in your own ears became clear and once the door closed, your tear-filled eyes looked at Aisha and the Losers. Your fear remained at the forefront as you swallowed. You were preparing for the worst to come.

Jake said something to you, as Clay stepped forward to gently squeeze your shoulder. But the words didn’t register.

“I need…” you managed to stutter, “just need some air…”

"Alright, baby," he said softly, taking your hand. "Let's go outside for a bit." You nodded and barely noticed Jake excusing you both.

Your breathing was hard, painful even. Tears stung your eyes as the chilly October air hit your skin.

"Hey, hey, hey...." his warm hands cupped your face, the dramatic mascara that you wore dripped onto his thumbs. "Look at me, deep breath, baby. Breathe with me."

Your hands gripped his wrists as you struggled for air

"Whoa, slow, sweetheart, with me."

You blinked through your tears and your eyes locked on his. You concentrated on slowing your breathing, focusing on Jake’s counting. Within a minute or two, you were back under control, yet still incredibly anxious as your body shook and your eyes were glued to his.

“You, okay?” He asked softly.

"I don't know." You answered in a whisper and in honesty. "I... God, they hate me now don't they. Cougar must think I'm just awful because he’s, my dad. Sperm donor, really. But...oh Jake, you all probably just think the worst." You panic and anxiety rose again as your breathing began to once again take on a staccato pattern.

 “No, no, they don’t. I don’t.”

"You don't...they haven't...the look on their faces, Jake!"

“Your dad is not you, okay?” Jake looked at you. “Trust me, Clay told me to take care of you. Not that I needed telling but….”

You sniffed, unable to control the emotions. It was so hard for you. You had worried and agonized about how tonight would go, and it had gone how you feared. 

But Jake was there, in confidence, that he wasn't bailing. Not leaving like your father had, no leaving you after your inexperience and all things first times with him. You loved him and while you never questioned his love for you, his feelings, right now, this moment, anchored them.

“Forget about him, yeah?” Jake ducked a little to smile at you. “You can’t choose your family. You can, however, choose your friends, your partner. And you chose me so…we know your taste is pretty good.”

You spluttered a laugh. "I love you...so much, Jake."

“I love you too, Y/N.” He kissed your forehead softly.

You had a need to seek comfort, to seek a rush of something to grasp hold of reality. So, you tilted your chin upward just a bit as Jake's dipped downward to level out with your eyes. Your lips connected with his and your kiss was weighted, not harsh or desperate, but needy and with pressure.

He kissed you back, his hands sliding down from your face, over your arms, coming to rest on your hips.

You took a step back, your hands curled into fists filled with the lapel of his hideously orange coat with tails and brown trimmings. There was no one around, not in clear sight at least. The two of you had taken the side slider outside, just off to the side of the house.

Jake stumbled with you a little, your back pressing into the wall as he grinned. “You want me to take you to Wonderland, babe?”

"Yes." You breathed into him.

He wasn’t wasting any time. His lips moved down your neck, nipping at your skin and the swell of your cleavage which was amplified thanks to the corset top. He groaned against your skin as his hands gathered your skirt, bunching it at his waist.

"Fuck, babe, no panties," Jake groaned, "kills me every time."

“Didn’t see the need…” You were fumbling with the waist band of his trousers, your mouth seeking his out again. You had it undone in a snap of time, your hands working quickly to pull him loose and twisting your wrist around him. Jake quite literally gasped into your mouth, and you smirked at his reaction. You twisted again.

He touched your folds, slick from the quick foreplay and pressed your clit with his thumb. You gave a groan of delight and moved your left leg, so you were on the ball of your foot. Jake grunted as you kept up with his hand job, his tongue against yours with deep swipes that his grunt vibrated the tip of your tongue. His slick fingers tickled across and down your thigh until the crook of your knee. His hand gripped the back of it and hiked it to his waist. 

Your next move brought him close to your center, your own hand moving his tip over you. You tickled your clit with him, and your body gave a little tremble. 

Jake snapped his hips and you felt with the fist of your own hand how he slipped inside.

His hands gripped your other knee, and he hoisted you up, pressing you into the wall of the building.

Your corset snagged on the stucco, but you gave zero fucks as Jensen was about to fuck you good, real good.

His hips pulled back a little before he pushed into you again.

“Fuck, Jake..."

His hips were quick to settle into a rhythm, not too fast but not slow. Gentle, but hard enough to slide your back up and down the wall.

Your hands had purchase around his neck now. Your fingers clasped together in his shorted hair. You chanted praise and filth as he kept at you.

