#fagged out friday

[nattousan]

happy fagged out friday

[qzse-rtv]

Pick your head up, Queen. Your crown's falling off.

Im going to kill you

[petew21-blog]

Homophobic gym teacher

I hate PE. I hate it so freaking much that I’d rather have history with Mr. Douglas every day than to run in front of Mr. Mills every day. He hates me, ever since I came out as gay at school I received mostly good feedback from others. Even my bullies were kinda nice about it. Thank God I live in the twenty first century. But one person didn’t really take It well.

I browsed through his instagram a few times. And while I looked for the perfect photo of him flexing his biceps, showing his abs or anything that would help me for my jerk off session, I found out that he was quite hardcore republican. How a person like this could get into education is beyond me.

As always I finished jerking off while looking at his regular bathroom gym photo. Man, what I would give to fuck him. Why do jerks always have the perfect body?

My phone buzzed. I snapped back into reality. Jack, my friend who is also gay, but not out yet, texted me.

“Hey, are we gonna ditch school tomorrow? I can’t hear any more of that Mills bullshit while we climb the rope”

“We’re gonna be rope climbing? Ah fuck me. He’s gonna be insufferable.”

“My thoughts exactly. So? Are we skipping school?”

“I can’t man. I gotta keep up my attendance after missing so many days thanks to Mr. Mills”

Next day, 2:29 PM

I stood next to the rope, waiting for Jake to finish his turn. Mr. Mills stood below him, screaming. Jake couldn’t get to the top. Mr. Mills told him to get down and screamed at him some more. What an asshole. It was my turn. The bell rang. “Fuck yeah. No more rope climbing for me.” My classmates, me included, turned to head to the lockers.

Mr. Mills: ”González? Where the hell do you think you’re going?”

Me: ”Sir, the class is over and it’s Friday.”

Mr. Mills: ”The class is over when I say it is over. Get on the fucking rope and stop talking back at me. The rest of you can leave.”

I got close to the rope. I grabbed it and squeezed the rope between my feet. I started pulling myself up and immediately felt the pain of lifting myself. I knew I was weak, I didn’t really need some wannabe teacher slash gym freak to remind me and scream at me what a lazy piece of shit I am. I tried to ignore him. I gave myself a goal to just finish it and leave, but Mr. Mills stood directly below me to comment on my fat ass slowing me down.

I was almost at the top, a wave of happiness swept over me. “Shit, I’m gonna make it!”

And right then I slipped. And instead of locking my feet, I just let go off the rope.

THUD

“I survived. Fuck. I fell from the freaking rope. My head was hurting so hard. My head? But I thought that I fell on my back? Ahhh the pain.”

I opened my eyes. My vision was blurry from the fall. I tried blinking several times and my vision was slowly getting better. I lifted my arm to grab on my head, but as I did it didn’t feel right. I looked at my arm. It was bigger. As in full of muscles.

“What the hell?” I said out loud, but instead of my young squeaky almost too feminine voice a low baritone came out of my throat.

“How the fuck…?!” I looked to my left. There was my body getting up from the ground

Me: ”Mr. Mills?”

Mr. Mills: ”Ah you gotta be fucking kidding me?! Is that you González?”

Me: ”I… Yes. How… How did this happen?” Mr. Mills: ”Does it look like this happens to me a lot?”

Me: ”But… it’s scientifically impossible”

Mr. Mills: ”I bet this was caused by those covid vaccines to make you immigrant fags take over our lives.”

Me: ”Yeah… right. Cause everyone wants to be a stupid republican”

Mr. Mills: ”Shut your mouth or…” he was interrupted by the janitor telling us to leave so he can lock the school. Mr. Mills gave me his car keys and I gave him instructions how to find my locker. We decided to meet each other in his car and to figure out what to do after that.”

After many unsuccessful attempts I found his Chevrolet and entered the passenger’s seat. Few moments later, I realized that I’m gonna be the one driving so I switched seats and got behind the wheel for the first time in my life. His car was amazing, it smelt great and was clean. How should I even drive this thing? I don’t drive a car. I’ll get us into trouble.

I stopped overthinking about the car. “I am in my teachers body. The one who bullied me almost every day. I am an adult male.” I looked into the rearview mirror. “Fuck, I am in one of the hottest man’s body around. And I am wasting it just worrying here. I flexed and squeezed my new biceps. Fuuuck. It’s so huge. I checked if no one else was around and lifted up my shirt.

“Oh my gooood” I slammed my head into the seat. “This is so hot!”

My new abs and pecs now uncovered were the most perfect ones I have ever seen. The ones I jerk off to every night before sleep. And now it’s here. All for me.

I opened my eyes and saw Mr. Mills in my body approaching the car. And behind him ran Jake. They entered the car.

I tried to improvise: „Why is your friend here?”

Jake: „Holy shit. So it is true. Mr. Mills would never react so calm. Is that really you in there, Daniel?”

I turned at Mr. Mills who now had a very irritated face. “I didn’t say anything, he figured it out.”

Jake: „I didn’t believe it at first, but Daniel never swears like this. And your vocabulary isn’t exactly rich so I knew really quickly where I heard the phrases before. Damn, I’m good. So? What are we gonna do? We should test it out somehow. Shit, Daniel you should get drunk tonight!”

Mr. Mills: „No! There won’t be no drinking, touching or anything with my body. This is definitely temporary and we will be back by tomorrow morning.”

Me: „If you think so…”

I drove Jake and my body home. Mr. Mills had to give me a speed course of driving, but his muscle memory helped me out way more than I thought. We set up some ground rules. No drinking, no drugs, no permanent changes to our bodies, no photos and no sex. He left the car while saying something about a fag in his body, but I couldn’t care less anymore. I speeded to get to his house asap.

I didn’t really explore the house as much when I arrived. I went straight to where I thought was the bedroom and immediately started taking off my clothes. His black speedo was PACKING and getting tighter every minute, but I really wanted to make this first exploration as perfect as possible. I lifted up the shirt, touching my new hairless and fatless stomach. I flexed and sets of abs appeared. I touched every last one of them. My hand continued up to my new large pecs.

“God damn, Mr. Mills. These are some perfect man titties.” I squeezed them. They looked so tight in all the photos, but when I wasn’t flexing them, they were quite soft. Must be amazing to lay on these. I played with them some more before taking off my shirt and releasing my new hairy pits. I took a long whiff off them. “I smell like a proper MAN now!” I licked it as well, enjoying the salty taste of Mr. Mills’s pits. I looked at myself in the mirror. My new dick was hard as a rock and waited for me to take care of it.

I headed to the shower and turned on a hot water. “Your body is probably not used to a hot water, am I right, Mr. Mills? I bet you are one of those cold water freaks who bathe in the icy waters.” I hated his voice before, but right now as I was controlling it, I began to like it so much.

The water poured all over my large body, from the perfect face, over my massive pecs, hairless abs and right to my beautiful dick. “Nice dick, Mr. Mills!” I said and chuckled over the fact that I just said that.

I suddenly got a mischievous idea. I came out of the shower and texted Jake.

Jake: „I can’t believe I’m doing this. I am just squeezing Mr. Mills’s pecs and touching his abs. Can you believe it, Daniel?”

Me: „It’s wild, right? But I got an idea. Wanna make it more interesting?”

Jake: „Interesting how?”

Me: „Stop touching me you lazy fag” I said in an authoritative voice and Jake moved his hands away from me quickly.

Jake: „Why did you do that? I got scared.”

Me: „I bet you are scared, you little fag. I know you just came over so that you could jerk off you little dick and watch me enjoy myself.”

Jake: „Daniel?”

Me: „Daniel won’t save you right now. You will do as I say. Ok?”

Jake finally caught up to my roleplay scenario and started acting as well. And by the look of his face I knew that he was really into it.

Jake: „Yes, Mr. Mills. I will do whatever you say.”

I sat down on the couch watching. “I want you to admire my body and say how hot I am and how horny it makes you.”

Jake got his hands on MY body and got a bit nervous: „You have sexy abs, Mr. Mills.”

Me: „You think that’s enough? That they are just sexy?”

Jake: „I think they’re the hottest abs I have ever seen”

Me: „How about my biceps. You like them?”

Jake: „They are SO big. I want you to squeeze my head in them. I want to lick your armpit hair. I want to kiss you.”

Me: „That’s a good boy. How about you show me how good you are, you fag?”

I moved his hands over to my new hard crotch.

Jake smiled and licked his lips

I fucking love being in this body.

And I bet Jake’s ass is gonna love this body even more.

