#i really hope y'all like this and i did it right

[pinkyqily]

TWO HOOLIGANS INLOVE | JuJu watkins x teammate!reader

Summary: Just you and juju acting foolishly in front of the press

Warning: fluff, use of yn a few times

A/n: This isn't accurate to the actually games so don't bite me, fic is apart of my new series called hooligans inlove this isn't the first part so watch out for that, if you have any juju requests send em my way if you have any feedbacks feel free to leave them happy reading readers 🌹

Usc had just won the game against uconn. You, juju, and Ray had been called for media. After a phenomenal performance from the three of you.

coach knew it was going to be crazy having you and juju up there, but with Ray too, she could only hope y'all would be on your best behavior.

"Now, before you guys head up there, I need you to be on your best behaviors. She told all three of you, "Come on, coach me and yn are good, juju just the problem here." Ray told coach while sending diggers towards juju way

"There's no way I'm getting blamed right now." JuJu yelled, losing her so-called nonchalant chil.

"Can we get going already? No one has time for you two idoits arguing." You told the two girls as you make your way to the conference room." Bro, hold on." You didn't have to turn your head around hearing your annoying girlfriend and teammate calling you, bro.

"Who are you calling bro Judea?". You said out as you stopped in your tracks, staring at juju with your arms crossed around your chest. Ray voice Intervene swinging her arms around you and juju.

"Come on guys, let's not argue."

"If she calls me bro one more time, it gonna end up with more than an argument." You told them both. JuJu, who knew what was best for her, stopped calling you bro but couldn't wipe away the stupid smirk on her face as you guys sat down.

The press was going well Juju and Ray made a few jokes here and there when answering questions until it was your turn to answer some Juju had decided now was the perfect time to be distracting you.

Anytime you got a question she would turn her whole head and body towards you as she looked deep in your eyes not taking off contact.

"So what do you think about this win against uconn and how we're you guys able to come back from previous games?" A reporter asked directing the question to you.

"Um the win was definitely a hard fought and we definitely brought in our all I think we're able to learn from our previous game against,

them on what to do and not to do-.you stopped mid sentence to say, "ju can you stop staring at me like your life depends on it." You told the girl as you guys secretly held hands under the table.

"I'm doing no such thing." She said after looking away.

"Whatever." You told her, but this time yanking your hand away from hers under the table only for her to grab it back

"Can y'all stop wasting the people's time?" Ray spoke up with a slight teasing tone, she was stuck sitting in the middle of two drunk inlove players while it was entertaining she didn't want to be no 3rd wheel

"Um, sorry for that interruption." cough cough as you did that while side eying juju.

"One last question for juju, what did you think of yn performance today and how she contributed to the team performance wise".

"I think that her performance today was topnotch, probably one of her best, she contributed a lot by getting really involved with defense and offensive if I can say so myself she brings a lot to the team when she can".

You found yourself starring back into juju eyes as she spoke there was always something about her that made you feel all warm inside you couldn't tell if it was because you haven't let her hand go or something else.

It felt like only you two were in the room, and that's until Ray voice brought you back to earth. "I think you both got staring problems at this point." She told you as the room erupt with laughter.

Anyone in there could sense the growing tension between you and juju. From the way you both spoke about each other to the not so subtle touches, anyone could tell you're both madly in love.

You guys got up heading back to the rest of them, team.

"Ugh, I can already see the edits coming about you two so nasty." Ray told y'all as she made a gaging sound.

"Oh please, they aren't that bad". You told her

"Not bad, juju was basically undressing you with her eyes, and you sat there eating it up."

"Not my fault that my girl a baddie." JuJu said as her hand brushed against yours. It was little things like this that got you worked up, and she knew it.

"At least I've been promoted from bro to my girl." You told both girls making them laugh.

Before you knew it, clips from the press were already going viral.

Some people called juju whipped sum saying, "You we're complaining even though you were down bad for juju too, people fighting about you guys being gf while others disagree and say you're a couple."

[lightseoul]

CHAPTER 9 | ALL OUT OF LUCK

w.c. 7.4k (hoo boy. i did say i would end this with a bang. i wrote and edited this in two days.)

tags. minors dni. fem!reader, pro-hero!katsuki, aged-up (26), lots of cussing, mentions of canon-typical violence, mentions of food, mentions of physical & mental health issues, explicit...themes. y'all see for yourselves what those are

a/n. and here we are. a little over two months since i posted the masterlist in the hopes that it would motivate me to see this series through, and i actually did it!!! i poured my heart and soul into this chapter, specifically, so i hope you enjoy it and find it a great way to wrap up the story. see the end for a message <3

links. masterlist, ao3

You shoot up at the sound of a honk—a blaring sound that you think can only be from one of those humongous passenger buses that circle the city.

Except they never really pass by your neighborhood—your apartment being located in the outer peripheries of Musutafu.

So why, all of a sudden, are you hearing these noises?

Wasn’t it just recently that you shot up awake like this?

Clenching your eyes back closed, you shake your head vigorously. The dull thumping that stretches from your parietal straight to your frontal lobe is unmistakable, such is the dryness of your throat. You look to your left, letting out a sigh of relief when you see a glass of water on the nightstand. You quickly grab it and take a sip, finally eyeing your surroundings as you do so.

The room is dim—the city lights emanating through the window the only source of illumination within the four walls, enough to cast a faint glow on what you’re now sure is Bakugou’s bedroom. You’ve only been here one night, but the plush mattress beneath you feels familiar, and you’re a hundred percent sure that’s your suitcase in the corner right next to his wardrobe. The wardrobe where he retrieved the futon…last night?

You shift to be on all fours, wincing to a halt when your back screams in protest at the motion. You try to rotate your neck next, grateful when all you feel is a slight strain and a sting—like you’ve got some bruising at the front. The rest of your body seems to be working alright—fatigued, yes, but not enough to cause you a new wave of pain with every maneuver.

And so with that thought, you slowly crawl toward the foot of the bed, right until you catch a glimpse of the said futon. It’s somewhat undone—arranged exactly how you think Bakugou left it the morning of the mission. Well, how you two left it. You remember accidentally stepping on it once or twice while trying not to invade Bakugou’s personal space as you simultaneously got ready, making a mental note to fix it before you left.

You guess you never got to. Apparently, neither did Bakugou.

Which only means one thing.

It’s still D-Day.

Only then do the events from earlier today come flooding at you, and you find yourself stumbling out the door, barefoot and maybe still a little too out of it to be rushing like this.

Regardless, you burst out of the room—fully expecting the twins to be there—although you’re not hit with a sobering visual confirmation, nor are you hit with a menacing glare followed by a ripping out of your tracker, which you note has already disappeared from its spot in the middle of your chest.

Instead, what hits you is the heady yet comforting smell of ramen broth.

You glance in the direction of the kitchen, and sure enough, Bakugou’s standing there—decked out in lounge clothes under an apron with a ladle in one hand—staring at you, surprised.

“Hey,” he finally gets out after a beat of immobility, before facing back toward the stove and turning down the heat. “You’re awake.”

You nod, although he doesn’t see it with his back turned against you. You pad toward the kitchen as quietly as you can, stopping a few feet away from him where he looks so normal, like he didn’t just wrestle a murderer a couple of hours ago.

What the hell is going on?

Bakugou glances over his shoulder, eyebrows raised in question—and it just dawns on you that you said that last bit out loud—before spinning to fully face you again.

“You had an anxiety attack,” he says as a matter of factly, and you feel yourself flame. “They told me to take you home after they did first aid on the both of us.”

So, he got hurt, too.

You tamp down the shame from your breakdown and note the bandage on his cheek, right where his scar is.

Still, it’s not exactly the two of you who you’re most concerned about right now…

You gulp, willing yourself to hold Bakugou’s gaze. “What about Masaki?” you ask. “D-did he—make it?”

At that, Bakugou sighs, and it’s enough for you to know the answer. Despite yourself, you feel a surge of guilt wash over your body.

“He was rushed to the hospital,” the pro-hero explains, solemn, “But he didn’t make it.”

And when you don’t say anything: “It’s not your fault, Y/N. You didn’t kill him,” he huffs, “I did.”

You shake your head decisively, before tossing him a stern look. “You did what you had to do.”

Bakugou stares at you for a second, an inexplicable expression on his face, although you don’t get to study it further because you look away first. “Did you know he was a consul?” you inquire, suddenly feeling the obligation to change the topic.

Bakugou turns, once again busying himself with the stove. “I heard.”

You pull a stool from underneath the kitchen island and hoist yourself up into it. “Explains why he was never around in the headquarters.”

“Explains why he was never home, either,” he piles on.

You feel your brows furrow. “What do you mean?”

“Apparently, he just went through a divorce and lost custody of his daughters to his ex-wife, who that guy Hiroto described to have a pretty weak quirk. Said the man always had supremacist views, but changed for the worst when the woman filed a case against him.”

Huh.

“Speaking of quirks,” Bakugou continues, stirring the broth, “I’m sure you figured it out, but his was called retaliate. He could absorb attacks, especially explosions, and redirect them with—”

“Double the power, yeah,” you finish for him.

“Quadruple if he’s feeling confident—an ironic clause for a relatively meek guy like him,” Bakugou remarks. “Explains why he still took you with him despite suspecting we were doing something behind his back. He needed your luck and was planning to blackmail you into boosting him.”

That makes you frown. “But they didn’t figure out it was actually manipulation, did they? He mentioned luck to me, too. In the car, before we went into the building.”

“No, they didn’t,” comes Bakugou’s cool response. “Masaki and the rest still thought it was luck, just that you may have been using it beyond their instruction. Plus, at that point, they already had my bombs, so they could easily dispose of me and use my life as leverage to get you to do what they said.”

Bakugou reaches for one of the condiments in the rack, lightly shaking the contents out of the container and into the soup. “Explains why they told me last night to follow suit and get dressed in normal clothes. Didn’t matter that I’d be easily identified in them—I was never gonna get to the Prime Minister’s Office anyway.”

That fucking reminds you. “Where did that bastard even take you?”

At that, Bakugou stiffens. “An industrial-grade refrigerator,” he mutters.

“What?”

“You heard me,” he spews, perhaps a bit miffed. You can tell he’s not enjoying talking about this. “I was bolted in, and Kouki disappeared before I could wrangle him into letting me out.”

You can only gawk at him as he drawls on. “Took me a while to gather enough sweat for one massive blow to break the lock.”

“H-how?” you manage to croak out.

“Push-ups,” he answers curtly, still stirring. “I lost count at around 300.”

He takes your stupefied silence as a sign to continue.

“After that, I figured the old geezer couldn’t have gotten me too far—otherwise, he would’ve depleted his capacity to conduct mass teleportation if things went south for them. I boosted myself up to get an aerial view and find a landmark, and got going when I did.”

“Were you still wearing your tracker?” you can’t help but probe.