The ridiculous wig he was wearing fell off, along with his hat, but you paid neither any attention. Instead, you moaned as his teeth nipped at your neck, collarbone before he peppered hot, wet kisses across the top of your breasts.

A loud 'ah' left your throat as your belly was burning brighter and brighter, quickly too. "Jesus Christ, Jake, don't stop."

“Can’t…don’t wanna…” he grunted, his lips back on yours.

"Fuck me...fuck."

His hips sped up, his cock bumping against that spot inside you that sent you wild.

"Right....oh, Jakey…"

 “Jesus, Y/N…you’re squeezing me babe…” he gasped, “fahk…”

"I gotta…." you heard a voice nearing, but in your haze, you couldn't pin it. "Jake, I'm gonna...."

“C’mon, baby, s’close…”

Your ankles locked tighter, your entire lower half bringing Jake closer in a seemingly impossible space and deeper. You were just right there and when his teeth sunk into the junction of your neck and shoulder, you were cumming hard and very fast. You bit your lip to hold back the scream of pleasure that filled your lungs and jammed your throat.

Jake’s hands gripped at your knees tighter as he gave a little whimper, before his hips stilled. With a groan he gave a last few sloppy and shallow thrusts before he stopped, his face buried in your neck.

"Jensen...." Clays voice was loud and nearby.

You felt him grow rigid, and the pair of you looked at one another, eyes wide in surprise and shock.

“Oh shit…” you giggled a little.

"Fuck, hang on." He rushed in a breath.

You continued to giggle as Jake slipped out of you, let go of your legs and gently set you to your feet.

“Jensen!”

He stuffed himself haphazardly into his trousers as you attempted to rearrange your corset, but the stucco scratches would tell all. "Colonel, yeah..." Jake called to at least give you a second.

“What the fuck you calling me colonel for you dumbass?” Clay rounded the corner and Jake spin round, jamming his wig and hat back on his head.

“Because that’s what you are?” Jake offered, “erm…what…do you…what do you need, want?”

"The rum is gone." Clay stated.

You snorted and couldn't help, "why is the rum always gone," with your best Jack

Sparrow impression.

“Because Cougar just sank a mega pint of it.” Clay replied with a wink. “You okay, Kiddo?”

“Yeah, erm…about my dad, I-“

“Say no more,” Clay shook his head, “my old man was a total prick too.”

You gave a sniffle of a smile, and your eyes were expressively bright.

“And to be fair, Aisha’s dad was a drug baron who Clay popped in the head…” Jenson offered, “so…he was a pretty big asshole too.”

“That is true…” Clay conceded, before his eyes scanned down Jensen, and he smirked. “So…what were you two doing out here.”

At once you and Jensen both answered.

“Oh, Y/N…you know…”

“I needed some air…”

“She needed air…” Jensen nodded, “so…here we are…just takin in the stars…”

Clay glanced up, before he looked back at Jensen, a knowing smirk on his face. “It’s cloudy.”

“That’s just what we were discussing…” you added.

“Yup, clouds on Halloween.” Jensen nodded. “Spooky stuff, huh?”

#jake jensen x reader #Jake Jensen x you #kinktober 2022 #kinktober #chris evans kinktober #the losers fanfiction #the losers #Jake jensen #Jake Jensen fan fic #chris evans characters

[thatfreakything]

TickleTober 2022 || Day 5: Punishment

(Oh, look, one I actually finished askghsghtfjgt

This one’s a bit of a long one because...well, I love Togami, and I wanna see the snarky glasses boi get wrecked. Can you tell that I have a favorite character archetype? We’ll see how the rest of Tickletober goes, I’m still figuring things out with school and whatnot. For now, enjoy this!

Here’s the link to the list I’m using! https://at.tumblr.com/august-anon/hello-hello-everyone-i-decided-to-try-my-hand/lm113m2d826u)

Warning: This is a tickle fic, and I run a SFW tickle-themed blog. NSFW are more than welcome to read, but please do not reblog if you are a primarily kink-themed blog. Thank you for respecting my boundaries.

Fandom: Danganronpa: Trigger Happy Havoc

Ship: Naegami (Platonic)

Characters: Lee!Byakuya Togami, Ler!Makoto Naegi

Words: 2367

Potential Warnings: !MASSIVE SPOILERS! for the entire first game! Also, Togami’s a little bitch, and there is some fighting/arguing in the beginning.