Part 2: https://www.tumblr.com/petew21-blog/780674479706734592/homophobic-gym-teacher-part-2?source=share

[horrorsequel]

Welcome to Get This Fag Out Of Here Friday

[humiliatemeplesse]

After your nephew overheard his parents talking about you being gay, he went and asked them if he could go spend the weekend with you because he really liked spending time with you and you hardly saw him around anymore. They said sure and he said he'd have his buds drop him off at your house after his soccer game after school Friday. You were surprised but happy about the request, you liked your nephew, he was a good kid, smart, a masculine straight confident jock like you wish you had been in school. After his friends dropped him after the match Friday, he just stormed in the door, no knock, no doorbell, he scared the shit out of you. You laughed and said hey buddy! He dropped his gym bag on the floor and said "pick it up you stupid faggot" and you were shocked and horrified. As you stood there not saying or doing anything, he punched you in the gut and you doubled over. "What didn't you understand faggot? Pick up my gym bag asshole." He was so angry and aggressive that your naturally sissy fag self did what he said, you didn't want to get punched again. "Follow me," he said and you did, into your bedroom. "I'll be sleeping here in the master bedroom, you can sleep in the guest room," he said. " Now put down my bag and get on the floor." You almost mindlessly did what he said, still stunned and afraid of him. He sat on the floor and kicked off his sneakers. "Sniff my stinking socks homo, I've been wearing the same pair all week at practice and at the match today, where by the way I scored the winning goal, I bet you wish you were like me you old fag, don't you?" he said and laughed. You hesitated, you couldn't believe what was happening. Then he slapped you across the face with his stinking socked foot. "Sniff it bitch," he said. You stuck your face into his socked sole and started sniffing as ordered. Ya, they smelled like he'd been wearing them for a week. He said "Now remember this, as you're pathetically sniffing your teenaged nephew's socked feet at his orders, you do whatever I tell you to do this weekend. Buy me and my buds beer. Pay for weed. We're gonna steam anything we want on your TV and computer and you're gonna pay for it. You're gonna go to the store and buy anything we want to eat. Got it bitch?" You instinctively said "Yes Sir." Everything he said he'd make you do happened that weekend, and that wasn't the only time he made you sniff his sweaty smelly dirty socked feet AND his buddy's. They all laughed at you. When he left Sunday evening he said "I'm going to start coming over here most weekends so get used to it faggot" and walked out the door into one of his buds cars who was picking him up.

[dionysus-drabbles]

Constantly on the cusp (of tryin’ to kiss you)

pairing: sid jenkins x f!reader

summary: you hooked up with sid all summer. it becomes a hell of a lot harder trying to navigate your relationship when you’re back at college together.

word count: ~2.4k

warnings: fluff, smut, & a hint of angst, freud references, dug out my a level psych textbooks for this one, possible mischaracterisation, reader smokes, reader is described as wearing a bra, shirt, shorts, and tights but it’s easily overlooked, protected piv sex, teasing, one or two mentions of marijuana, hickeys, ghosting, one mention of alcohol, sid is mentioned to have kissed another girl, refs to casual sex between sid & reader.

a/n: if ur the anon who requested, hi! hope I did ur req justice, i tried to include fluff, smut, and a little angst - I got a little carried away! hope I characterised him well enough & you enjoy it 💋 title from do i wanna know? by the arctic monkeys

It’s a warm Friday night, the cool breeze blowing through the window serving as a distant threat of the September weather yet to come. The sky is streaked with pink and purple, the gold of the sun setting shining in the horizon, the type of night you’ll know you’ll see as nostalgic as you grow older, and you’re in Sid’s room. You’re sat at his desk, reading from one of your psychology textbooks, pausing for a minute so Sid can keep up with writing notes, but the telltale scratching sound of pen on paper doesn’t come. When you spin your chair around, Sid’s lying on his bed, fingers laced over his stomach, eyes fixed on the ceiling - pen and notebook by his side.

“Oi,” you say, standing up and plopping down on the bed next to him, the shift in weight making him sit up and meet your gaze. “You’re meant to be taking notes,”

“It’s only September,” he grumbles, rolling his eyes.

“Fine, suit yourself. Have fun failing your a-levels while we all go to uni, though, yeah?”

“Don’t be a twat. Why can’t I read and you make the notes?”

“Made them already,”

“Why can’t I use yours, then?”

“You’re seriously asking that?” You cock a brow, letting out a snort of amusement. You fall into silence for a minute, one that’s nothing if not awkward. Following your summer, being in Sid’s room without so much as a spliff, let alone your clothes on, felt unnatural. You’d found yourself fucking Sid for the first time after the first party of the summer, and it had quickly turned into a regular occurrence. Throughout August, the elephant in the room had been September, and you supposed it had been silently agreed to forget it ever happened. Easier said than done, based on the way your thighs pressed together whenever he moved vaguely in your direction.

“Can we not do this tonight, at least? Reckon we could make it to Tony’s party,” he suggested, snapping you out of your thoughts.

“Psychodynamic approach isn’t going to learn itself, Sidney,”

“Fuck Freud. He just makes this shit up, it doesn’t make sense,”

“See, if you’d revised, you’d be calling it unfalsifiable,” you teased, pulling a pack of cigarettes out of your pocket.

“Piss off, let me have one,” Sid insisted as you lit it, blowing the smoke from your first toke in his face instead.

“Never taught manners, hm?” You snarked, avoiding eye contact with him.

“Please?” He countered, if reluctant. You turned to face him - when did you two get this close together? You can feel the heat of his breath on your face, smell his breath, and you suddenly realise his eyes are on your lips, not the cigarette. It’s instinctive now, the way you tilt your head ever so slightly when he’s this close to you, the way you lean in ever so slightly. His lips are about to brush yours when your phone beeps with a text and you both jolt back. You read it, shoving the cigarette into his hand as you stand up.

“I need to head home. Finish the fag. You can keep the textbook.” You leave without waiting for a response.

You have two unread messages!

sid: same time nxt week?

sid: will do wrk this time

When he next comes to revise it’s at your house, and somehow that makes you feel like you have the upper ground in this emotional cold war more than anything else. Your stomach turns whenever you think of how near you were to kissing the week before, and you’re not entirely sure if it’s butterflies or nausea. Either way, you’re sickeningly fixated on it. Unfortunately, the one time he’s focused, keeping to his promise to do work, you’re distracted.

“We’ve finished psychodynamic. Take five before humanistic?” You suggest, and he nods, leaning to open the window before coming to sit beside you on the bed. You give him a cigarette before you get one for yourself this time, but curse when you feel in your pockets to find them empty. And, like he can read your mind, he offers a lighter. You go to take it from him, cigarette between your lips, but he lights it for you instead. It’s oddly intimate, and you’re sure the feeling in your stomach is butterflies this time - and every other time.

You’re quiet as you smoke. Apparently, your mind thinks this is the perfect time to replay every single interaction you’ve had with Sid in this room. Every smoke, every kiss, every fuck, and it’s becoming harder and harder to keep your resolve.

“Hey,” he says, nudging your leg with his foot. “Is there…are you okay?”

“Hm? Yeah, yeah, we uh- we should probably get back to-“ you stub your cigarette out as you speak, the butt of his already sat in the ashtray, but you’re not given the chance to finish your sentence as his lips press against yours. It’s a shock, but the farthest thing from unwelcome. One of his hands entangles in your hair, the other on your waist, and one of yours caresses the skin of his cheek whilst the other cards through the tufts of hair his beanie leaves revealed at the nape of his neck. Your tongue presses at his lips, compelling them to slide open, and you taste the smoke in his mouth, reminiscent of the cigarettes stubbed out only a moment before, stifling the taste of weed. He’s just as addictive, if not more than, and you think that you’d happily never smoke again if he said you could be together, have this regularity with him.

There’s a moment of awkward shuffling as Sid readjusts his position, and you take the minute to catch your breath. His back’s to your bed frame, and his hand travels south to your thigh and nudges with his pointer and middle finger, and you’ve been hooking up long enough to know he wants you in his lap.

“Are you- can I?” He stammers, hand having moved to the hem of your shirt, looking down at it before meeting your eyes, and god, you’re not sure why you ever thought you had the higher ground with him. You pull it off for him, and his breathing falters, leaving him shakily as his eyes are level with your breasts. You can feel his hardening cock twitch in his trousers belong you, and all of a sudden it’s summer again, and you don’t care about exams, universities, anything but each other.