“I had to,” Bakugou responds, “If I wanted him to come to me. When he found out I was on the move, he teleported to where I was—probably to teleport me to my death, leverage be damned—but I was faster, and he couldn’t catch up.”

“I blasted him unconscious before he could retreat and bring everyone else with him,” Bakugou says as he takes what looks to be a lid and puts it over the pot, leaving a small gap for the steam to come out. “He’s in custody now. Shitty hair’s talking to him as we speak.”

At the mention of the redhead’s nickname, you straighten up. “How is he? And Sero?” you say so quickly you almost stumble over your words, “Are they okay?”

“Yeah,” comes his prompt retort, and you find your shoulders sagging in relief. “The twins put up a fight, but they eventually had them wrapped in Sero’s tape and chased you to the elevator. But then somebody pulled the fire alarm and they got stuck.”

“It was Masaki,” you swiftly supply. “He did it just as he hauled me out of the elevator.”

Again, you watch as Bakugou visibly tenses, but he doesn’t say anything. At least, for a moment, before he sighs.

“Yeah, well, they couldn’t get out for a while because the system needed manual operation to send the elevator back to ground floor, and nobody was around to do it. They couldn’t smash their way out of there, either. Could’ve caused the entire thing to crash down.”

“Wasn’t there any other hero besides them?”

“No,” Bakugou says almost regrettably as he takes the bowl of uncooked noodles into his hands. “They thought I’d be there just as planned, so they assigned the rest of the pro-heroes involved to the rest of the schools.”

You hum in acknowledgment. “I guess that explains why they went for the twins first instead of Masaki. Maybe they thought you’d be there to handle him?”

“No, they had eyes on you,” he corrects, just as he pours the noodles into the soup. “Shitty hair said they prioritized the two because they seemed stronger than Masaki. His packing that much fucking strength came as a shock to everyone.”

You chuckle dryly. “Even you, right?”

He grunts, unamused. “Even me.”

You let yourself sit in silence as Bakugou continues to tend to what he’s cooking. It goes on like this for a little while, before it hits you belatedly.

“Did anyone else get hurt?” you suddenly ask, “You know, aside from Masaki?”

“None, unless you count property damage,” he quips, and you let out a half-hearted laugh. You can hear him smirking when he adds: “Luckily, Kirishima and the others had enough foresight to evacuate the place entirely.”

“I’m guessing you know how they did it?”

At that, Bakugou nods. “…Although, I can’t say I agree with it.”

You cock your head to the side. “What do you mean?”

“They used government surveillance information to send targeted texts to the potential victims—parents on behalf of the students, staff, employees,” he reveals, voice low. “Something about a suspension that they needed to be quiet about for their safety. Except the guards, who had to be there at the entrance.”

“But—”

“That would’ve meant Masaki and the twins would receive the message, too, I know,” he interjects. “Good thing I managed to put their names on that piece of paper. Otherwise, we would’ve been fucked.”

“No shit,” is the only thing you can mumble, head reeling from the revelation just now.

“…We barely made it, huh?” he rejoins, quiet.

“Yeah…” you reply.

A pause.

Then—

“I’m sorry,” you blurt out of the blue, startling Bakugou. You refuse to meet his gaze, though, even as you continue. “For losing it back there.”

At that, Bakugou whips to look at you, and you have no choice but to look up at him. “Hah?”

“I didn’t think I’d use everything up, and it’s been so long since I last depleted my quirk like that,” is the only thing you can get out.

You let your eyes fall to your enjoined hands in front of you. “I couldn’t control myself. I’m…sorry.”

Another pause.

“Tsk.”

Your eyes widen at the unexpected sound, and despite yourself, you find your line of vision going back to Bakugou, who’s now scowling at you.

“The only thing you should be sorry for is that unnecessary as shit apology,” he spits, before turning back to the stove. “Now, come on. Help me with the plates.”

You do just as Bakugou says and assist him.

You end up situating the placemats and cutlery just as he finished up the dish, serving it not even a few minutes later in a luxurious-looking, suspiciously Todoroki-esque bowl that you’re sure costs more than a well-functioning arm.

You try to ignore it as you navigate yourself in his kitchen, although it eventually becomes apparent that a peculiar kind of tension lingers in the air still, but you figure it’s not entirely unfathomable.

It’s only been a few hours, after all.

You repeat this like an incantation in your head—again and again until it somehow sticks—even as you quietly say your thanks and dig in. Not one word is uttered in between spoonfuls of food, the silence reminiscent of yesterday’s dinner—even though yesterday now feels like a whole month ago.

At least, that’s what you were thinking, until a booming voice erupts throughout the room, entirely juxtaposing the earlier stillness. You startle, then ease up when you realize it’s All Might’s, and that it’s merely a ringtone. Bakugou scrambles to fetch his phone from the island, although whatever urgency he had just now goes out the window when he sees the caller ID.

“It’s Asahi,” he grumbles.

You hurriedly swallow your noodles. “Aren’t you gonna answer that?”

Bakugou glares at his phone for another second before shaking his head and turning it off, walking back toward you.

“Isn’t he gonna get mad?” you ask just as he reseats himself.

“We’ve been on duty for over two weeks,” Bakugou snarls, picking back up his chopsticks. “He can kindly go fuck himself.”

That makes you snort, which earns you a smirk, although his face falls almost immediately after.

You swallow the discomfort that shoots to your throat at the sight of it.

You try not to get caught, but you secretly sneak glances for the rest of the meal, and only by the end of it do you notice that his hair’s gone back to its normal, unruly state—probably due to a shower that he took after you got home.

That, and there’s definitely something weighing him down.

You just don’t know what.

You don’t attempt to comment on it as you help him clean up the plates, or even as you start drying the dishes after he washes them beside you. He doesn’t try to start a conversation, either, focus seemingly trained solely on the task in front of him, although you know better than to believe what your eyes are telling you.

It’s that thought that ultimately emboldens you to speak up a few minutes in.

You clear your throat, eyeing him as subtly as you can. “…Something on your mind?”

To your dismay, he doesn’t answer you, only passing a plate without sparing you a single glance.

Well, then.

Despite yourself, you feel yourself deflate at his snubbing.

You had your doubts about coming forward and asking him, although that’s when the memories of the things you had to go through together came in and you thought he’d trust you enough to share—but you guess you’re getting ahead of yourself, because there’s no way he’d—

“You used your quirk on me, didn’t you?

You freeze, all thoughts wiped out from your brain.

You feel his gaze on the side of your face, but you don’t dare turn to look at him, nor do you open your mouth.

He turns away, nodding. “I knew it.”

Fuck this.

“People don’t normally notice—” you blurt, and he shifts to face you again, “—when I use it on them.”

You scratch at your cheek, feeling weirdly restless. “I think it’s only because you’re perceptive to begin with, and because you know about me and what I can do.”

“Why’d you do it?” is his immediate response, catching you off guard. You splutter, although—to your chagrin—he only raises an eyebrow at you, expression nothing less than expectant.

What the hell are you supposed to say other than the truth, then?

“Fine,” you hiss, pulling your lips into a thin line. “It was because I noticed you were getting frantic.”

At that, Bakugou’s eye twitches. “You calling me sloppy?”

“No!” you exclaim, then backtrack. “I was just—I just did what my instincts told me…”

And really, you did.

That’s all you could’ve done in that situation, for a person with your experience.

And you’re about to expound on that to a skeptical Bakugou when, to your surprise, he nods.

“Good call,” he mutters so silently, but you hear it anyway, and your eyes widen.

You must be gaping at him like he just said you are the greatest person to have ever graced the earth because he immediately looks away, embarrassed, a sudsy bowl still in hand.

“It’s stupid,” he continues, and you barely clock him having resorted to aggressively toeing his house slippers—the pair you bought for him. “I’ve never really lost my cool like that before.”

Now, that you’re not sure of.

Still, you force out a decent reaction.

“R-really?”

You’re instantly granted with a side-eye. “Don’t sound so fucking shocked.”

“It’s not that—” you choke, “It’s just that—”

“I have a short temper, I know. Sue me,” he spews, shutting you up.

“But I never let that get in the way of my work,” Bakugou pushes, suddenly serious. “Never.”

You frown, placing the plate you’ve been holding in the drying rack. “Well, they did fool us by separating us last minute,” you offer just as you look back at him, “I’d be pissed, too, getting betrayed like that.”

Bakugou doesn’t say anything in reply, opting to stare at you—borderline scowling—for what feels like a minute. He eventually sighs, and you find yourself mentally sighing at the break in eye contact as he puts down the dish he was in the middle of washing.

But then he turns to you again, face blank, and says the strangest thing.

“Tell me. Are you playing with my emotions right now?”

“What?” you cry, “No! Why would you even—”

You’re cut off when—without warning—Bakugou coaxes the towel from your hand and takes a step close, invading your space.

“Good,” he rumbles, voice low and gruff as he leans even closer. “Just wanted to make sure.”

That’s all the warning he gives you before he grabs your neck and dives in, pressing his lips firmly against yours. You instantly shut down at the contact, your body going rigid against his just like when he kissed you out of the blue this morning. But unlike earlier today, you don’t relax, and he must’ve sensed it, because he quickly pulls away, the hand that was just on your nape now resting on your shoulder.

“Shit,” Bakugou curses, a mortified look on his face. “I’m sorry, I thought—”

“No!” you interject, “I mean, it’s okay. It’s just…”

“Just what?” he breathes out, releasing you from his hold, and you don’t know if you’ve finally gone crazy, but did he just sound…hopeful?

No, he didn’t.

Which is why you muster up the courage to say the next thing.

“You’re just confused,” you finally get out, looking him straight in the eye.

His reply is instant.

“Believe me, I’m fucking not.”

That makes you frown, because why is he giving you such a hard time? You’re giving him an out, for god’s sake. A wake-up call, if you will.

That none of these is real.

And that he’s confusing make-believe with reality.

These very thoughts must be evident on your face because he studies you closely for a bit, a similar frown etched on his features. He then shakes his head, the same way he does when he’s getting impatient.

“You don’t believe me?” he finally says, and you’re about to say no, you do not, when he suddenly takes a step closer, and you find yourself stumbling back.

“What if,” another step forward for him, another one backward for you, “I tell you that I’ve been wanting to kiss the crap out of you, even when no one’s watching?”

Yet another step, and he finally stops. “Especially when no one’s watching.”

You can’t help it—you sputter, and to that, Bakugou only flashes you a devilish smirk. “Nothing?” he taunts, “You’ve got nothing to say?”

“J-just kiss?”

The second you say it, you know you fucked up.

His crimson eyes widen in surprise. “I mean, I want to fuck you, too, but—”

“No!” you cry, and he shuts up, “I mean, not like that. What I meant was, is this thing you’re feeling purely physical? Not that I think I’m all that—” you quickly disclaim, “—but is there something else, or…?”

At that, the motherfucker chuckles, and you’ve got half a mind to bury yourself in the very ground you’re standing on. But then you remember you’re on the top floor of a high-rise building, so that would only mean—

“I want to date the crap out of you, too, dumbass.”