——————————————

It was a discussion they’d had many times before. Marching down the halls of Hope’s Peak Academy, Makoto Naegi chased after his sort-of-friend and classmate, Byakuya, shouting after him and trying desperately to not lose his temper. He’d had to do this too many times already.

“Listen, Togami, just because she was noisy doesn’t mean--”

“All I said was the truth,” the blond responded, not breaking his pretentiously confident stride. “If she can’t handle that, then maybe she’s not fit to be here at Hope’s Peak.”

Byakuya and Makoto had been in class together not five minutes prior to this conversation -- Makoto had been catching up on some work that he needed to finish, and, as per usual, Byakuya had been reading. Aoi Asahina, who was also in the class, had been chatting with friends rather than doing any classwork. Her conversation was a bit loud, but it wasn’t so disruptive that Makoto couldn’t focus, so he’d let it be.

Unfortunately, Byakuya had thought otherwise.

He’d suddenly gotten up out of his chair and snapped his book shut, rudely asking Aoi to “quit her yapping.” Aoi, truly a gentle-hearted person, had started to apologize -- her erudite classmate immediately interrupted her, calling her a “vapid, shallow social butterfly,” and then labelling her an idiot. Poor Aoi, bottom lip trembling and eyes glassy, had darted out of the classroom, with her dearest companion Sakura close behind. When the room exploded in protest, everyone accusing Byakuya of several transgressions, he’d left the room, and Makoto took it upon himself to follow and try to remedy the situation.

This as not the first time that something like this had happened, but this was the harshest that Byakuya had been for some time. Makoto was doing his absolute best to not lose his patience.

“It’s not the truth, that’s subjective,” the brunet teen began, “and even if it was true, it’s still a mean thing to say. You could have been much more polite.”

“‘Mean?’ That’s subjective,” Byakuya replied coolly, pausing his march down the hallway to meet Makoto’s gaze. “If she can’t handle hardships or criticism, she doesn’t belong at Hope’s Peak -- this school is for the best of the best, not whiny children.”

Makoto clenched his fist and took a deep breath.

“She’s not a ‘whiny child,’ Togami, you hurt her feelings.”

“Who cares about her feelings?” the prodigy snarked, pushing up his glasses. “She should learn to keep her mouth shut.”

“She’s your friend!”

“She’s annoying.”

“And what makes you think that you’re any better than her?” Makoto shouted, beginning to lose his typically well-kept temper.

“I don’t think that I’m better than her,” Byakuya argued back, rolling his eyes and crossing his arms defiantly. “I know that I’m better than her.”

That finally set Makoto off -- in a moment of pure anger, he lunged at his classmate, tackling him to the ground. Naturally, Byakuya was caught off-guard, and a scuffle ensued as the blond tried to regain control of the situation.

“Naegi, what the hell are you doing?!--” Byakuya asked with a demanding tone, trying to push Makoto off of him. His efforts went to waste -- his classmate, though shorter, had more experience using his physical strength.

The brunet gripped Byakuya’s shirt collar, lifting him up slightly. “Don’t you ever say that about Asahina! You’re not better than her, you’re not better than anyone here--! Why won’t you just listen?!”

“Naegi, let me go--” the prodigy began to protest, attempting to sit up all the way. Makoto, in defiance, gripped his sides and pushed him back down onto the ground. “W-wait, hang on--”

“You need to apologize!”

“We can talk about this--”

“Oh, we’re way past talking,” Makoto growled. “You had that chance already, and you decided to be awful instead.”

“Just-- Just let me go--” Byakuya tried one last time to get back up, pushing himself up with his elbows. Makoto was not having it -- he straddled Byakuya and sat on top of him to keep him down. Then, anger still pulsing through his veins, he gripped his classmate tighter, pushing him all the way down flat.

“APOLOGIZE!”

“W-wAIT--!”

Byakuya’s high-pitched, borderline fearful yelp made Makoto’s heart tighten painfully -- his rage forgotten at once, he stopped to observe his classmate closely, watching for any signs of injury. Thankfully, the prodigy did not seem to be hurt, but he was staring up at Makoto with wide eyes. Though, he did not seem to be afraid either -- apprehensive, yes, but with an expression that read nervousness rather than terror.

Makoto began to take notice of some other details as well. Byakuya’s hands were clamped desperately onto his wrists, he was trying to force a stern expression, and his face was flushed with a vibrant red color that started in the center of his face and spread out.

The cogs in the brunet’s head clicked into place suddenly as he realized where his own hands were -- and, with great, triumph, his worried manner gave way to a small grin.