His lips attach to your chest, sucking dark bruises onto your flesh. They’re discreet, they’ll be hidden by your shirt, but they’re there, and he gave them to you. You grind your hips down into him and he lets out a broken moan, voice cracking with pleasure halfway through. The possibility of coming before he’s even inside you crosses his mind, and he knows he needs to fuck you as soon as possible. He helps you manoeuvre until you’re beneath him, hands shaking with desperation as he fiddles with the button on your shorts, tugging the zip down and sliding his hand beneath the shorts, the tights, taking a minute to slide his fingers across your cunt through your pants, dragging his gaze back to yours with a grin.

“All this, already?” He mocks, tilting his head to the side as you break eye contact and squirm from the pressure of his fingers.

He knows he’s in no position to talk, and he knows the risk of blowing his load in his jeans is getting more and more realistic, so he wastes no time in pushing your clothing down to your mid thighs and nudging a finger into your heat whilst his thumb circles lightly around your clit, painfully teasing. You throw your head back, whining, and he uses his other hand to stroke your cheek, grinning like a kid in a candy store. “Need you to be quiet, yeah? Don’t want anyone hearing, need this all for me,” the possessiveness mixed with his thumb pressing firmly on your clit and the addition of a second finger has you clenching around him, teeth digging into your bottom lip as you try to muffle any noise that might slip out. You know you’re close, your fingers scrabble for purchase on Sid’s back, one hand pulling his beanie off and allowing you to reach your hand into his hair.

He knows you’re close, attentive to the way your legs start trembling and you tense up, and he withdraws any contact before you do. Any complaints you make he hushes, murmuring into your ear as he frees himself of his own jeans, pulling a condom from his pocket in the process.

“You’re so mean,” You whine, hands reaching to help roll the condom onto his cock, tip red and already leaking precum.

“Yeah, m’sorry, sorry for being mean,” he whispers, lips brushing the shell of your ear as he moves back over you. “Let me…need to make it up to you now, right?” He asks, aligning his cock with your entrance. He kisses you as he pushes inside, any noises either of you would make muffled into each other’s mouths. He rambles as he fucks into you, chests almost pressed together, as physically close to you as possible.

“So good. So gorgeous. Been missing doing this, y’know? Made me wait so long to have you, got me going crazy,” he nips at the juncture of your jaw and neck between sentences, each word punctuated with the type of slow stroke that has you arching your back into him, and you find yourself pulling his t-shirt off and running your hands over his skin as if it’s the last time you’ll ever feel it, smiling as you watch the muscles in his abdomen tense and relax as your fingertips brush against his hips. He picks up the pace ever so slightly, moving one of your legs so it presses against his waist and your heel digs into his back, and you mirror it with the other. He kisses you again as he watches you try to stifle a moan from the new angle, nails raking up and down the pale, smooth expanse of his back. Neither of you last much longer, and he has to leave within the hour. You’re left with a dull ache between your legs, a chest tingling from where his lips attacked it, and heart pounding with adrenaline. Oh, and a text. One that comes precisely seven minutes after he leaves.

sid: u free same time next wk?

Then next week, you’re left waiting. Five minutes turns into fifteen. Fifteen into thirty. Thirty into an hour. You check your phone.

You have zero new messages!

You: nvr heard of warning sum1 when ur busy, sidney?

You don’t receive a response. He’s not in second period psychology on Monday, and you catch Michelle as you leave class.

“D’y’know where Sid is? He just aired me on Friday,” you say, lugging your bag onto your shoulder. Michelle shrugs.

“Probably on a comedown. You should’ve been there Friday, everything was going pretty hard, you’d have loved it. Last saw him then,” she shrugs, and your heart sinks. Oh. For a moment, your chest falls. Why would he do that? Shag you and ghost you? Why didn’t he do that in the summer, if he wanted to? The hurt quickly shifts into rage, a furious red feeling that seems to engulf you. If he wanted to play it that way, play the ghosting game, you’d let him. Fine. You didn’t need him. You resolved not to message him, going as far as to change his name in your contacts, but the texts you received that evening made it hard to stick to.

do not answer: (y/n)?

do not answer: im sorry, yeah?

do not answer: i need 2 talk 2 u

do not answer: coming ovr

You don’t say no. You should’ve said no, you know it’s better if you say no, you know you’re supposed to want to say no. But you don’t. When the knock comes on the door fifteen minutes later, you’re hoping it’s him. September weather has settled over Bristol, and it’s pouring with rain, so you end up opening the door to a particularly rain-drenched Sid Jenkins. He makes no effort to come inside, though.

“I’m sorry,” he says it before you’ve even fully opened the door.

“It’s fine, I don’t care, but, like, don’t expect any more tutoring, yeah?” you shrug, hoping your lie that you don’t care is more believable than it seems. He lurches forward and kisses you, a hand firmly on either side of your face, and when he pulls away you drag him inside and slam the door, staring at him with a sort of offended disbelief.

“I was gonna message, alright?! But then this girl kissed me at Tony’s for pres, and…I don’t know, I called her your name, and I just freaked out. I’m sorry for shagging and ghosting you, but it’s just…I can’t not date you, y’know? You’re just so nice and smart, and you actually listen to what I say. I’ve never had that before, I got scared. Tell me to leave, I will, I just needed to…I needed to tell you.” Sid rambles, and he could not be any more shocked when you kiss him. His arms wrap around your waist, and you don’t even care that he reeks of leftover sweat, booze, and weed from the weekend, or that his clothes are soaking yours. He’s yours, he thinks you’re nice, and smart, and pretty, and he wants to date you. You smile as you pull away, pushing his glasses back up his nose from where they’ve slipped and thumbing a section of wet hair off his forehead.

“So, dating, yeah?” You grin, still holding each other.

“I don’t know, I-do you want to?”

“Yes, Sid, I want to,” you giggle, and you’ve barely finished speaking before you’re kissing again. “Y’know, Freud would have said that calling another girl my name was an example of parapraxis”

“Are you really mentioning Freud right now?”

[2old2swiftie]

Just a note for the Gaylors and Bi-lors out there:

I'm really old-- like, I could easily be your mom, and for some, I could even be your grandma-- and I've consumed a lot of media. I'm Gen-X, so I remember the day MTV premiered. I remember when the internet was 2800 baud dial-up. Urban legends couldn't be debunked without a lot of time in a library, and if you missed an episode or a performance, you might never get to see it again.

We had the same "feelings" about some celebrities: our "gaydar" pinged loudly on some people and we knew in our guts they were LGBT, no matter how the media presented them.

Jodie Foster? I knew when she was in Candleshoe and Freaky Friday (the one BEFORE Lindsey Lohan and Jamie Lee Curtis)

Rick Martin, soap opera hunk in the 90s? Livin' la Vida Loca in 1999? I called him as gay when I first saw him on General Hospital. He didn't come out until 2010.

George Michael. 1984 "Wake Me Up Before You Go-Go"? Same. No straight man wears stubble like that.

Tracy Chapman. Knew it.

I remember getting my first earful of Melissa Etheridge in 1988. I knew she was a lesbian the first time I heard her lyrics, but Melissa didn't decide to come out until 1993 with Yes, I Am.

[I lucked out on that one: My office mate in grad school was a glorious flaming fag from Leavenworth KS, Etheridge's hometown, and he came back from Christmas break in 1989 to tell me, "One of my lesbian friends showed me a videotape: it was her ex, Missy, appearing on The Tonight Show!! It was that rocker chick you've been obsessed with: Melissa Etheridge."]

You're not wrong. You're not crazy. You're not projecting.

What you see, over and over, is an issue that Taylor can't keep out of her art. She may never reveal it fully; she may never choose to come out. She may marry 🏈 and have 57 little tight ends.

But what you see is NOT a projection. You're not making it up.

[absolutebl]

Top 10 Great BLs That Are REALLY hard to find (but worth tracking down)

You may want to go hunting anyway!

Seven Days

Seven Days: Monday-Thursday

Seven Days: Friday-Sunday

Japan 2015

Never doubt my ability to recommend this show. One of the best live action yaois ever made, with perfectly structured angst, fantastic characters and acting, and no problematic tropes (rare in Japanese BL). The leads have excellent chemistry although it’s low heat there’s still some really cute mutual kisses.

Cherry Magic AKA 30-sai made Dotei Da to Mahotsukai ni Nareru rashii

Japan 2020

The sweetest fluffiest magical realism BL, packaged as a pinning office romance, very low heat (practically chaste) but the cutest. It’s truly great.