“…Oh.”

A raised eyebrow. “Just ‘oh’?”

You flush. That was too soon of a reference.

Still, you have to respond.

“Oh, as in, oh, great,” you croak, “Because, believe it or not, I feel the same way.”

You can only watch in delight as Bakugou releases a breath you think he didn’t know he was holding, utter relief written all over his body. There’s no controlling the smile that breaches your mouth at the sight of it, earlier’s dreadful anticipation now morphing into a hoard of rabid butterflies. Bakugou sees the change in your countenance and grins.

“Does this mean I get to kiss you now? And that you won’t just stand there like a fucking corpse?”

That earns him a punch to the arm, which he takes in stride, laughing. “Can’t you just do it without teasing me?” you grumble, “You’re such a dickhead.”

“Got it, princess,” is the last (pestering) thing he says before reaching for your neck again and pulling you toward him, wasting no time in bringing your lips to his.

It doesn’t elude you that you’re still somewhat tense, but you eventually manage to will yourself to ease up just as his other hand shoots up to hold your cheek, tilting it so he can deepen the kiss. You can’t help it—you groan when he does, and he takes that as an opportunity to slowly enter your mouth with his tongue, and you squeak at the intrusion. He only laughs at that, but he doesn’t let up, his tongue seemingly having a mind of its own as it swirls and explores without restraint.

You don’t know how long this goes on—your brain filled with nothing but the sensation of Bakugou’s soft lips against yours—but he eventually pulls away, and you have to stop yourself from ogling at how debauched he looks with just his flushed face and swollen lips. You guess you aren’t any different, because Bakugou’s eyes rove over your face—hungrily—almost as if he’s drinking you in.

“You’re a good kisser,” you offer lamely, desperate for anything to fill the tense air.

At that, he coughs, as if he didn’t expect you to say that of all things. “T-thanks. You, too.”

You flash him a grateful smile, although it’s quick to falter.

A beat.

“So…” you try again, “What now?”

Bakugou looks down at his feet, suddenly shy. “I—uh, meant it, you know.”

You gulp. “Meant what?”

“That I want to fuck you.”

Shit.

“But I understand if you don’t want to, or if that’s moving too fast. It’s only been two weeks and—”

“Correction,” you cut in, “It’s been over two weeks. You said so yourself.”

That makes Bakugou pause, who only looks at you in bewilderment. “What are you trying to—”

“I’m ready,” you declare, voice nothing short of sure. “I want this.”

That seems to set something off in the pro-hero, because his entire demeanor shifts. You don’t get to comment on it before he’s back on you in an instant, encasing your lips in a searing kiss. You stagger back from the sheer force alone, grabbing onto his shirt for purchase as you stumble across the living room, not parting ways for even a second, his mouth hot against yours. He seizes you by the waist just as you almost crash into the wall, expertly maneuvering you through the door and into his bedroom, lips still molded together.

He only pulls away when you reach the foot of his bed, letting go of his grip on you to lift you bridal-style, the brazen display of effortless strength sending a shot of arousal into your veins. You loop your arms around his neck as he climbs over the mattress, inching toward the headboard before gently placing you down into the pillows. You waste no time pulling him back closer to you, initiating the kiss this time, and you think he must like that, judging by the way he groans quietly.

“What,” you mumble against his lips, “You like it when I take charge?”

“Fuck off,” he mumbles back, although he doesn’t break away, only biting your lower lip as if in punishment. You wince, but he’s quick to lave over it with his tongue. “Hurry up and—” a kiss, “—take off—” another kiss, “—mm—your clothes.”

That makes you laugh. Of course, he’d order you to strip after just cussing you out.

You don’t complain, though, lightly shoving him away so you can pull your shirt over your head. You glance at Bakugou when it’s off of you, and sure enough, he’s staring at your chest.

“Aren’t you gonna undress as well?” you ask pointedly, hoping your embarrassment isn’t showing on your face.

“Shit, right,” he blubbers, and you find yourself smiling as he hurries to take off his shirt.

Only that smile doesn’t get to last for too long before it’s instantly replaced with an ‘o’ at the sight of his ridiculously defined abs.

You point to it, honestly perturbed. “How the fuck is that even possible?”

Now that makes him laugh, the motion causing his abdominal muscles to flex and you blanch. “What if I tell you I’ve had them since high school?”

“Liar.”

Bakugou grins. “Had you known, would you have forced me to listen to your confession?”

“That’s it,” you make a move to get out of the bed but he tugs you back, flashing you a boyish smile that you don’t want to admit makes you—kinda—all weak in the knees.

“That was the last one,” he promises, still grinning, “I swear.”

You narrow your eyes at him. “Why do I feel like you’re lying straight out of your ass.”

“Me?” he asks, feigning innocence as he crawls closer, towering over you again until you’re back to lying on the bed. “Never.”

“Ha ha,” you deadpan, looking anywhere but at him or his broad chest. Although, your efforts are all for naught because he lifts one hand and takes your chin, forcing you to look at him.

“Can I take off your bra?” he inquires, the earnestness in his tone almost causing you to squirm.

You thankfully don’t—you’ve decided you’ve embarrassed yourself enough for today—and instead, nod. He doesn’t bother to say anything else as he reaches for your back, and you arch—slowly, Masaki did a number on you, after all—just in time so he can feel your clasp. It takes him a second to undo it, and a few more to lift it off of you, but when he does, the first thing he says is—

“Fuck.”

You snort. “I’m guessing that you like them.”

“Obviously, dumbass,” he spits, although it’s more playful than scathing. Then, he’s back to staring, like he can’t quite believe this is happening. “Wow.”

“What, is this the first time you’ve seen boobs?” you joke—because there’s no way a guy like him has never been with a girl, at least physically—although the jesting lilt in your voice immediately dies out when his face falls and he looks away.

Shit.

There’s only one thing for you to do.

Reaching out for his nape, you tug him down until he’s only a few centimeters away, taking his lips into yours before he can protest. To your relief, he melts into your touch, back to eagerly returning the kiss in a matter of seconds. Wanting to make him feel good now more than ever, you let your other hand snake up to his hair, grabbing a fistful before pulling tentatively—as if to test the waters. You don’t end up disappointed—in fact, you’re far from it—when he groans against your mouth, louder than before. Emboldened by his generous reaction, you pull again—harder this time—and it’s your turn to be surprised when his hips buck involuntarily against your own, giving you the slightest bit of friction that’s nowhere near enough.

You rub your thighs together in an attempt to quell the ache as discreetly as you can, although this motion doesn’t go unnoticed by Bakugou, who withdraws ever so slightly to study you.

“You okay?”

“Yes—it’s just,” you hesitate, before deciding you owe him the truth. “…I want you.”

Whatever Bakugou expected you to say, it sure wasn’t that—and so candidly, too—because he splutters, face evidently flushing despite the dim lights. “I-I want you, too,” he says honestly, “But I should warn you, I’ve never really done this before.”

“I thought you were gonna say you were massive,” you quip.

“Yeah,” he smirks without missing a beat, and you choke, “That, too.”

You slap his chest, which you instantly regret. “You’re the worst!”

He doesn’t say anything to that, only grinning as he leans in and—to your surprise—latches his lips onto your neck. You barely stop yourself from jolting in pleasure when he finds and nips at your pulse point—no doubt leaving a mark that you’re going to have to color correct tomorrow if you don’t want to get any funny looks. To your chagrin—or delight, you don’t fucking know at this point—Bakugou doesn’t stop his assault on your neck, instead bringing one hand up to graze the skin below your breast.

Suddenly tired of all the teasing, you grab his hand yourself and place it right on your boob, smiling when a curse is immediately muttered against your neck. You don’t let go of your hold, choosing to guide him on how to grope and fondle it instead. Bakugou catches on quickly, and before you know it, he’s already playing with your nipples, twisting and pulling them just the way you like.

“You can use your mouth, too, if you want,” you tell him a few moments later, stifling a moan when he sucks on a spot at the crook of your neck one more time, before nodding and easing down so he can be face to face with your chest.

He doesn’t let you get another word in before he takes a nipple into his mouth, and this time, you can’t stop yourself—you jerk against him—which only pushes it further. He takes the opening and starts sucking, and you’ve got half a mind to push him away. You don’t, though, and you doubt you could’ve anyway, his grip on your waist unrelenting as he switches between breasts, doing all sorts of things with his tongue that have your mind swimming.

“Still think I’m the worst?” he eventually looks up and asks roguishly, lips even more swollen and glistening with saliva.

“Jury’s still out—” you hiss when he pinches a nipple, and you swat him away. “Never mind, you are the worst.”

“Even when I do this?” he drawls, and you’re about to clarify with him what he’s going off about this time, when he unexpectedly slips a finger underneath your panties, and you barely, barely manage to bite back a moan.

“Fuck,” he rasps, “you’re so wet.”

You fight back a shudder even as he traces the outline of your sex, seemingly entranced. “Are you—are you sure you’ve never done this before?”

“What, you saying I’m a liar?” is his snarky retort, although he thankfully doesn’t stop his ministrations. In fact, your question only seems to provoke him, causing him to apply more pressure.

“N-no, it’s just that, fuck—” you huff, “I-I wouldn’t be surprised if you went d-down on me and you’d be good at that, too.”

That makes Bakugou pause, and you almost whine at the loss.

But then he practically rips your underwear out of the way, and you somehow don’t find it in you to care at all. They were granny panties anyway, and you’re too engrossed in how the pro-hero urges you to open your thighs for him, and then prying them open himself when you take too long to do it.

Not to mention the look on his face when he finally sees you.

“Stop staring at me, Bakugou,” you can’t help but grumble.

“Katsuki.”

“What?”

He doesn’t shift to look at you, gaze still focused between your thighs. “Call me Katsuki.”

That’s all the foreboding he offers before he dives in and licks a long strip along your slit, and you almost scream, if not for the hand you slap over your mouth the second that he does. He’s relentless—even as you squirm and tremble underneath him—lapping on your wetness like a man who hasn’t had a drop of water for days. You jolt when he flicks his tongue right at your clit, hands instinctively shooting up to grab at his hair. But then he makes the mistake of pushing the wet muscle into your entrance, and you inadvertently pull—hard—hard enough that it causes him to groan against your core, sending a surge of vibrations straight into your pussy.

“Fuck,” you warble, looking down at Bakugou only to see him peering up at you with half-lidded eyes that’s got you almost moaning again. “Keep on doing that.”

Fortunately, Bakugou doesn’t tease you for sounding pathetic just now, only choosing to do as you say. He resumes, with renewed vigor, paying particular attention to your clit this time. He keeps on licking it, and then sucking, before licking it again, that you almost don’t notice when a finger presses against your hole. But then he’s inching it slowly and you’re suddenly all too aware of the intrusion.

The first thing that registers is that his fingers are definitely bigger than yours.

The second thing is that fuck—did he just insert a second one?