Upon seeing this shift in demeanor, Byakuya panicked. “Naegi, listen to me,” he growled, clearly still putting on a snarky façade. “This is idiotic. Just let me up--”

“And why should I listen to you?” Makoto interrupted. “You completely disregarded both me and Asahina. I think you deserve a little punishment, don’t you?”

Byakuya’s sarcasm dissolved instantaneously. “Y-you don’t have to do this. I’m not even--”

“Not even what? Ticklish?” Makoto finished, nearly giggling aloud at the way that Byakuya’s face grew even redder. “I think you’re lying, Togami.”

“Naegi, don’t you dare--”

Without waiting for his classmate to finish, Makoto dug in, squeezing Byakuya’s sides once again and watching as the prodigy collapsed into startled laughter.

“NahaHA! N-Nahaehehegi! Gehehet ohohoff!”

Makoto’s eyes sparkled -- Byakuya’s laugh, which he’d only heard as cynical and low chuckles before, was made up of genuine giggling and the occasional high-pithed squeal. In contrast to how he presented himself, it was loud and almost disorderly -- though, he was visibly taking great care to try and restrain himself.

“Mm, why should I get off?” the brunet mused, his intonation feigning confusion as he continued to absentmindedly knead at his classmate’s soft sides. “I mean, I think you kind of deserve this.”

“Y-yohou’re such a ch-chihihild!” the blond protested, trying in vain to pull Makoto’s hands away from his lower torso. The lucky student smirked confidently and pinched his fingers downwards, with his hands reaching Byakuya’s hips and earning a strangled squeal in return.

“I’m the child? Really?” Makoto queried skeptically. “You’re the one being so stubborn. If you just apologize to Asahina, I’ll stop.”

The prodigy gritted his teeth, still trying to restrain his laughter. “G-gohoho to hehehell!”

Makoto’s smile became a touch devious. “Fine. Let’s see where you’re most ticklish, then.”

“W-whAT--?! No, nohoho, nonono--!”

Byakuya’s pleas were lost in his mirth, washed away like sand in the waves as Makoto’s fingers darted up and dug into his armpits. The lucky student scribbled into his hollows, scratching lightly and drawing little circles with his nails. He tried not to laugh himself as Byakuya kicked slightly and arched his back.

“How’s this spot, then?” Makoto asked after a few more moments.

“Ahawfuhuhul! Stohohop!”

“Really?” Makoto hummed. “Alright, alright. Let’s try somewhere else, then.” As he spoke, he pulled his hands away from Byakuya’s armpits and brought them down to his stomach. That was the brunet’s worst spot -- any tickling there would usually get him to crumple helplessly to the floor in seconds. He wasn’t quite sure what Byakuya’s reaction would be, but he wanted to try.

Makoto allowed the prodigy a moment to breathe -- just a moment -- before kneading his stomach carefully and watching him instinctively curl inwards.

“Nahaha-- N-Nahaehegi--!” Byakuya gasped out, his laughter a touch softer but still somewhat restrained. His bright, scarlet red blush had spread to most of his face by that point, and his ears were also a touch red themselves -- he brought his hands up to try and hide it, but that proved to be difficult, as he was also trying to instinctively protect his stomach. “D-dohohon’t!”

“Don’t what?” the brunet teased, voice calmer than before.

“Nohohahat th-thehehere!” Byakuya whined back, now fully resigned to closing his eyes and “protecting” his stomach with one hand while covering his face with the other. His smile was crooked, but surprisingly not strained or painful.

“Why not? Isn’t this better than your armpits?”

“Ihit’s sohoho stupihihid!”

Makoto actually chuckled aloud at his classmate’s indignance; he steeled himself shortly after and lifted his hands back up.

“What’s stupid is the fact that you won’t apologize to Asahina. If you just promise to do that, I’ll stop.”

Byakuya took the brief respite gratefully, catching his breath and not uttering a word. His blond bangs, now disheveled, hung in front of his flushed face as he inhaled and exhaled heavily in a slow, shaky rhythm.

“Will you apologize?”

There was a beat between the two. The prodigy looked up at Makoto, his blue-grey eyes glassy but filled with his usual sardonic frost. They had a glimmer to them that echoed Makoto’s own defiance and determination.

“As if.”

Instantaneously, Makoto’s hands darted back down, latching onto Byakuya’s ribs and pinching up and down mercilessly. The prodigy outright shrieked and tossed his head backwards, squeezing his eyes shut once again and losing himself in his wobbly, borderline chaotic laughter.