Cherry Magic Thailand

Thai 2024

A soft charming warm hug of a show about crushes and mind reading and self worth, with no-fuss execution from a consummate team and an OG lead pair proving why they remain eternal and deserve to grow up. Look, here’s the thing, Cherry Magic is a great Thai BL in its own right not comparing it to any other iteration. But even when I do compare (and I've seen all the Cherries and read the manga) it still stands. I personally like it slightly better than the Japanese live action, but I think that’s because I just really like Thai BL and I LOVE TayNew. Also all the kissing was both present and better than any other iteration. As it should be from Thailand.

I Feel You Linger in the Air

Thai 2023

IFYLITA is an exquisite BL, from filming techniques to narrative framework (much like Until We Meet Again). Steeped in history and family drama it edges into lakorn (but no as much as To Sir With Love and with way less scenery chewing). This is an elegant and classy BL... from Thailand which normally doesn't even try for classy. The main couple (both as a pair and individuals) were excellent, particularly Bright (Yai) whose eye-work acting style is a personal favorite of mine. Pity about the ending. Oh it wasn’t that sad but it wasn’t good either. This show could easily have earned a 10/10 from me except that it fumbled the… erm… balls in the final quarter. Argh. Whatever.

All about the ecstasy and the agony here.

Restart After Come Back Home AKA Risutato wa tadaima no ato de

Japan 2020

Atmospheric study in rural Japan meets complex family dynamics built on a romance framework of city boy meets country boy, grumpy/sunshine. It’s beautiful and icy sweet. Slow moving in places but ultimately worth the patience, low heat, low angst, and stunning.

Given

Japan 2021

Boy joins band, falls in love with other boy. The singing is terrible, fast forward through that but with the possible exception of the hair styles, this BL could have been made in 2015 and no one would be surprised. As such, it wasn’t ground breaking, but it didn’t disappoint either.

Make a Wish

Thai 2023

A doctor who can see the dead strikes a bargain with a wish-granting irreverent tree angel - naturally they fall in love (from Sammon: Manner of Death & Triage). Stars Fluke Natouch opposite not-Ohm, but who tf cares because Fluke has chemistry with everybody. Once again the Thai afterlife is incredibly bureaucratic but I enjoyed the premise and the unfolding of the story (it’s not predictable but still satisfying and with nice little twist). I like that the doctor is just gay AF - fag hag bestie and all the swagger. The cast is excellent even if the comedic stylings are a bit overblown and tonally off. It had sad parts and did make me cry but is ultimately happy with a great sex scene, good smiley kisses, and all the agency. Definitely recommended.

2 Moons The Ambassador AKA 2 Moons 3

Thai 2022

A Thai pulp that felt like it came out 5 yrs prior, with many of the flaws inherent to that time and studio system, including manufactured angst and convoluted plot, but an ultimately sweet main couple that (as a pairing) feels a bit more modern and satisfying to watch than they started out. This will probably go down in history as one of the few BLs where I genuinely didn’t care about any of the side couples. All that said, I find this show oddly appealing and rewatchable and I have no excuses for that except, I enjoyed it probably more than it deserved. Nostalgia & d**k, it's what's for dinner.

I Want to See Only You AKA Kimi no Koto Dake Mite Itai

Japan 2022

This is a beautiful well acted piece of cinema, about two boys who are opposite personalities and grew up together. Gifted and serious Sakura pines after outgoing eccentric manic pixie dream boy, Yuma. It is very pretty and this is the kind of atmospheric elegantly performed BL that only really comes from Japan (complete with dead fish kisses - what you though Korea invented them? oh no). If you want something stylish, this is it.

Triage

Thai 2022

BL does Groundhog Day featuring a doctor stuck in a time loop who must save a poor little rich boy from death by seducing the stuffing out of him, then PLOT TWIST, poor little rich boy must do the same for the doctor! Unfortunately... stuffing keeps leaking. I thought the plot was engaging if a little redundant and occasionally exhausting. The pairs were all well done, low heat but with decent chemistry and the support characters were likable (or unlikable, as required). If anything, the romance arc detracted and distracted from the main plot, but that doesn't stop this from being a genuinely good show.

HONORABLE MENTION

Great Men Academy

Thai 2019

Bodyswap involving unicorns turning a teenage girl into a boy makes this questionable as a BL (because, ya know, gender). But the fact remains that James is killer in the lead, and I (who do not like bodyswap) loved this damn show. Look, there is actual plot, hotties at boarding school, "bully the one you love" trope, some weird VR shit, very bad CGI, and yes, the boys end up together... whether they boys or not, so to speak.

Some of these shows may appear on a smaller streaming service, like WeTV, or they may be on a legal platform in your territory. I hope it goes without saying you should check there first.

(source)

This list updated Spring 2024, not responsible for cool stuff that went missing (or was added to a platform) after that date.

It's it last in a series the rest of which are:

[issdisgrace]

THE START OF BILLY HARGROVE AND HIS METAL HEAD BF RELATIONSHIP

WARNINGS: Use of the word fag, nothing else​

A/N: There will be a part 2 in the future eventually.​

You and Billy officially met when you two were paired together for a History project. Both of you hated the idea of having to work with each other because why wouldn’t you.

You two were complete opposites. You were a 6’2 metal head that wore corpse paint, band tees, and arguably way to many rings. While Billy was a 5’10 blonde hair blue eyed fuck boy that drove a loud ass car.

So it was no surprise that you both asked the teacher if there was anyway to get a different partner.

Unfortunately or rather fortunately the two of you couldn’t get out of doing the project together. While neither of you really cared all that much for your grades you both needed to pass the class and the project would count as 50% of your grade. So you both had to do it whether you liked it or not.

Anyway you begrudgingly both shared your information with one another and planned to meet up at your place that Friday to work on the project together.

Eventually Friday rolled around and Billy showed up late as always in his blue 1979 Chevrolet Camaro.

To say Billy didn’t want to be there was an understatement. Fortunately for him you had all the information the two of you would need to put together the project.

So things went smoothly and you two talked back and forth as you worked getting to know each other.

Which was when you both found out that you shared a genuine love of cars. This definitely helped your guys acquaintanceship and made the project go by quicker.

Anyway in the end the project only took you guys 3 hours which was less than what you both expected it to take. After you guys finished Billy left your place and that Monday you guys presented to the class before you both went back to strangers.

You two stayed strangers again for 2 months until Billy had a problem with his Camaro and didn’t want someone he didn’t know touching his baby so instead of taking it to a mechanic and knowing you worked on cars, he showed up at your house asking for you to look at.

You were of course surprised by this visit and even more surprised when he asked you to take a look at his Camaro. You of course agreed and took a look. It ended up being something real easy to fix so you.

So you took off your rings and handed them to Billy for safe keeping. As you bent over the Camaro fixing the problem.

Billy quietly watched you from the side as you worked on the Camaro. He took note of everything about you from your height and build to your clothes and corpse paint.

As he watched you he felt something grow in his chest. Something all too familiar. Something that he frankly hated. Something he wished to ignore specifically being in this shit hole of a town.

This town wasn’t all to found of people like him. People that liked same gender. But Billy would never call himself a fag sure he liked men but he also liked women. He had no clue what he was but he knew he liked you.

Maybe it was the fact you were so openly yourself and didn’t care what others thought of you or maybe was it the way you held yourself and talked. Who knows because Billy certainly didn’t.

As you were finish up Billy realized he needed to pay you for your work somehow. He wondered if you were gay and would go out on a date with him as payment.

“You’re all set. Your baby should be working at 100% again.”

“Thanks……Um would you maybe want to go out on a date with me. It’s all on me, I just want to um pay you back for your work.”

“Sure that’s fine with me. I’m free this Saturday if that good with you.”

“Yeah that works for me.”

“Well it’s a date then.”

[octuscle]

My professor is such a pain in the ass! I tried turning him into an average dumb college frat guy, but it’s not working!

Whew! Indeed, your professor is a tough nut to crack. He's as stiff as if he'd swallowed a stick. On time like a Swiss watch. And the strictest teacher imaginable. I'll see what I can do. Time is pressing, it's Friday and the exam period starts on Monday.

07:30. Your professor's shiny Volvo rolls into the faculty parking lot. He's always on time to the second. His suit may be cheap, but it's immaculate. And he walks into the staff room with his hair perfectly parted. No one notices the small tattoo on his forearm.