You look down to where he’s stuck to your body, but you can’t see anything beyond his head of ash-blonde hair.

But then he does a scissoring motion inside you just as he suckles at your clit, and that’s all the confirmation you need. You can’t help it—you finally moan—and you barely miss him grinning against your pussy at the sound of it.

“Fucking finally,” he breathes out, lifting his head a bit so he can speak. “I thought you were never gonna moan for me again.”

“Again?” you barely manage to answer, already missing his mouth on you. You may be out of it, but you’re certain you haven’t cracked until just now.

“Already forgot?” he goads, pulling his fingers out of you. “Let me remind you then.”

Before you can get up and coerce him to just shut up and continue what he was doing, he’s back to towering over you, smashing his lips against yours.

And then he does it—the thing he did before. The first day in your shared bedroom. You still don’t know what it is, but he does something with his tongue, or his mouth? His teeth? You don’t fucking know, but it’s coupled with his scalding hold on your body, and despite yourself, you moan.

He promptly pulls away, a proud smirk on his face.

“Now, don’t hold back,” he commands cooly as you gape at him in half offense, half shock. “I want to hear how good I’m making you feel.”

He then makes quick work of taking off his boxers, and at this point, you can only stare at him as he eases it off.

He wasn’t kidding.

If he’s noticing you practically eye-fucking him, though, he doesn’t comment on it, although the faint tinge of scarlet on his cheeks is undeniable. Instead, he only crawls over you again, right until he’s hovering over your pelvis.

Wait.

“Bakugou—” you start.

“Katsuki,” he corrects petulantly.

“Katsuki,” you force yourself to say, suddenly feeling a bit self-conscious, “Let me make you feel good, too.”

“Next time,” he quickly responds, and you feel your heart lurch at the promise of a continuation. “I just need to be inside you, or I’m gonna fucking nut.”

You frown, although his honest admission sends an undeniable thrill down your spine. “Are you sure?”

“Yes,” he seethes, “Now, come on.”

You don’t waste another second, opening up your legs just enough for Bakugou to position himself between them. He’s got an arm propped at the side of your head to support his weight, while the other reaches down to finally grab his cock. He instantly hisses at the contact, and you don’t have to look to know it’s his pre-cum that’s dribbling down your thighs.

He then mutters a curse to himself, but it’s not exactly laced with lust just as it has been the past how many minutes.

And that’s when it hits you.

The guy is nervous.

You reach up to touch his cheek, his eyes shooting up to meet yours when you do. You offer him a small smile, one that you hope says ‘I’m alright’ and that ‘I want this’. But then you remember this is Bakugou freaking Katsuki, and the last thing he needs is to be placated.

“Relax, Katsuki,” you coo, grinning when he shoots you a glare.

“And you’re gonna have to do that on your own,” you tease, “I’m all out for today.”

That lights a flame under his ass, because the glare just now morphs into a look of determination, and one glimpse of it is enough to tell you you’re fucked.

“Spread your fucking pussy,” he growls, and you immediately do as he says. He’s back to gripping his cock in an instant, giving himself a few pumps before he’s aligning it with your entrance.

And just like that, he pushes in.

You both groan when he does, his massive dick barely breaching your hole, and yet, it already feels like your nerves are on fire. You sneak a peek at the pro-hero, and you’re glad you do, because you’re met with the glorious sight of Bakugou with his eyes clenched close, lips bit in a fierce attempt to stay quiet.

“Tell me when to move,” he rasps out, refusing to open his eyes.

“Katsuki,” you whisper, bringing your arms up to wrap them around his torso. “Look at me.”

“I can’t,” he seethes, just as you feel his cock twitch inside you. “Or else I’m gonna finish.”

Knowing better than to press him, you nod instead, before wiggling your hips slightly. That grants you a curse from him, but before he can cuss you out, you speak up.

“I think I’m ready. You can move no—” you hiss when he pushes without warning, and he freezes.

“Fuck, I’m sorr—”

“Just—slowly, Katsuki. Go on, move.”

He pushes again—slowly, this time—and you can only sit there and take it as he eases in, inch by inch—stopping sometimes when it gets a bit much for you—until he’s finally, fully sheathed in.

“Shit.”

“God.”

“You’re so fucking tight,” Bakugou grits out, head nestled within the crook of your neck. He still refuses to look at you, but apparently, that doesn’t matter as long as you’re being praised, because his comment inadvertently causes you to clamp down on his cock, and his breath hitches.

“Jesus,” he drones, burying himself further into your neck. “You’re fucking unbelievable.”

You don’t answer him, choosing to tentatively roll your hips against his instead. He moans in your ear, and this time, you can’t help but whimper.

“Move, Katsuki,” you plead, “I can’t wait anymore.”

That seems to sober him right up, because he grunts in acknowledgement, before slowly lifting himself with his arms. Only then does he opens his eyes, and it takes everything within him not to cum at the sight of you.

He knows better than to fucking give up, though—not when he’s come this far—so with renewed purpose, he starts with small, shallow thrusts that have you mewling at him and him grunting at you, until he gradually builds speed and he’s pulling almost all the way out only to slam back into you again.

He does this again and again—somehow deeper and deeper each time—all the while panting and moaning above you, until he prods at a particular spot that has you jerking violently against him, cursing. “Fuc—”

“Shit,” he freezes, “What—”

“No, no, no, no,” you cry out, clawing at his bare arms, “Don’t stop!”

At your request, Bakugou’s back to pounding into you in an instant, and you barely miss him looking at you with feral eyes before he hits the spot again, and you scream.

“Right—fuck—right there!”

At that, Bakugou rolls his hips once more and hits your G-spot squarely, and you moan.

“Right there?” he breathes out in question, chest puffing in pride as he watches you bob your head desperately, too blissed out to even care what you look like.

But then your walls are clamping down on him again, and Bakugou curses. “I’m not gonna l-last any l-longer,” he manages to get out, choosing to look at anywhere but your face.

“P-play—fuck,” you choke out, “—play with my c-clit.”

And when you don’t immediately feel his finger on your bud: “Hurry.”

That has Bakugou rushing to rub your clit, and you can only beg for more as the overwhelming feeling of his cock inside you mixes with the euphoria brought by his fingers—until you feel the tell-tale signs of your impending orgasm.

“K-Katsuki,” you shudder, “I’m gonna c-cum.”

“I’m g-gonna—” he grunts, eyes clenched closed, “—fuck—I’m gonna cum, t-too.”

“Katsuki,” you call again, and he turns his head to face your direction. “Look at me.”

And when he does—open his eyes—you roll your hips against his as best as you can, and you say it.

“Give it to me, hero.”

And just like that, he cums.

Hard.

And you cum right with him, digging your nails into his biceps as you moan, so loud you wish he’d kiss you to shut you up, but he doesn’t.

Instead, he moans with you—a strangled one that strangely sends a pang of longing straight to your chest, a longing that you can now finally admit is for the very person in your arms, who you so ardently wish would stay there, even if the mission is long over.

You don’t say any of this, though, even as he kisses your forehead before slowly pulling out, or even as he silently pads to the bathroom to get a towel so he can get you cleaned up. You thank him as he does, and watch him as he puts it away and hesitates for a moment—as if the manual he’s read about sex as a high schooler ends at physical aftercare and he’s run out of instructions.

It’s after a few more moments of awkward silence do you finally sit up and move, scooching over to make space beside you. Bakugou’s eyes trail your movement, widening when he realizes just what you’re doing. He’s stiff even as he crawls to the spot next to you, promptly taking the duvet cover that was tossed to the side in the middle of…everything, before laying it on top of your bodies.

“Thanks,” you murmur, not knowing what else to say.

“‘s nothing,” is his reply, voice equally quiet.

Neither of you says anything for a while, even as Bakugou gently tugs your head so you can rest it on his shoulder.

It’s you, though, who breaks the silence.

“You know, had I known things were gonna end this way, I would’ve just slept in the same bed as you.”

“Fucking tell me about it.”

a/n. :') first off, i want to thank you, friend, for taking a chance on this series and reading it up 'til the end. this has been the biggest endeavor i've ventured into as a writer, and it still feels surreal to me that i'm writing this now as i am about to post the last chapter. that being said, the biggest thank you to everyone who's shown love to all out of luck, especially the ones who left even just a single-worded comment. with the series having reached its end, it would mean the world to me if you let me know what you think about it / how it was for you <3 thank you so so much!!!

˖⁺‧₊ as always, reblogs, replies, and tags are appreciated <3 feel free to drop an ask, too—i'd love to chat with you. have a nice day!

tagging. @bunnysaursushii @yawnzzzzzzzz @cholios @kashee-h @iluv-ace @lotuslovers @elarakive @sugurusmoon @napbatata @k0z3me @h0ngh0ngh0ng @honeyoru @yoongiwithglasses @hellokitty-doll @lilsebnem @tetsuukuroo @crangrapel0ver @syrhra @qyuin @lotusstarr | @junehasnotbeenfound @sugalarity @haechansbbg @sikuthealien @reiniella3 @ita606 @xoxoblueyy @mutsu422 @eyesforbkg @kalulakunundrum @venus-xxoo @lemuhr @pinkpantheris @ashers-playpen @bakugouswh0r3 @certaindreampost @3ve88 @tsumuus @4acoffee @anonymity-222 @lousypotatoes @homeless-clown @sk8wh33l @jungkookslittlecarrothoe @jax-the-oregonian @shosuki @reisore @babylambdietcoke @sleepyyhabii @adherethecomingofage @hakvyxo @squishybabei @gin-n-chronic-illness | @matchat3a @harryzcherry @h0nestly-though @cc1306 @gold24fish @bakukags @zennypiee @wannabewolf @kameko-ko @lovra974 @arc6021 @kooromin @surprisemodafakas @ilovedenk-i @st4ntwic3 @j1tterbugaboo @call-memissbrightside @arael-asuka @bakugosgothhoe @biancatomlinson @reads-stuff-quietly | @js-favnanadoongi @stxrrielle @panikk-attackkk @ordola @simpforeveryone @typsichryle @arsonfrogger | @vitoshi @floverisland @confusedmomfriend @poemzcheng @cheezemanz @cax-per | @rorel1a @astolary @trashyforashy @sunaraii @reisore | @beepboopcowboy @kyluskaye | @moonz33 | @lovesabreeze @reblogwhoreowo

[shinypokemonshowdown]

Are you accepting of non-traumagenic systems? I know there’s a lot of discourse but I like the blog and happened to come about through non-traumagenic origins and some people are just awful about that and act like everyone who is or supports people like me is inherently bad ;~; I wanna check cuz I don’t wanna overstep boundaries or anything, again I like your blog and I’d like to be optimistic but if you would happen to dislike how I came to exist I can unfollow 😓

I’d understand if you don’t want to answer this publicly because people can be rabid about the discourse surrounding it, as if that’s somehow progressive for the community at all, so like… if you’d rather answer it privately say…. Idk, simplify me to. I’m sorry it’s hard to come up with a thing for this and it’s delaying me- Delayed question anon I suppose if you want to make a post to ask me to message or something, sorry again. I don’t want people to harass you if you’re accepting of people who happen to exist differently, tf2heritageposts is already anti-endo and someone else was and I’d like to think thats a coincidence but if it is I wouldn’t want them and at least the other account to decide you don’t have DID right or something

sorry again this is long, I fear being misconstrued

I want to start this off by saying I'm extremely sorry if I made you uncomfortable by interacting with them, I really don't check the blogs I answer posts with, especially with how many people interact with this blog

However as a system formed from deep truama [a lot of which is hidden from me by other members of my system] I just want you to know I am accepting of you! I know there's a lot of discourse surrounding this subject and I understand both sides, however I personally want to be more accepting of systems formed differently than me and I want to make y'all feel comfortable.