“GAHAHAHA! N-NAHAEHEGIHI--!” the blond managed to gasp out eventually. His classmate was still snickering at his outburst of a reaction.

“I think I found your worst spot, Togami~”

“SH-SHUHUHUT UHUP!”

Makoto blinked a little bit at the rudeness, leaning down a bit closer to his classmate. “Now, that’s not a very nice thing to say, is it? Maybe you need to apologize to two people now.”

Byakuya had the audacity to refuse, shaking his head frantically in reply. The lucky student internally decided that he needed to be punished more as a result, and with a few quick motions he untucked Byakuya’s button-up and shoved his hands underneath, meeting the bare skin over his ribs.

“WAHAHAIT--!” Byakuya’s cackling immediately jumped in pitch, and he reacted very quickly by trying to grab Makoto’s arms and push him away. He bucked his hips and arched his back multiple times in an effort to throw the brunet off, and when that failed, he resolved to desperately holding himself, still squirming and twisting away from the touch.

“Had enough yet?” Makoto asked a few moments later, his tone somewhere between mischievous and lecturing. When Byakuya didn’t answer, he maneuvered his hands closer to the prodigy’s back, still along his ribs -- Byakuya gasped and fell into silent laughter for a moment before dissolving into cackling and frantic blabbering, rendered almost completely wordless by Makoto’s pinching and scribbling.

“IHI’M SOHOHORRY!” he yelled out after a moment, reaching up and gripping the brunet’s hoodie like his life depended on it. “PLEHEHAHASE!”

Makoto smiled triumphantly and let up almost instantly, pulling his hands out of Byakuya’s shirt and letting him breathe. The blond fell backwards and just lied down for a brief period of time, heaving and protectively covering his upper torso. His hair was an absolute mess, his neatly-pressed uniform was now wrinkled and unkempt, and his glasses were even slightly off-kilter. Makoto was almost endeared by the sight of it.

“So?” the lucky student prompted. Byakuya looked up, his usually-piercing eyes cloudy and lacking their malice.

“I s-said I’m sorry,” he mumbled, sitting upright.

“I heard you.” Makoto finally got off of Byakuya and helped him to his feet, his gentle smile returning to his expression at last. “But you still need to apologize to Asahina for what you said.”

Byakuya grumbled, fixing his glasses and then fussing with his uniform. “I know. I’ll tell her later, when she feels like speaking to me again.”

“Or you could tell me now,” a third voice chimed in, and the two boys turned to see Aoi leaning against the wall with her arms crossed.

“Asahina--” Byakuya stammered out, still trying to fix his unprofessional appearance. “H-how long have you been standing there?”

“Long enough,” the pro swimmer answered with a slight laugh, stepping away from the wall. “I didn’t know you were ticklish. You really got him, huh, Naegi?”

“I guess so,” Makoto agreed, chuckling at the way that Byakuya’s face went beet red. Aoi seemed to not be as distraught anymore, and that was a relief -- but the redness in her eyes and the stiffness in her usually-fluid posture still made the brunet’s stomach twist unpleasantly, and his mirth was cut short.

“Well,” Byakuya started, clearing his throat and snapping Makoto out of his train of thought. “I...suppose I owe you an apology.”

“It’s alright,” Aoi interrupted, flashing a small smile. “You were right, I was being too loud.”

“But I...shouldn’t have snapped.” The prodigy paused, visibly struggling with his words. “You’re not vapid, or shallow. And you’re not an idiot.”

The tension in Aoi’s shoulders dissipated, and Makoto felt his own nervousness ease as she stepped forward, closer to Byakuya.

“Thanks, Togami.”

“It’s...it’s no trouble.”

Aoi took a breath and eased into a wider, much more comfortable smile. “Besides, if you’re ever mean to me again, I know I can count on Naegi to handle it!~”

The prodigy stammered at the statement. “W-well, that’s--”

“Ooh, or, now that I know, I could even get back at you myself!”

“I don’t think so--” Byakuya started walking, hastily trying to get back to the classroom. His two peers followed, grinning.

“Maybe, Asahina,” Makoto began, “we could tag team against him!”

“Yeah, that’s a great idea! Whenever Togami’s mean to someone, we can just team up and tickle the daylights out of him until he apologizes!”

“I won’t hear of it.”

The banter continued down the hallway as the three students made their way back to class. As they walked, even Byakuya was smiling somewhat, much more at ease. Their bonds had grown a bit stronger, despite the prodigy’s outburst, and they would only grow closer as said prodigy made significant effort to be kinder.

Makoto wouldn’t have wished for their lives to be any different.

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