When he arrives at your lecture, it's like a sensation: he's not wearing polished Oxfords, he's wearing sneakers. Pretty cool, pretty expensive sneakers. And WHITE socks! He's never been seen wearing anything like that before. And you swear his stomach is flatter. Normally his jacket always conceals a tummy bulge. But now his silhouette is perfectly slim. Unfortunately, it doesn't change anything about his lecture. He's way too fast, firing his questions like a sniper in the direction of the students who weren't paying attention. He's a pain in the ass, and that hasn't changed yet.

During the lunch break, the professor is seen wearing jeans for the first time. Pretty crisp fitting jeans. He really has a tight ass. And damn: Does he actually have a beard shadow? Normally he's always perfectly shaved. You're sitting in the canteen with your bruhs when he approaches you and asks "All gud, bruhs? can one of you give me uh fag? I must have forgotten mine at home…" You are far too surprised not to give him a cigarette. "You're such uh lifesaver, dude," says your professor and asks what you're up to this weekend. You tell him about your plans to go to the sports bar, work out in the gym and maybe take a trip to the beach on Sunday. "Sick thing" replies the professor. "See you around, bruhs!" He leaves you with your mouths hanging open.

The professor leaves the parking lot in his open-top Mustang with loud hip-hop music and screeching tires. You grin broadly. Your plan seems to be working. You are sure of it when you meet the next day at the gym. Your professor has a cool haircut, a stylish beard and looks like he's a regular at the tattoo parlor. You greet each other with a fist bump. And when he takes off his sweaty T-shirt after two hours, you say goodbye with a chest bump. Damn, this guy has a killer body.

On the beach, your prof disappears from time to time with random people and goes to the trunk of his Mustang. Shit, he's selling drugs. Hashish or apparently steroids and other stuff. And at sunset you see him lying on his towel smoking pot while one of the musclemen from the gym massages his nipples. Fuck, the boner in his surfer shorts is impressive. You're very pleased with yourself. You don't need to be afraid of tomorrow. It's a good thing you didn't waste the weekend studying.

Hot picture, you think to yourself on Monday morning when you see your professor's latest post on Instagram. And then you read the caption: "Sicc training 2 start the new wk. Now let's go kicc sum student ass. I luv it when i c the airheads sweating over my exam questions"

Pic found @marechais

[dykewithbenefits]

Henlo! Should have wrote this yesterday bc it was Femboy Friday, but today works out fine. Orientation play is so much fun to me, because it means that “lesbian” girls will bounce on my fat femboy cock. “Straight” boys get the honor of being on all fours, plowed in the ass. Being feminine is a get-out-of-jail free card for that girl who “doesn’t like guys”, or that fag who claims to be cishet when in reality his identity is as a hole. Nobody is safe from thick-cocked femboys’ bitchbreakers tearing them in two. Lesbians and straights are my favorite to corrupt, but that isn’t to say that I can’t make a fakegirl realize he’s just escaping his responsibilities, or make a fakeboy my obedient cunt purely because I like tomboys. Fucking an ace until they beg to be filled as a purely romantic act, bringing an aro to dinner because they deserve to have some fun before our usual fuckbuddy routine. Anyone can be any identity, as long as their identity is mine.

I forgot this was in my inbox, but I agree! You can choose whatever labels you want for your gender- and sexual identity, but in the end, the only thing that matters is what someone more dominant than you wants you to be <3

[ghostgirl-22]

Not necessarily sexual, but what if Art takes care of Patrick for once?

Patrick is upset over something cruel his father told him and wakes Art up with his sniffling. Patrick never cries so Art is immediately alarmed and tries to get him to open up. Patrick tries to mask his feelings at first, but eventually breaks down and cries into Art’s chest. They fall asleep with Patrick being the little spoon for once, wrapped in Art’s arms.

I chopped this up a lot but I think I got to the core of your ask nonnie <3 Idk why in my head I could see Patrick just being the whacky charming youngest and favorite of his parents. Forgive my typos… happy Valentine’s Day maybe I’m gonna write a valentines fic tomorrow when Valentine’s Day is over. Anyway love y’all.

TW: period typical homophobia, use of a slur, internalized homophobia, otherwise SFW.

——

Patrick does this thing where he acts like nothing gets to him. Like nothing can hurt him. For a while Art was envious because he believed the act. Now he knows better. He sees it now… the way Patrick will smile even more when his eyes are sad. The way he’ll shrug and then fidget, fingertips tapping a fragile rhythm like the physical act of it can divert the pain away. The way he goes quiet. 

Still he never saw Patrick cry before this summer. It’s their last summer break before senior year. They’ve been spending at least a few weeks together every summer since they were 12, going back and forth between each other's houses. Patrick’s summer house in Connecticut, Art’s family home in Massachusetts. It was easy. Patrick had the bigger house of course, the bigger bedroom, all the latest game systems, a tennis court. So many places on his family's estate to hang out and explore. 

Patrick’s family is a little more complex than Arts though. 

It’s no secret Patrick doesn’t get along with his older brother, Levi. Art actually doesn’t like him either. He’s ten years older then them and he’s everything that Patrick isn’t, more smarmy than charming, flashy and pretentious, lording his daddy’s money around and reminding Patrick that it’s his birth right. He’s a lawyer now and already works for their dad’s company. But all it takes is five minutes talking to their tennis loving dad to understand why Levi hates Patrick. 

“Tennis is such a beautiful game. I played for years but never came close to what you and Patrick can do on that court.” Patrick’s dad says wistfully. He would often stand courtside to watch them play in the summers.

Levi is no athlete. He doesn’t even like sports and there’s Patrick, the apple of their fathers eye because he can hit a ball with a racket. 

If Levi were less of an asshole, Art might actually relate to him. But he’s a total dick. He loves to make it known that Patrick was a ’mistake’. “Mom and dad were perfectly happy with the three of us,” he says of himself and Patrick’s older sisters one Friday night in July. 

That clearly bothered Patrick at one point but he’s used to it now. “Yeah and imagine how boring that would’ve been. One lame ass son.” Patrick mutters and Art grins. They’re eating ice cream in the oversized kitchen while Levi lingers at the wine cooler, pouring himself a glass. He watches as Patrick takes some of Art’s ice cream, his gaze cool. 

“I’d be careful if I were you Art, you know he’s a fag right?”

Art raises his eyebrows. 

“Shut the fuck up,” Patrick snaps. 

“Oh, he doesn’t know?” Levi’s eyes light up, gleefully. “Sarah caught him last weekend kissing the pool boy, the help of all people, moaning like a freak.” 

“I said shut up,” Patrick says, his voice cold. Art has never seen his cheeks turn so red before.    

Levi lets out a cruel little giggle. “Wait till dad finds out you're the fruity one. I’d sleep with one eye open if I were you, Art. You never know, you seem like his type. He might try something.” 

“I’ll fucking kill you if you say another word, fucking asshole,” Patrick shouts. 

“Don’t worry little brother, I’m sure they love butt boys in pro tennis,” Levi smirks, self satisfied in Art’s direction and takes his glass of wine back to the office where he’s been working. 

Art is tongue tied, barely able to make his brain connect to his mouth. He’s feeling all kinds of things, not even sure what half of the things he’s feeling even mean but he knows he’s furious on Patrick’s behalf. He glances at Patrick and that’s all it takes for Art to know what Levi said was true. He’s still red faced, fists clenched, staring angrily at the bowl of ice cream like it was the one who said those horrible things to him. And then he gets up and leaves the kitchen abruptly.  

“Wait Patrick,” Art says but he doesn’t stop. Art sighs and gets up following him to the bedroom. He’s several paces behind and when he gets inside Patrick has fallen to the bedroom floor, actually sobbing. Head in his hands. Art can’t believe his eyes. In all the years he’s known him, he’s never seen more than the slight sparkle when his eyes well up tears. If he didn’t before, he really fucking hates Levi now.

He gets down on his knees next to Patrick. 

“Art can you go, I need to be alone,” he mutters, chest heaving. 

“No,” Art says, he’s not sure how to do this but he wants to be there for Patrick. “He’s a fucking loser. Do you want me to beat his dweeby ass?”

Patrick sniffles a laugh and shakes his head. 

“He’s just pissed because…” Art rubs Patrick’s shoulder, a gentle pattern. “Fuck him okay I mean…” He doesn’t know what to say… or why he keeps thinking about the pool boy, Armando, tall, athletic, brown eyes, and long dark blonde hair. He looks and sounds like a surfer, but not from California but whatever beach they have in Spain. Art can’t get him out of his head for some reason. 

“It’s true,” Patrick mutters after a while looking up at him. “I think I… I do like boys.” 