I never had a dni for this blog because I want shinies to be for everyone, I only ask that people be kind in my inbox (and don't send nsfw/discourse/shiny hate)

TDLR, you're completely and 100% okay to interact and I hope you are doing well!

BIG PSA! This is not an open invitation for discourse and do not be rude to anon! This is a shiny poll blog at the end of the day and I want everyone to feel welcome voting for your favorite shinies

If my acceptance makes you turn away that is fine, please do not be rude, and I wish you all well

[idkwhatmynameshoukdberahhhh]

LET ME COOK🔥🔥 LET ME COOOOOOOKKKK🔥🔥🔥🔥🔥

…..

“Hiori, I like rin.” Nanase flopped onto the midfielder’s bed, laying his head on his lap. He decided to take a break from training with Rins permission, well he just gave him a huff and he just took it as affirmation and visited the bastard münchen dorms. The country boy felt quite left out when he realised that both Isagi and Hiori were in the same building let alone they share a room. “And I still can’t believe y'all didn’t tell me about pickin’ Bastard München while I’m stuck in the PxG building. It's so unfair. Do ya how stressful it is with Shidou n Rin fighting every time they see each other?!” he sighs turning his head up to stare are Hiori who gives him a bashful smile

“Aw c’mon, we didn’t plan this Nanase we jus happened to pick the same team. An’ just sayin’ you will get no peace a mind in ‘ere as well. Isagi and Kaiser are the same” Hiori carded his fingers through Nanase’s hair “And what was that? Ya like Rin? Now that’s something that we can talk about! Tell me how’d ya realise that? And what are ya doin’ right now to get him to fall head ova heels for ya!”

“Well ya know he’s just so…” Nanase lets out a dreamy sigh, a smile creeping onto his face. “But it doesn’t matter cause he doesn’t like me, in fact I think he’s just tolerating me” his smile turns tight, his eyes averting from Hioris pitying gaze.

“Now why would ya say that Nanase you’re a blast to be with and maybe you can woo him off his feet hm?”

“I doubt I could but anyways he likes Isagi and I can't stop Isagi from getting some ya know.” Hiori raises an eyebrow at the others statement.

“He likes Isagi? Really? Did ya ask ‘im?”

“No but i can jus’ feel it. He's so obsessed with him everything he does has Isagi in his mind he's his motivation…”

“It's jus’ their rivalry Nanase dear,” Hiori tries to explain but Nanase was stuck on his belief

“Ya don't need to support my delusion, Hiori. I know that Rin doesn’t and won’t like me… Thank ya though.” The navy blue haired boy lifted his head up from Hiori’s lap sitting on the edge of the bed. “Oh! And before i forget Karasu told me to tell you to come visit him or I think Otoya might steal him away from ya.” at the mention of Otoya’s name Hiori’s eye twitched.

“Actually I'll come with and pay Karasu a visit. Let's go.” Hiori stands up and drags Nanase to the door and bumps into Isagi on their way out.

Nanase’s eyes brighten at the sight of Isagi, an idea coming to his head. “Isagi! I'm so glad we ran inta ya! I've stolen Hiori from ya so i was thinkin’ that you should come with so ya won't be lonely in ya room!” He doesn't wait for Isagi’s answer and drags him along to the PxG building. Isagi stumbles along confused but nonetheless goes along with Nanase, it has been a while since he's seen the other due to practise and being in different buildings and teams.

Once they reach the buildings Nanase and Isagi wave bye to Hiori who went to pay Karasu a visit. Now with just the two of them Nanase drags the other to the practise field hoping that Rin was still there and then his plan would come into action!!! And there he was lo and behold Rin Itoshi still practising.

“Rin!! Guess who I brought along for practice!” He moves aside revealing Isagi who waves at the other.

Rin frowns when he sees Isagi and Nanase holding hands turning away from the two and goes back to shooting from all types of distances. “What's he doing here? I thought it was just going to be us…” he mumbles

“Hm? What did ya say Rin?”

“Nothing, it doesn't matter. Get back to practicing Nanase we need to work more on your passing or how else will you serve me on the field”

“Ah, um actually about that I would love to practice more with ya but i'm winded so maybe next time? Promise!!” Nanase rubs his hands together apologising to the other.

“That's all the more reason to practice more Nanase you should build up your stamina plus we barely started,” Rin walks closer to nanase ignoring Isagi beside him. He raises his arm placing the back of his hand on Nanases forehead “Are you sick?”

Nanase flushes red ducking away from Rins touch “Nope im doin’ alright just uhm ya know it's one of those days amiright?” Rin sighs and takes a step back staring at the other before waving him away “Go get some rest. I can't have my property falling even more sick on me”

Nanase yells out a ‘yes sir!! And have fun with Isagi!!’ as speeds away leaving the two by themselves. His plan was in action. If he can't be with Rin then that would be okay. Rin's happiness is more than enough for him and a bonus is that Isagi wouldn't be single anymore and his boyfriend is the Rin Itoshi. Like how is that not a win in the history books.

The navy blue haired male walks back to his room the smile slipping off his face.

….

don’t let me cook i’m burning the kitchen down🔥🧍‍♀️🔥

[mad-hunts]

[a-very-tired-raven]

This took me four hours and cost me a finger blister. Enjoy.

[arcane-vagabond]

I think I might actually legitimately be at my limit. Like I think I've reached the end of my rope, actually

[pandora15]

also highkey it's amazing what writing two little whump prompts for a challenge month will do to my motivation to write like.

I have been struggling, but after spending like. an hour or so writing, I'm now really excited? And I'm planning on working on more prompts tomorrow?

hopefully this will also give me motivation to work on my longer WIPs, too

[that-was-anticlimactic]

it's like a fire, a stranglehold

When he didn’t answer, Oka sighed. From the corner of his eye, Reki saw Oka drag a stool over to his work space. Great. He propped an elbow on the table, putting his chin in his hand (his stupid, tapping, rubbing, shaking hand) then looked away. His other hand bounced in his lap. “Reki,” Oka spoke again. There was a familiar edge to his voice, the kind of edge Reki heard every time Oka tried talking about feelings, ugh. “What’s up?”

“Nothing,” he grumbled, a slew of cooing following the word. He sounded so stupid. His fingernails gripped his thigh, pinching angrily.

It hurt like hell.

He couldn’t stop.

[or, reki's hands hurt so much & oka helps him out]

🛹2,737 words | reki & oka🛹

happy last day of ts awareness month!

[shrews-things]

Another top surgery update!!! Yesterday I was 10 days post-op and things are starting to look better and I can do more and more things alone ❣️

Went out with my partner a bit and oh boy I've missed it so much, it was so nice

[the-way-astray]

on the bright side, this probably means shannon won't be able to pull a cliffhanger on us.

[secondpersonpoetry]

hi! heard the released “Merry Christmas, Please Don’t Call” (which i’ve seen you’ve heard live, if i’m not mistaken!!) this morning and i don’t know if there’s really a particular vibe/dynamic/ship hrpf-wise (personally haven’t yet been able to put my finger on it) that quite relates but the lyrics have been rotating in my head all day and i was wondering if you had any thoughts? hope you have a good one! <3

OH ANON HAVE I EVER SEEN IT LIVE!!! and the second that song came out i zoomed it straight into my fic playlist and unfortunately there are so many guys this could be. right now the one that's resonating is, of course, the golden boy and his haunted ghost themselves: mcstrome.

i am thinking about connor, specifically, after the stanley cup final. that game seven. how angry he was, how loud the silence when they told him he won the conn smythe. how close he's come before and again and again lost. there's nobody else to blame but himself. he's in the empty room and he knows why (1)

at!! your best!!! you were magic!!! oh, golden boy. connor the anointed, of course. at the very beginning of his career we always knew he was something special and who wouldn't have fallen in love with him? weren't all of us a little bit dylan strome in awe of the generational talent? we were all bathed in radiant light just by being in the vicinity (2)

don't even tell 'em that you know me breaks my heart (3). in terms of building a narrative i think i've said before there is a universe where connor/dylan were together before the draft and to protect both of them, dylan breaks up with him. connor says i love you and dylan says i don't. because he doesn't, you know? he loved connor. he loved davo. he can't be in love with connor mcdavid, first overall pick of the edmonton oilers. i'd rather be hurt forever than have to watch us try to make this work and destroy us.

and after connor mcdavid left the otters, dylan strome captained them to a memorial cup win. what a haunted home, eh? to be captain of the team you and your best friend were on, only now he's left you? don't call me to tell me about your rookie season with the oilers--we both know about your broken collarbone. don't call me to tell about becoming the youngest captain in franchise history when i stepped into the shoes of your captaincy here. don't call me. (4)

narratively: dylan's the one who broke connor's heart and his own but by god it wasn't easy. we both know what happened, you went first overall. please don't make this harder on me. please don't call.

this verse can be about the weight of dylan having to live up to connor's standards and always being measured by him. i would just like to bring up the connor stepping stone chart for absolutely no reason as well (5)

we are, at long last, at the potential future of now: dylan strome, happy, smiling, thriving on the washington capitals. connor, on the oilers. i'm not yours, dylan can say. haven't been for a long time. it took some time but i made this. please don't call and ruin this for me, stay out of my life. i don't want you or need you (6)

[p.s. this took a while because when i received this ask i was a) immediately possessed to write this verse by verse breakdown i had never thought of before and then b) immediately plagued by the idea of making you a little graphic (above the read more) and finally got to do it after banging out all the actual lyric thoughts two (?) weeks ago. emerging two and a half hours later from the fugue state of GIMP with 37 layers in this bad boy hope you enjoy!!!]

[brick-van-dyke]

// personal, uuuh kind of a vent but idk? Maybe more of just a general ask to the void of whoever happens to read it; How Does Friendship-ing Work? And the whole Is This Normal Or Just A Me Thing with this social thing that could be normal or may be not normal.

I know it's relatively normal for people to just grow apart or for friendships to break away based on one drama or another, but I've noticed recently that it's just... Really common for people I've met to eventually have some issue either someone else and for groups I'm in to break apart really easily, even like regardless of me being there or not I mean. It's happened quite a lot and I wonder if it's just me, "people these days" as in just how friends are in modern society with internet and all the expectations from it, or if it's actually normal?