Art presses his lips together, nodding. “That’s um— that’s okay, man. Uh… remember um… Calvin from the team… Calvin said he uh he kissed a guy before.” He takes a breath. He has to do better than this, but he’s starting to fixate on the color of Patrick’s eyes. He never realized how colorful they were. Now that they’re wet it’s like they sparkle. 

”I dont… I would never do anything to you… like… like what my brother was saying okay?” Patrick sniffles. 

Art swallows. God now he’s fixating on Patrick’s lips. God damn it. He needs to be fucking normal. Patrick is his best friend for crying out loud. Art wraps his arms around Patrick and closes his eyes. “Fuck him, man. He’s a homophobic asshole. If you’re gay then—”

”I’m not gay…” Patrick says softly. Art can practically feel his voice vibrating in his ear. There’s a strange familiar feeling at the base of his stomach, his instinct is to pull away but he holds on. 

“You’re not?” He doesn’t mean to sound relieved, fuck. 

“I’m bisexual,” Patrick murmurs. He pulls out of the hug and gets to his feet, rubbing his eyes with the heels of his palms. “I’m just…” he laughs. “I’m a fucking mess. He’s hot and the way he was looking at me in the pool. I brought him to my room and well we just started exploring… I should’ve known we wouldn’t get any privacy here. Sarah just barged into my room and she can’t keep her fucking mouth shut. My dad is… well… I don’t fucking care.” He flops down onto his bed and takes a deep breath. 

Art crawls over on his knees. “Does he know?” 

“Not yet,” Patrick says, “but he’ll know as soon as he gets back from his business trip. Levi will make sure of that.” 

“Well,” Art crawls onto the bed and lies down next to him. “Not if we kill him first.” 

Patrick looks at him and then laughs. Art grins, happy to make him smile. He feels warm all of a sudden.  

Patrick sighs. “You want to play Mario kart?” 

“Yeah.”  

They lay down for an hour, only really chatting about the game. Patrick starts to get sleepy, it’s clear he’s still upset. He puts his controller down. Art turns off the game and settles next to him in the dark. His mind has been racing the whole time. Patrick’s never cried in front of him before so it feels like something has shifted.

“My dad isn’t gonna look at me the same,” he laughs but there’s a bitterness in it.

“You don’t… you don’t know that.” Art says gently.

“You think it’s weird, don’t you?” he rolls over to face Art.

“No,” Art says quickly. His parents had always taught him to be accepting of people’s differences. They always supported gay rights. But there was this part of Art that knew that their tolerance was only meant for other people. Unlike Patrick he was the only boy, he was expected to be traditional. 

“You’re a bad liar,” Patrick sighs. 

“I mean I think I’m just trying to process it. I had no idea and now it’s just…” Art takes a deep breath. 

“You really had no idea?”

“Well it’s not like you told me, and you…we always talk about girls.”

Patrick gazes at him. “Fair enough.”

“What’s it like?” The question just spills out of him, he can’t stop himself. 

”Hm?” 

Now it’s his turn to feel his skin heat up. Why is he so fixated on the stupid kiss? “Sorry it’s not important…never mind. I guess I just figured it’d be different then… uh never mind.”

”It’s a little different but the same in all the ways that matter,” Patrick says. He’s sniffling again. Art licks his lips and scoots closer to him. Patrick looks down, following the movement. 

“I could uh… I could show you.” 

Art thinks he’s joking and smiles, Patrick holds his gaze a little longer and Art swallows, something all too familiar suddenly thrumming through his body. But it makes no fucking sense. He can’t really be turned on by this. “You’re um… you’re serious?” 

Patrick laughs, “God,” he says, shaking his head. 

“What?” Art says. 

“Nothing, I’m a fucking mess. Can you…hold me until I fall asleep?” It’s Patrick using Art’s own words. Spoken a number of times when they were kids and he’d asked Patrick to do it in his grandmother's place when he was having trouble adjusting to boarding school.  

Patrick never told anyone about it, never even made fun of him which was surprising, considering he ribs Art about almost everything. Art isn’t sure what he’s feeling but he nods, “of course,” and lets Patrick settle into his arms. They lie in bed, Art keeping Patrick safe from the world for just a little bit. Inseparable, like two colors bleeding into each other, until they both fall asleep.  

[wishmaster]

Hey a bunch of Chavs moved in next to me and keep causing a ruckus playing loud music? Anything I can do about this?

They stand outside staring at you, they know you're not happy with them and give you a proper hello. You fear for your future that is until you bumpy into one of them on your way out.

He's out enjoying a smoke, his shiny track suit catches you eye as does the firm ass sticking out from it.

Hey Bruv, his says in his rough broken British tongue, blowing smoke in your face, which bothers yo at first because you hate cigarettes and their smell.

Hi you say standing there almost entranced by him. He continues to smile at you blowing smoke right on you, but now doesn't seem to bother you in fact it seems some what intoxicating. He offers you a drag, which you happily take, the moment the fag hits your lips you feel something cold and metallic around your neck.

Fuck yeah bruv! you shake hands with him, you embrace as if you've known each other for years, unaware you now had the same heavy voice as him, your stuffy work clothes now replaced by a near duplicate of your mates suit.

But with your signature leather gloves which you wear just in case you and the boys happen to get into trouble, unlike your mates whose finger prints have been worn off working construction, you still had yours thanks to spending your nights banging the bosses daughter, you had a easier job at the site, assistant to the VP, which came with its perks.

Fuck Yeah you shout almost a rallying call as all your best mates gathered, it was Friday night, time to go out and raise some hell!!

[starry-eyedblog]

Request for a prnaddict!reader x ghost? You two just became pretty good friends, sharing things about yourselves. Simon shares his recent addiction to cigarettes when you just casually drop that you have a prnaddiction.

side note: Just left a function and its 2am. overheard this scenario unraveling in a balcony earlier. Am too tired to be horny so i left and now leaving this for u if you'd like to :3 goodniiiiiight~

oooo this is such a juicy idea!! also disclaimer, i ken that this probs wouldnae happen in the military where they restrict other soldiers on personal things like smoking but this is FICTION so i dinnae care :3

warnings/tags: simon x gn reader, smoking addictions, porn addiction, smut

it's a friday night, and the bar you are sat at is bustling with bodies. it was starting to get too much so you decided to step out for some air and a tipsy smoke. as you push the heavy door out, the nippy air sweeps in and instantly cools your flushed skin.

a soft sigh leaves you as you step around the corner and pull out your packet of cigs, sliding one out and holding it between your lips as you search for your lighter. once you feel it in your back pocket, you fish it out and spark it up. as the flame lights up your face, this is when you notice the mammoth of a man stood next to you, desperately trying to flicker his lighter to life.

he curses quietly and you look away, lighting up your own fag before silently passing over the lighter to him. he looks up, a black surgical mask hooked beneath his jawline and showing off a pretty gnarly scar across his face. "cheers, love." he grumbles, taking the lighter from you.

you nod silently with a soft smile before taking a long drag from your fag, holding the smoke in your lungs before slowly exhaling. you watch the smoke dance up into in the air for a moment before turning to the man next to you who's chuckling softly.

"like an angel sent from heaven, don't know what i would've done if i couldn't find a lighter." he mumbles as he brings the fag to his lips and inhales. you laugh quietly at his words, taking the lighter back from him.

"no big deal, glad to be of service." you joke with a smile, gently tapping the ash off your fag with your fingers. "i'd be the same if my vibe charger died." you mumble out, but the mysterious man hears you.

"that so?" he questions, and you blush as he turns to you with the fag hanging from his lips. "uh, uhm yeah. all got our own sin or poison, or whatever the saying is." you say, taking a long drag from the fag. he asks for your name, which you give him before asking the same.

once the two of you exchange names, you prompt him about his smoking. "so, addicted to nicotine huh?" you ask, watching him take a long drag from his fag. he nods silently, looking over at you as he slowly exhales the smoke.

"calms my mind and gives me something to do," he shrugs, watching the way you look away from his eyes. "and what about you? can't get enough of a wank?" simon teases and you snort.