Does anyone else have experience with that? As in, a reoccurring thing where people in friend groups you are in have some sort of drama between a few people which leads to everyone never talking again or falling out regardless of whether or not you're involved or even knew of said drama?

For example, I had this group of friends I talked to a lot online (we were a part of a larger group) and we ended up becoming really close but eventually people in that group had their own issues with each other and everyone stopped socialising because things got awkward for those who weren't involved. Like, this exact this I've found is weirdly common for me, a lot of friend groups I've been in have had this happen to some degree and idk how to approach it? It probably doesn't help that I'm really bad at social stuff and knowing when I'm oversharing or being too quiet or saying stuff that's socially inappropriate (like saying or asking stuff that is insensitive but you don't realise until after you've said it that it was pushy or too much), or understanding when people want you to shut up or when they want you to step in or anything in between. Basically, I'm just lost on all this and still trying to understand if this is A Normal Social Thing That Happens to Groups of People A Bunch, or if it's a unique issue or... Idk.

Basically! I don't really know how to address this happening yet again or who in said friend group I should even speak to if at all? Like do you just leave it and wait for people to short out their own stuff, or would that be considered you being a bad and neglectful friend?? Would involving yourself make you nosy? Or would it be seen as you being caring? Would backing off being the better option? Would talking to certain people make others thing you're betraying them and picking sides??? I literally can never tell what thing is the Right Social Thing™ to do so I just kinda either sit there and wait, trying not to make anything worse, or ask around and see if at least showing that I genuinely mean well and care helps at all (sometimes it helps, sometimes it doesn't and makes stuff worse, but so does the former sometimes). Also. I do have this thing where I speak without thinking and make things worse before I get to that part which probably makes this even harder because people probably are already feeling horrible from whatever stuff happened between them and when you know nothing at all, you don't know how tf to act. Or what to say or do or anything at all really.

For now, I'm gonna keep writing my stories, reading my books and doing my best but damn. Is there some sort of?? idk?? A way to avoid this stuff or is it normal or what?? Again, idk.

[seouljazzbar]

GO WITH IT

MARK LEE (이민형)

ABOUT 𓂃 ࣪˖ “have sex with me so I can finish writing this” inspired by this tweet or when mark offers to solve all your problems, it's much better to go with it

WARNING 𓂃 ࣪˖ language, mark is a bit of a slut, 18+ spiderman kiss (you’ll see lmao), allusions to fat cock mark… 😵‍💫, overstimulation, unprotected sex, mark’s name repeated like 78 times (no seriously, it’s up there), reader bent like a pretzel, orgasm denial, this author loves a comma, a pinch of softdom!mark, silly ending

PAIRING 𓂃 ࣪˖ bestfriend!mark x bestfriend!reader

WORD COUNT 𓂃 ࣪˖ 6k

AUTHOR'S NOTE 𓂃 ࣪˖ a little surprise drop for my favorite neo! i guess it's also a wee bit of a belated birthday gift to him :) i skimmed it for typos and stuff but i unfortunately did not edit it the way i should have, sorrryyyyy hope y'all enjoy! omg also reader's room is yu nabi's from the kdrama nevertheless hehehe

Nobody was busier than your best friend, Mark Lee. Between his job, his vibrant social life, and his weekly family dinners, you were lucky to be offered a slot in his schedule. It was always a yes to Mark Lee. Usually.

The last three times Mark had tried to make plans with you were all failed attempts, and the excuses varied each time. There was nothing shameful about the truth, but you just couldn’t bring yourself to tell him that your friendship was being thrown to the backburner while you sloppily attempted to get your life together. He knew all about your small business, taking commissions for art prints and ceramics, but he had no idea how much time and effort went into each piece. Besides, knowing Mark he would offer to help, and that wasn’t going to be of service to you in the slightest. 

All you could do was rot in bed, hoping that something would spark your creative mind to no avail. Frustration was starting to take up every corner of your mind— from the nonstop orders that you couldn’t fulfill, to your supplier raising prices, to the fact that you hadn’t had a good date in two years. You were wound too tight to function, and any minute now you were going to start pulling your hair out in chunks.

The sound of the pin-pad at your door let you know that Mark was about to come barreling through. There were so many times that you’d be in strict creation mode, headphones in at full blast while Mark banged at the door pleading for you to answer; when it started to feel like a normal part of your routine, he just requested the code to let himself in. “Yo!”

Except, this time, none of that was necessary. Your headphones were stuffed in their case on the other side of the room, workstation completely untouched with your multiple projects stacked on top of each other. Despite the custom orders piling up over the last two weeks, you hadn’t had the artistic strength to move forward with any of them. The only thing you could do to  buy yourself a little time was to post a message asking for patience and understanding while you navigate some vague emotional hardship. Realistically, though, it would only buy you another week or so before people would start to get angry. 

“Hi.” Perched on a stool near the kitchen island, eyes locked on the cup of coffee you warmed up seventeen minutes ago, you were out of it.

Mark waved a few inches from your face, trying to get your full attention. “Hello? Earth to ___, are you okay?”

You snapped out of it, looking over at your best friend to see that he was dressed for a night on the town. “Sorry, got a lot on my mind right now.”

White, distressed tank top, loose plaid button-up undone, and his sexiest pair of black jeans. The way the meticulous curls fell around his face, looping around his forehead in a way that feigned boylike wonder. He looked oh so delicious, but you would never tell him that— his ego was big enough for the both of you. “Anything I could help with?”

A stifled chuckle barely reached his ears before you cleared your throat, turning toward him with renewed energy. “No, not really.”

Mark put his phone and keys down on the counter, taking a quick intermission to wash his hands before walking back over to you. He’d never been in your apartment in this way before— an unannounced hangout where you’re clearly just a stop along the way, being so underdressed in his presence. He’d seen you in a swimsuit before, but something about a big shirt and underwear felt far more intimate than the two strips of fabric. “This is like the third time you’ve curved me, if you hate me just say that.”

“Oh, you’re so fucking dramatic. I’m just busy.” You shoved at his shoulder, urging him to take a seat so you wouldn’t feel so awkward with him standing over you. He refused cooly, taking a look around your apartment to make sure you hadn’t been aimlessly rotting since the last time he stopped by.

“Even I'm not that busy. What’s going on?”

“I’ve just…” You sighed heavily, a breath you didn’t even know you were holding in. Talking about everything wrong in your life felt far too heavy, too much to divulge to a friend seemingly just doing a wellness check. “I think I’ve bitten off more than I can chew, and I’ve got all these creative blocks that won’t go away and honestly I just need to be fucked like properly fucked to get my juices flowing again but all of the men worth giving it up to are in hiding.”

Mark stood there, mouth agape in disbelief. He did ask, after all. “Woah.”

“Yeah.” It felt embarrassing to hear laid out like that, but there weren’t too many secrets between you and Mark in the first place. Your sex lives weren’t off limits for discussion, and the two of you had plenty of chats that were NSFW in nature. But blurting out how badly  you needed to be railed? That was a new one.

The silence spoke for itself, apparently. You didn’t want to chance a glance up at him, but you knew that you’d have to say something. Maybe something to cover your ass, let him know that you’re well aware how ‘TMI’ that was. Or even—

“I’ll fuck you.”

You nearly choked on air,“What?!” Now you had no choice but to look at him, scanning the twinkle in his eyes in search of sincerity.

“I’m really good, too.” He took a step towards you, eyes never leaving yours as his hands found home in his shirt pockets. This was a side of Mark you rarely got to see— charming, smooth, confident. There were times, namely on nights out, where you’d get a taste of it, watching him chat it up in some dark corner with the prettiest girl you’d ever laid eyes on. But this, being on the receiving end? Watching his eyes drink you in like sweet tea on a balmy Southern summer afternoon? It was enough to make your heart skip several beats. 

“Mark—”

The smile he cracks at you makes you embarrassed for even considering it. “I’m just messing with you, geez,” Heat takes over your face as you try to hide it from him, palms rubbing at your cheeks as your heartbeat tries to find its resting rate. “Although, given that reaction, maybe I shouldn’t be.”

“Shouldn’t be what?”

“Messing with you. Joking, rather. I can definitely mess with you, if you want,” Running so hot and cold in such a short window of time has you shivering under his gaze, scared to make the wrong move and ruin what you’d beg him for. “Hm? Is that what you want?”

The air is thick with anticipation, nothing but the consistent drip from a ceiling leak as the soundtrack to your staring contest with Mark. He was so close to you in all of his Friday night glory, cologne a cloud around you as the heat from his chest permeated your personal space. You were certain that just one taste, just one night in the throes of passion with a curly haired Mark Lee would solve all of your problems. If you closed your eyes, you could picture it— sweaty bodies intertwined amidst the sweltering heat of your studio after dark, the fanning of his breath in your face as he rocks into you, his strong frame caging you into the bed so all you can focus on is Mark, Mark, Mark! His sighs and whines of pleasure flooding your senses so they’re all you can pay attention to, just his voice and his unrelenting pace as he— “___,” The sound of your name on his tongue snapped you out of your lustful haze. “Offer’s about to expire, baby.”

Mark slipped his jacket off without breaking away from you, dropping it carelessly on the floor while your attention wandered to his arms. He seemed to know exactly what he was doing, crossing his arms against his chest as he awaited your answer. “You’re serious? This isn’t some cruel prank where if I say yes, you’ll tell me it was just a joke?”

“That’s not my idea of a prank, princess, where’s the fun in that?” Mark licked his lips, a faint smirk taking over. “Look, if you’re uncomfortable, we can pretend this never happened,” His fingers ghost along the side of your face, sweetly making their way to your lips. “But if it were up to me? I’d have you seven ways to Sunday all over this apartment.”

That was all you needed to lunge into a kiss with him, throwing him slightly off guard as you practically tossed yourself into his arms. But his lips were ready for you, steaming hot and sopping wet— just the way you like it. The smush of your lips together so suddenly garnered the sweetest moan from him, just enough to tease you of what’s to come. His arms wrapped around your torso like a claw machine, pulling you so flush against him as though he was afraid you’d slip through his fingers. 

Your lips were still tingling as he pulled away to lap kisses against your neck, peppering anywhere his lips could reach. “M-Mark, hmngh.”

It was no secret that Mark had a bit of a reputation in the bedroom, but you never thought you’d witness it firsthand. His hands delved blindly to your legs, hoisting you around his waist so he could move you over to your bed. You almost had a mind to remind him of the three big steps up to your bedroom area, but he was far suaver than you gave him credit for— this wasn’t exactly his first rodeo.

He tossed you on the bed, the slight recoil exhilarating before he was all over you again. “If a proper fuck is what you want…” His kisses had shifted to your chest, lips and tongue sucking in the essence of your skin like he couldn’t bear not to. He was almost more excited than you were, his touch reaching anywhere and everywhere all at once, like he couldn’t get enough of exploring everything you had to offer. It was all starting to feel real as Mark made a move to lift up your shirt and the implication of your best friend seeing you naked caught up with you.

“Wait, wait. We’re gonna see each other naked.”

Mark, with the fabric of your shirt caught in his teeth, stared at you blankly. “Yeah…” 

“Shouldn’t that be weird?”

He rolled his eyes playfully, squeezing at your hip with the hand closest to it. “Maybe, but how do you suggest we fuck then? Through my jeans?” He pulled your body swiftly down the mattress so you could feel how hard he was through your panties. 

“Shut the fuck up, oh, my God.”

“I was trying to before you got all weird and jittery,” Mark made a move for your shirt again, and this time you didn’t fight him on it. The balmy air hit your pert nipples the second they were exposed, and Mark couldn’t stop the gruff  noise that formed in his throat. “Just as pretty as I imagined.” You squirmed at the compliment, cheeks heating up at the sight of him drooling over you. “Like that? Hm? Are you my pretty girl?” 

His lips wrapped around the peak of your breast, tongue swirling to the same pattern his thumb and forefinger followed on your other nipple. “Yes!” It was embarrassing, how fast you succumbed to his commands. He struck with confidence, maneuvering his way around your body like he’d done it before. “I’m your pretty girl.”

“So sexy saying that for me, baby,” Your legs part instinctually to make more room for him, and Mark took that as his sign to shift gears. “You know… sometimes, every now and then, I’d think about you. If I needed a little extra push towards ecstasy, you’d pop in my head. Think about the way you’d look if I got my hands on you. How you’d feel, how you’d taste,” His fingers prodded at the growing wet patch on your underwear. “Gonna let me see?”

Your back arched off the mattress, hands pulling him impossibly closer to you. “Mark, please stop asking, just do it.”

“Mm, say ‘please’ again.”

“Mark!”

His laugh would be even sexier if it weren’t at your expense. “Alright, fine.” Your panties stayed on as his tongue lapped at your folds through them, the flimsy cotton doing absolutely nothing to stop him from devouring you. You jerked at the feeling as his tongue licked a bold strip through your folds, your hands entangling themselves in his curly locs. “You’re so wet, holy shit.”

One quick motion moved your panties to the side, puffy wet lips on full display for his greedy eyes. His eyes sparkled at the sight, mouth watering at the mere thought of getting to taste you. “Smell so good, pretty girl.” He was so hungry and you were the only one who could satiate him. His tongue had a mind of its own, pressing flat against your folds without a second thought, “Taste even better.”

Mark’s grip on your thighs held you in place as he licked you clean, running his tongue against every nerve-ending he could feel for. He pulled them apart just enough to spread you out for him, just enough to be on full display for him. Your taste occupied every corner of his mind as he blacked out in pleasure, lapping up every drop your gushing pussy offered up.

He circled your clit until you saw stars, your squirming uncontrollable as his tongue darted inside of you. “You’re so good to me.”

Mark groaned between your thighs, in love with the praise you were showering him with. There was something about how natural and seamless it was for you to compliment him that turned him on even more, if that was possible. “I don't think I'll ever get enough of how you taste, Christ.”

His free hand slithered up your torso, sinking his thumb into your eager mouth while his continued working at your core. He wasn’t shy, either, licking boldly from your ass to your clit while shaking his tongue side to side. Slurping up every drop that dribbled out of your entrance, twisting his tongue as far inside of you as he could reach. You were dripping down his chin by the time he introduced his fingers, prodding at your glistening hole with just one to test the waters. He took the way you gripped onto his hair as his sign that you were more than enjoying it. “F-feels good, oh, God.”

“Mm, don’t be shy.”

Laving at your clit, he drank up the praises the way he was drinking you up. He only pulled away to fully discard your panties, diving back into center with renewed vigor. “Need more.” You didn’t want to push him any closer to you, scared you’d smother him, but he didn’t seem afraid to drown. He’d awoken something desperately greedy inside of you, and you were slipping further into a haze of pleasure with every passing moment. Two fingers pressed their way inside of you, pumping slowly to get you adjusted before the jerk of your hips told him to pick up the pace. You couldn’t hold still with the way he was devouring you, mouth and hands prying you open deliciously all for his enjoyment. He would die between your thighs if you let him, you’re sure of it.

You had to physically pull him off of you to get him to stop, orgasming bubbling inside of you in record time. “Want you inside of me already.” The entirety of the lower half of his face was a sticky mess of your arousal, from his nose to his chin completely covered in you. “Bro, you need to wipe… that.” Times like these, you were glad that you kept tissues on your nightstand.

“You cannot and will not call me ‘bro’ now that I know what you taste like. How insulting.”

It hadn’t dawned on you that Mark was still fully dressed, sans his plaid jacket-shirt that was curled in a sad pile on the floor. “Is that an order?”

He bit at his lip, eyes darkening as he drank in your bare figure sprawled beneath him. Your hands ran themselves up and down his arms, finally getting a chance to admire his body after all the focus was turned to you. Maybe it was the lighting, the way his hair fell over his eyes, or just the fact that he was the best kisser you’d had the pleasure of test driving— but he looked divine. Halo of light circling his head as he fumbled with his belt, biceps flexing as he lifted the tank top off of his lean frame. Suddenly, he wasn’t your friend anymore; he was something new entirely.

You were so lost in your own adoration of him that you hadn’t noticed he was undressed, pulling you directly underneath him as he kissed at your collarbones. “Where’d you go off to, huh?”

“It’s nothing,” you shook your head, snapping back to reality (which was so much better than whatever was going on in your will they-won’t they fantasy). “Thank you, for this.”

Mark didn’t respond with words, instead opting to kiss you softly, tenderly. Slowly, deeply, passionately kissing you as he lowered himself atop of you. He wasn’t in a rush anymore, pulling you into him like you were made of glass, grinding against your center like you had all the time in the world. Everything was so delicate, like he was savoring the moment for years to come. It scared you, if you were being honest. “Mark? You know you can still kiss me while you’re inside of me, yeah?”

He hummed in approval, connecting your mouths again in a slow, languid kiss, tongues slithering into each other's mouths and twisting messily. You could feel him lining up with your entrance, his hand wrapped around his girth to guide himself into you steadily. Chancing a look down, you tried to hide the way your eyes bulged out at the sheer size of him— he would never let you hear the end of it if you fawned over how huge he was. It took all of your willpower to remain still, your body welcomed him as though it had hundreds of times, the shape of him slotting inside of you like he was made to. His fingers tangled in your hair, angling your head so he could travel to your neck, groaning out his praise against your sticky skin. The absence of his lips on yours made you whine, hands wandering the expanse of his back just for confirmation that this was real. “Tell me how it feels.”

You couldn’t. Months of the worst dry spell you’d ever experienced coming to a head with Mark milking you for everything you had couldn’t be described. All you could do was moan, coiling around him even tighter as he started to rock his hips forward as though he was testing the waters. He was the only thing you could focus on— his scent, his taste, they way his nose pressed right against yours, the feeling of his fingers intertwining with yours against the mattress, the dionysian desire his hips were fulfilling. It was all just Mark, Mark, Mark. “Mark!” His teeth couldn’t resist nipping at your lip, pulling on it playfully before letting go to let his tongues soothe the area.

“I can’t help it, you’re so fun to play with.” He kissed you to make up for the quick dot of pain, relishing in the way you immediately kissed him back with just as much enthusiasm.

“I’m, I’m close.”

He spread your legs further apart to give himself more room to buck his hips, pressing at your thighs as he fucked into you faster. “Hold it.”

“Whyyyy?”

“You asked for the Mark Lee experience,” His thrusts grew pointed, almost exaggerated as his hips drove forward with precision, “and I’m gonna give it to you.”

You could feel yourself teetering dangerously close to the edge, stomach coiled tight and lungs working overtime. The mere thought of being denied your orgasm was getting you worked up— you hate not getting your way. Your legs wrapped around Mark’s waist, locking your ankles together for good measure. If he wanted to play games, you were down for it. “Harder.”

But instead of faster, Mark slowed to a complete stop, hands drifting down to your hips to pin them to the mattress. “Oh, baby, do you think I’m stupid?” He chuckled in your face, shaking his head as the laughter subsided. “That’s a sure fire way to get nothing.”

“Wait, no, please! I didn’t mean it.”

The damage had already been done. His patience with you was wearing thin, and he didn’t take kindly to disobedience. “Have you learned your lesson?” Each second that passed stole a piece of your orgasm away with it, that delicious ball of tension and heat simmering down to a cool pit of nothing the longer Mark held your hips down. Your heart stopped fluttering with urgency, slowing to its resting rate as you dealt with the consequences of trying to outsmart your best friend. “Speak up, baby.”

“Yes,” You hissed out, annoyed that your declaration of needing to be fucked was currently going unanswered. Who is he to deny you of the very thing he promised you? “I learned my lesson.”

It was exactly what he wanted to hear, “God, you’re so sexy when you behave yourself.” 

You rolled your eyes, slapping his chest as he pulled away from you entirely. “What happened to ‘having me seven ways to Sunday all over this apartment’?” 

It was Mark’s turn to roll his eyes, fingers running through his hair as he sat back on his heels. “Up against the wall.” You did as he said, spreading your hands against the wall as you felt him behind you, lining himself up with your sodden entrance. The inward arch felt unnatural at first, but you settled into it as you got comfortable in it. “Look up at me.” Mark was towering over you, quite literally. From this angle, all you had to do to see his face was look up and there he was with that devilish smile. His cock pressed into you as you watched him, the sheer thickness splitting you clean open for him, sucking him in like your pussy had been waiting for him. “Fuck, you feel so good.”

Maybe it was the taboo of sleeping with a friend, but your body was on fire. You felt your entire body heating up at the sudden change in his demeanor, switching your flirty best friend to a man absolutely starved. With your eyes screwed shut, you reached a hand out to hold onto his arm, fingers giving it a squeeze, head bumping the bare skin of his chest.

“Fuck.”

You were even wetter than you were while he had you pinned to the mattress, the feeling of being filled by him more electrifying after a brief intermission. He was all over you again and that was all that mattered, walls tightening around him with a vice-like grip that had both of you gasping for air.

“Shit,” he hiss, already lost in the sensation, “so good to me, ___, so fucking good.” He emphasized the last syllable with a gentle thrust that had your nails scratching at the wall. Your orgasm was building back up faster than you would’ve liked it to, considering you knew Mark wouldn’t let you cum so soon after denying you.

It hit you deeply, in all the right places at the right angle. Mark was that good from the start, and you couldn’t believe you’d been missing out on it. If you knew he was this goof, you would’ve ruined the friendship ages ago. “So fucking deep, Mark, keep going like that,” you moaned, just as caught up as he was.