"guess you could say that, is it a crime to love porn?" you question with a flushed face, unable to meet his eyes as the two of you smoke outside of the bar together and chat about your addictions.

simon looks back up at he night sky, staring at the bright stars before responding. "didn't say that love," he mumbles before continuing. "each to their own."

months down the line and the two of you are helping each other out - in reality you are only helping the other further aid their addictions.

simon is unable to bring fags now when he gets deployed as they pat him down and confiscate them. a mark now on his file from price to not let him smoke since he's been caught out on his addiction.

so to help, you'll send parcels with fag packets in bulk that he can hide in his room. he has a few secret smoking spots on base where he is sure to be alone and left like that for hours.

when he's back, you'll have him over and fuck him while watching porn together. he indulges in you, sometimes picks out videos that he likes and wants to show you which rots your brain even further.

oh and he fucks you so well, one of the best fuck buddies you've ever had. makes you cum multiple times before he's even got his cock stuffed into you. he likes to grab your jaw and force you to keep your eyes open while watching video after video.

it's a perfect little transaction almost that the both of you have, and no one bothers you about your addictions now. both of you realise that it's unhealthy and if others found out, they'd be disappointed but screw them.

[humiliatemeplesse]

You left work late that Friday. On his way out your Boss said hey, remember to lock the door when you leave. Four hours later when you were finally getting out of there, as you walked through the lobby the maintenance guy was there, sitting on the red floor relaxing against one of the statues there. "Hey faggot", he said. You were stunned. "Excuse me? you said. " You heard me. faggot. Fucking faggot I see you look down at me everyday I'm in there, like I'm lower than you because I'm the maintenance man instead of some big time financial dude. But y'know what? I'd rather be a real, masculine man doing a man's job than sitting at a desk all day like a fucking woman, like a secretary or something. And I'm certainly glad that I'm not a fucking dirty faggot." You said "Hey buddy, that's not cool at all. I..." "Shut the fuck up faggot," he said. He kicked off his boots that he had already unlaced so they were loose. "Get on your fucking belly and sniff my stinking socks fag, and beg me for forgiveness for looking at me the way you do when I'm in there. If you don't I'm gonna kick your fucking ass." You knew he could easily beat the shit outta you. You're a faggot, you didn't even know how to fight. And there was nobody left in the office, in the building, to call out to. So, you resigned yourself to your fate. You dropped your briefcase and gut down on the floor. You were on your belly with your face in his sweaty socked feet. They were still moist and damp with his sweat from being in his boots. They really smelled, like he hasn't changed them all week. You started kissing them and begging him for forgiveness. "That's right homo, beg and kiss my stinking socks you fucking perv, sniff 'em too, I can smell 'em from here, they fucking stink. Real man stink." You found yourself saying "Yes Sir." He said "that's right faggot" and kicked you in the face with his big sweaty smelly socked foot. He made you do that for hours. He called you every degrading and humiliating thing in the book. You got lots of kicks and socked foot slaps to the face. Finally, he got up, put on his boots and started to leave. "And you can exist expect to do shit like this regularly, it'll teach you to stay in your fucking fag place," and he left. And this became part of your routine every Friday, because he ordered you to, threatening you with a vicious beat down.

[cillianmurphysdimples]

A Female Y/N / Cillian fanfic (Part Forty One)

Absolutely not based on anything real at all, all totally fictional, fanciful and all total bollocks.

Warnings for sexual references and language. Adult themes. Not suitable for under 18s.

We Got Issues

Part Forty One: Y/N and Cillian start their Monday with the the trip to Cork that they've both been eagerly anticipating, and feeling anxious over. Y/N takes a few moments to think about how she sees herself outside of the relationship, and also how much Cillian means to her. They put one another at ease before they set off to inform Cillian's family of their pregnancy. [Fluff/Mild Anxiety]

@cherry-cilly @whatcjdidnext @aesthetic0cherryblossom @meister95 @vivianleighwishesshewasme @strangeions @borntodiemp3 @watermeezer @lavender-haze-01 @meadowshelby

Just a reminder, use of the word "fag" for cigarette and not in the offensive manner.

--------------

After a weekend at home filled with noise, courtesy of Malachy and Aran both staying from Friday to Sunday, you were exhausted even after a good sleep over the Sunday night when Monday morning arrives. You wake with a resurgence of your nausea, feeling horribly sickly, and the idea of the planned, long drive to Cork makes your stomach twist with dread as you lie still - glad of the silence - but urging yourself not to throw up. Cillian's calls to his family had been under the guise of a visit before he ends up busy again, and he'd arranged that you'd stay with his parents for Monday and Tuesday night before returning home again Wednesday, with a family dinner - to break the news - on Tuesday. You were nervous but looking forward to it, but it was shadowed right now by the awful nausea. You breathe deeply, listening to the sounds of Cillian's snuffling sleeping breaths beside you, and you know you're fighting a losing battle when you begin swallowing frequently. Not wanting to heave all over the bedroom, you stand up slowly and then dash as quickly as you can to the bathroom. The sink is closer than the toilet, and you grip the sides as you retch painfully. You've nothing to bring up, but your stomach tries anyway. You know each belching heave is loud and dramatic, and you groan as it finally slows but your stomach hurts from the effort. Still clutching the sink, you swallow against your sore throat and breathe out as steadily as you can with pursed lips. After a moment, you brave straightening up and walk slowly back towards the bedroom. You'd left the door open, and as you step inside you can see Cillian is awake and lying facing the door, evidently disturbed either by your running out or your heaves. 

“Y’alright?” He croaks sleepily, and you nod your head slowly as you shut the door. “You going to be fit to be sitting in the car?” He asks as he stretches beneath the blankets, then groans noisily. 

“Have to be,” you shrug as you return to the bed. You sit on the edge and pick up your phone - it's only seven am but the plan was to be out by nine anyway, so it's not necessarily a bad idea to stay up. “Maybe we can get some travel sickness medicine before we go, it might help?” 

“If it's safe to take,” Cillian agrees, then yawns noisily. He groans again as he shifts and sits up, and you glance over your shoulder at him. “I need a piss - then I'll jump in the shower. Y'alright here?” He says as he walks around the bed. He stands beside you and you close your eyes as he bends to kiss you on the top of your head. As he straightens up, he dances a little on the spot like he's choosing between leaving and staying.

Laughing, you swipe his hip with your palm “I'm fine. I'll bring the bag down and get the kettle on. Don't take too long in the shower if we're getting on the road by nine.” 

“Leave the feckin’ bag there,” he tells you immediately as he walks towards the bedroom room, “I'll bring it down when I'm coming. Don't even think about lifting that yoke.” He disappears out without another word, and you hear the bathroom door shut and bolt across a moment later. 

Still feeling nauseous, you breathe like you're already in labour to try and calm it as you gather up yours and Cillian's phone chargers to add into the big for the trip to Cork - everything else has already been forced inside of the holdall that is usually Cillian's longer-length travel bag. You crouch at the bag on the floor and stuff the chargers and Cillian's earphones inside, knowing there'll be at least one moment in time when he'll decide he needs a break, or to go for a run. It's when you think about that prospect that it occurs to you that he's only been running twice since the new year, and you wonder if he's lacking motivation or if it's just the want of being at home. When you're satisfied you have nothing else to remember, you freshen yourself up with wipes - having showered the night before - and dress quickly into a pair of comfortable leggings, a long tunic, and a light cardigan before you fix your hair before the mirror. You grab a pair of thick socks from the dresser and take them, and your phone, with you as you leave the bedroom and head down the stairs. 

The house is warmer downstairs, and you feel cosy even without having put your socks on yet as you pad across to the kitchen. But you perch on a stool at the island to pull them on regardless. You bring the kettle to the sink and fill it from the cold tap, then halt on the spot as you turn it off as you remember it has a tendency to affect the shower if a downstairs tap is run. But you don't hear Cillian squealing, so you decide it's fine this time. You set the kettle back onto the base and flick it on to boil, then grab mugs and set them beside it. You don't know if Cillian wants coffee or tea, so you leave that until he appears. Walking across the kitchen, you reach into one of the wall mounted cupboards and pull out the box of multivitamins inside - Cillian had insisted on them in the days after your scan, and you'd followed his advice keenly. You weren't sure if they were actually going to be beneficial, but they promised an increased amount of vitamins B and D, and folic acid, which claimed to be very important during pregnancy. You take the single, absolutely enormous pill in hand and take it with you to the sink to swallow it down with water. It takes two gulps to shift it, and you're sure these are meant for horses not humans. 

Standing at the sink, though, you take stock of yourself and realise you've begun to feel a little less nauseated. It isn't gone by any means, but that threat of gagging has eased from your throat. You rinse the glass you'd just used under the hot tap and set it back down against the drainer, and pause again with a slight smirk in anticipation of Cillian yelling out upstairs. But once again, it doesn't come. But you do hear the bathroom door open and Cillian's footsteps tipping across the landing a few moments later, so you return to the kettle and set it once again to boil. You scold yourself as you do, though, knowing full well Cillian would have moaned about energy conservation at your first unnecessary heating of the water had he been around. And then you laugh to yourself at all the times you do something, or think something, and then have the secondary thoughts of what it is Cillian might say or do about it. 

You really do feel linked with him - it's a blessing and a curse. It means you love him to your very core, and that's a phenomenal feeling - but you can't remember the full you you were before him, and that alarms you sometimes. When did it become that your entire life was Cillian - or ‘you and Cillian’ - as opposed to ‘you’ and then ‘Cillian’? It isn't necessarily a bad thing, of course not, but Cillian has so much outside of your relationship and you consider that beyond work, you're not entirely sure what you have. You're brought from your thoughts by Cillian appearing almost right in front of you, dressed in cuffed jeans and a blue t-shirt, with a heavy-knit black cardigan pulled over the top. His hair is damp and flicking about the place like nobody's business, and he has his glasses on which makes you wonder if he has a headache or his eyes are straining him. He wore them usually when working, or reading, but you'd noticed that he would reach for them when he had head pain - he rarely ever voiced that the pain existed but you'd come to equate the two. You made a mental note to ask him later, if he didn't remove them. You raise your eyebrows and smile, “Nice shower?” 

“Some fecker kept sending the water cold,” he smirks at you, and you bite your bottom lips as you laugh nervously. “That kettle boiled?” 

“A minute ago,” you say. “Tea or coffee?” You turn to the kettle and flick the switch for a third time, but he's turned his back and apparently hasn't taken any notice. 

“Eh, coffee…” he calls back with his head in the fridge behind you. “Will we eat on the road, or are you hungry now?” He asks. 

“I'm not hungry, but I think I'll feel worse if I don't eat something. Maybe I'll just get an apple or…you could be kind and give me a flapjack.” You hear him cackle a loud laugh behind you as you focus on pouring the hot water. 

“Like you don't be in there swiping them anyway,” he's still laughing as he shuts the fridge door. “If you find you can keep them down then bring a few with us, I'd rather you'd something you can eat than trying to eat and ending up getting sick.” 

You turn around to hand him his mug and nearly jump out of your skin when he's right behind you again. It's a miracle you manage not to get the entire mug of boiling hot coffee over the two of you. “Jesus! You're gonna kill me one of these days. How do you have feet that fucking quiet.” You shake your head as he takes the mug from you, laughing silently.

“Sure I was a ninja in a previous life,” he says with one eyebrow raised, bringing the mug with him to the island. “Here, if you're not into breakfast, I'll just grab car snacks when we get fuel before we head on. We'll get you the anti-puke stuff, and maybe we'd be better bringing plastic bags like they do for wee ones, because we can't pull over on the main fucking stretch.” 

“Bit rich coming from the man who can't go two hours without stopping for a wee!” You tease him back, and the laugh he gives - with that cheekily peeking tongue - makes you want to squeeze him tightly with affection. “Maybe make sure the car snacks don't include too much to drink.” He shakes his head at you, but that tongue-prominent smile returns. “And make sure you go to the toilet before we go…” you drag the joke on, but he's still smiling and you love it. “How long is the drive?” You ask, leaning against the counter with your coffee though you're not sure you're able to drink it. 

“Just shy of three hours if we go on the M7. If we go M7 and N20, it's over three and half, but that could be better depending on what lies ahead.” He says and lifts his mug. “We'll be there for around half twelve in any case.” 

“How are you feeling about telling them tomorrow evening?” You ask and you watch his face change. He'd been ignoring it, whatever he feels, and you don't know if he'll even tell you now you've provoked it, but you wait patiently. 

He rolls his eyes, “I dunno,” he says and rolls his eyes again. “I don't want to…” he stops and you frown. “Upset them, you know? Or whatever.” 

“Love, you don't need to be worried about upsetting them. They're so fucking proud of you, all of them. They accepted your separation from Yvonne, and they know how happy you've been since. I mean, fuck, Cill…” you smile gently. “They'll be happy you're happy, and if they're not then does it matter anyway? We're happy.” He smiles softly, but you know it means more to him as they're his parents and siblings. Not that you don't care - of course you do - but you have the privilege of not being related and therefore having that distance that he doesn't. “C’mon,” you walk to the island and set your barely touched coffee beside Cillian's mug. “Let's get going while I don't want to throw up on my own feet.” You smile softly and cup your hands around his freshly shaven cheeks. “Because it's in the post and I was thinking that I want to do it in the car, into SuperValu carrier bag with you sitting right beside me listening to me heave.” You grimace, then laugh when he rolls his eyes and grins back at you. You edge forwards and steal a kiss, whispering “Love you,” against his lips. 

As you draw back your face and hands, he smirks at you, “Love you.” He repeats. “Go on and get yourself set. I'll wash these then we'll go.” 

The drive to Cork is fairly uneventful - while you feel washed out with nausea, the travel sickness medicine you've been eligible for is helpful, and so is the abundance of boiled sweets and ginger biscuits Cillian picked up. Cillian entertains you for almost the entire drive, filling the car with a ridiculous mix of music, and sings along to almost every song. He drives carefully - used to it from ferrying the kids around - but it doesn't delay your travel time. What does, though, is stopping when you are just outside of Thurles in Tipperary. With that, you add a half hour to your journey but it is worth it to pee in comfort and stretch your legs for a few moments - and for Cillian to have the cigarette he's been craving but you've absolutely refused to allow whilst driving, even with the windows down. On the ‘home stretch’ once reaching Fermoy, you delight in Cillian's pointing out of places he knows well until you finally reach his parents' house. 

Cillian stops the car and drags up the handbrake, then turns to look at you. “Y'alright? You're gone fierce pale.” He sticks out his bottom lip. 

You nod slowly, but you do actually feel like you might get sick. You don't even want to move your tongue inside your mouth to speak. You release your seatbelt, hold out your hand to him, then turn abruptly, thrusting open the car door, and lean out awkwardly as you retch noisily - with only two biscuits and boiled sweets inside you, the upbringing is minor but contractions of your stomach to expel it are harsh. “Fuck…” you moan breathlessly, still leaning awkwardly out the door, waiting for the threat of another gag to pass. When it does, you slowly sit upright in the seat, leaving the door open for the air, and cover your face with your hands. “Gross.” 

Cillian's hand drops down onto your thigh, “Do you want a drink?” He offers, his hand moves gently against your leg. 

“Not yet,” you shake your head as you bring your hands down, and you rest your right hand over his fingers against your leg. “They're going to work it out before tomorrow evening if this keeps up.” You say, your head resting back but turned to face him. 

“It's only my Mum and Dad, if they know then it'll be a surprise announcement just for the rest of them.” Cillian says gently. “It doesn't matter.” He sighs. “Want to sit a wee bit more, or are you fit?” 

"Let me sit a minute," you say and he nods his head and draws back his hand.

"No bother - I'm gonna have a fag, then when you're ready we'll go in." He says. He pulls back his hand from your leg and climbs out of the car door. He stays close and paces around by the car as he smokes. You focus on breathing slowly, and reach into the bag of boiled sweets for a mint one, hoping that both the peppermint and the sugar boost is enough to soothe your nausea. You keep your head back against the seat and your eyes closed - while it makes you feel like you could nod off for a nap, you're also slowly beginning to feel a little better. When he opens the car door and slips back into his seat a moment later, his door left open, you drag your tired eyes open. His left hand claps onto your leg again whilst his right one digs into the sweet bag. You watch him fire a mint into his mouth and he smiles when he catches you peeking. "What? You're not gonna kiss me if I taste like an ashtray." He laughs and you smile back, a breathy laugh escaping as you shake your head at him. "Right, you good? Wanna get moving?"

You nod your head, “Yeah, c’mon, let's go in.” You pat your hand against his and then ease yourself from your seat and out onto the tarmac driveway outside of Cillian's parents home. It's been a good while since you've been here and, as you did the last time, you admire the house from the outside for a moment or two, standing with your hands on your hips. Despite being in Cork city, you’ve always thought the house looks like it has been picked up from rural West Cork and just planted here - it is lovely, but it felt like a house you'd pass in the back-arse of nowhere. 

“Missus,” Cillian calls out to you, smiling when you look around, and you see him beside the bonnet of the car with the travel bag in hand, and your coat under his arm. “Y’coming?” You smile back and walk towards him, catching up to where he is, and walk a step behind him up to the front door of the house. Your stomach is twisting nervously, but you're excited for the next couple of days too. You just hope - more for Cillian's sake - that the news is received well.