He captured your lips in a searing kiss, fucking into you with much more vigor than before, gripping your ass with such force you half expected to see the dents after. You moaned all you had to say, all you had to feel into each other’s mouths. When his velvety tongue enveloped yours you could almost taste the remnants of your arousal and the chocolate muffin he ate right in between sweeping and mopping. The water was still running, hitting part of his back and your leg.

You couldn’t pull away from him even if you tried— he was a part of you now, molded into each other’s bodies until you became one. “Wanna keep fucking you forever,” he groaned, pouring his all into every touch. “Keep you on me forever.”

It threw you for a loop. Keep you forever? Mark was a lot more emotional than he let on, sure, but you couldn’t shake the feeling that he meant it in ways other than platonic. You couldn’t even stop him to ask what he meant by that because he was so deep in your guts that you were starting to feel him in your throat. 

“Don’t stop,” you cried out, biting your lip when he hit a certain spot inside you and kept hitting it over and over again— the taste of blood didn’t stop you. “Don’tstopdon’tsopdon’tstop-”  

“Fuck,” he whisper, voice strained and raspy, smacking at your ass before gripping it and bringing you down to meet his increasingly harsh thrusts, the slap echoing throughout your studio apartment. “Wanna fuck you forever, baby.” One hand kept its vice grip on your hip while the other grasped at your neck, forcing you to maintain eye contact with him. “Gimme a kiss, pretty girl.” Your lips found his despite the blurring of your vision, a supple lock as he steadied rocking into your core. Kissing him upside down felt worlds away from the first kiss you shared with him, and yet you still couldn’t get enough of it. The hand on your hip slithered up to cup your breast, rolling your nipple as he pulled away from the kiss. “So obedient.”

All the shame had disappeared from your body, the satisfaction of finally being fucked numbing you to his quips completely. His name was on the tip of your tongue, begging to be set free, but the way his hips ricocheted off your ass made you short circuit. Your skin was hot to the touch, goosebumps littering the expanse of your body as your toes curled around the fabric of your duvet. 

“Who knew you were such a dirty girl, hm?” Mark tutted. You hold back your moans, reveling in the sensation of his tip sliding up and down you dripping folds. Interrupting his own rhythm just to get a rise out of you, giving you no warning before shoving himself right back in. 

“Bet this was your plan all along,” You ignore the fact that he technically initiated all of this, too blissed out to snap back at him cheekily. “Dripping all over my cock, fuck.” He’s thinking out loud, eyes locked at the way your pussy invites him in, grip unrelenting with each thrust. He drew his hips back again to repeat the same unforgiving tempo, laughing to himself at the way your thighs shake in anticipation.

“Wanted this for so long.” You whine, bashful about the confession rolling off your tongue so easily. Mark had always occupied a special part of your mind, but the barrier of your friendship with him always kept you from thinking of him in that way for too long. He’s hot, sure, and one of the most genuine guys you’d ever met— but risking that by dating him felt too stupid to risk.

Mark didn’t keep you waiting for too long, filling you to the brim with one stroke that had your toes curling. You gasp, a shiver running up your spine as he adopts a frenzied pace that nearly knocks you into the wall in front of you. “You’re so fucking warm.”  He can’t help but moan out at the feeling, clutching onto your hips as he pistons in and out of you. Blunt fingers digging into your skin as you let your body fall forward. You felt so full.

“Mark, fuck.” you whine, probably a tad too loud considering how thin the walls feel at night but you couldn’t help it, with the way he held onto you and fucked you like he had never had good pussy in his life. “Faster.”

“Where’d your manners go? Say ‘please’.” He teased, testing your obedience despite knowing you’d obey him. There was just something about knowing he held your pleasure in the palm of his hands, knowing that you’d do anything he asked of you. 

“Please, please, please Mark, need you so bad.” It sounded  pathetic, and it only makes Markn screw his eyes shut as he fucks you harder. All control lost as he watches the drool drip from your mouth down the wall— he was really fucking your brains out.

Mark's rough groans were slowly morphing  into needy moans, the sound causing even more slick to build up between your legs. “Taking my cock like such a good girl.” And you really were, considering you had nothing but the wall to grip onto, you let your body go wherever Mark led it. Each thrust sending you closer and closer to your climax, his dick hitting every single spot that you’re sure you’d see stars.

“I’m gonna cum, fuck.”

“You’re gonna cum? Mm, you can cum. Cum all over my dick, lemme see that pretty face.” You arched inward one last time for him, looking up at the man sending you to heaven and back on a loop. “There you go. Good fucking girl.” Mark smacked your ass sharply, holding onto your ass as he switched his rhythm to harsh, precise thrusts that were sure to throw you over the edge of pleasure. He kissed your forehead as the growing tension in the pit of your stomach snapped, your walls contracting around him in a tight frenzy that nearly triggered his own. He didn’t slow down, though. The clutching of pussy did absolutely nothing to deter him from fucking you with the same rigor, hips just as quick as they were before he finally let you cum.

“M-Mark, I don’...” The aftershocks of ecstasy silenced you in your tracks, the sparks of pleasure like electricity through your bloodstream. “Don’t stop.”

He laughed at the change of your tune, thumb flitting down to flick at your clit. “Baby needs more? Haven’t had enough yet?”

Even with him poking fun at your desperation, you were too drunk on his cock to care. All you could manage was a chorus of fuck me, fuck me, fuck me as Mark held you flush against him. “God, yes, fill me up like that.” Your arousal was dripping all over the inside of your thighs, the sticky slick glistening under the moonlight that peaked through your curtains. 

“That’s right, I’m not fucking done with you yet, pretty girl.” This side of him was lethal. He was insatiable, obsessed with the way your body responded to him, greedy for the way you bent to his every whim. It was such a change of pace from the way he was kissing you in missionary, the way he treated you like a doll that he was afraid of hurting you. “Feel good?”

He was mocking you— of course, it was good. You didn’t have to tell him that for him to know; but feeding his ego was so addictive. The way he’d reward you for praising him was enough for you to fall for the trap every single time. “So, good, Mark, hngh.”

The smack of his hips against your ass bounced off the walls, echoing the depravity that you and Mark were oh so good at acting on. All of your senses on overdrive, the overstimulation pulling at you from every end, you weren’t sure if you could take it all for much longer. Drool slipped from your mouth onto Mark’s arm, the edges of your vision blurring as you could feel yourself bubbling over. “Gonna cum again?”

“‘m gonna cum again.”

He was drunk with the power of controlling you. “Hold it.”

“Mark, I can’t.” You were surprised you were even able to do it the first two times he commanded it, not used to having gratification delayed against your wishes.

“Gonna fill you up and then you can cum.” It only took a few more targeted thrusts before he was spilling his seed into you, an endless leak of evidence of what took place over the last hour or so. Even as his cock began to soften, he made sure to fuck you through it, massaging tight circles into your clit until your legs spasmed. The air was snatched from your lungs, eyes flittering shut in sweet relief. It was only two orgasms, but the build up had really taken it out of you. Mark flipped you over gently on your back, brushing the hair out of your face as you sleepily opened your eyes.

“Look at that. Take a look at the mess we made, baby.” 

He gestured between your legs, a slippery canvas of cum smeared across your most intimate parts. “So much…” You couldn’t stop yourself from gathering some on your fingers, popping them into your mouth for a taste of the two of you mixed together.

Your brain was on fire, neurons alight with the molten sensation that was Mark Lee. Even though you took him up on the offer, you weren’t expecting him to completely change your world. A solid orgasm and a pat of the back, maybe. But now you were afraid that he was your new addiction that you’d never be able to feed. 

You woke up in a fresh sleep shirt to the smell of toasted bagels and coffee. Mark balanced the plates and mugs the best he could as he tackled the steps leading up to your bedroom area. “Mornin’ sleepyhead.”

“What time is it?”

He shoved a mug of steaming coffee into your hands, kissing you on the forehead. “Don’t worry about that. You were exhausted, wanted to let you sleep.”

“Thank you.” The coffee was exactly to your liking, just what you needed after a night of fucking like rabbits. “So, should we talk about… it?”

Blush rose to his cheeks and there was no hiding it, his hair pulled back into a messy bun so his face was on full display. “I mean, only if you want to? I’m okay with proceeding however you want to.”

“You’d be fine staying friends? Never talking about it? Pretending that nothing’s changed?”

He shrugged, “if that’s what you wanted, then yeah.” His attention shifted to his breakfast, eyes zeroed in on his eggs and toast like it was a gourmet meal. “Just don’t wanna make you feel weird about it, you know?”

“Mark?” You placed your coffee and plate down on your bedside table, turning your full attention to him as he continued to avoid your gaze. “What did you mean by all the ‘keep you forever’ stuff then?”

He rushed to try to explain himself, scrambling his words into a whole lot of nothing. “It’s not, like, a big deal or anything. I just get possessive… in bed, sometimes. I’m not a weirdo or anything, I promise.”

None of that mattered to you anyway, your dreams of Mark that clouded your head all night giving you the push you needed to throw caution to the wind. Would it be the worst thing in the world to risk it all with him? One kiss, chaste and sweet, was enough to shut him up for just a moment. “So if I said we should try exploring further, maybe go on a date or something, you’d say yes?”

His eyebrows shot up to his hairline, mouth falling agape as he searched your face for any signs that you were being facetious. “Y-yeah, yes. If that’s what you want.” He was so bad with his feelings, sometimes— but you were more than willing to be patient.

“Well, good, because that’s what I want.”

[makingqueerhistory]

":')))))))) you realise that gen AI is available to everyone though right??? Queer creators can use it just as much as anyone else??? I just don't understand this post... It really feels like a cheap way to get on the 'AI Bad's bandwagon, and coming from such a thoughtful and insightful creator that's incredibly disappointing... It's okay to not comment on subjects you're not an expert in y'know...?"

Y'all know the drill, I am replying to this publicly but that is not an invitation to send any negative messages to the person I am replying to.

Anyways, let me start by saying that the original context of the post you're replying to is discussing an event where a queer org used generative AI to steal an interview with Keri Hulme. So let's start there. To be clear I don't even know if the original interviewer was queer so let's put the identities of stealer and stolen from to the side. I want to explain the harm done in this example specifically and I hope this is illustrative of what harm generative AI can (and does) do.

The original place I saw generative AI was a queer org that explicitly says they are using generative AI "for good", and as a way to bring more queer history to light. So let's take them at their word, and assume they are not out to cause harm. This is the best example of generative AI that I can imagine, so I hope that makes it clear that I am not coming at this issue from bad faith in any way.

Here is the harm they are causing:

Decontextualizing and rephrasing an interview: I am not going to pretend that I am an expert in academic best practices, but I do believe one thing, if a person is speaking on their own identity and lived experience, it is always much better to directly quote than it is to rephrase. As I read this source, I initially didn't know that it was AI, and I was already upset. An interview that is widely available on the internet with no pay wall, was poorly sourced and made more vague than it was in the initial text. By creating one degree of seperation between the original words of A WRITER (whose literal job was largely based in choosing the right words to describe experiences they had) harm is already done. It makes vague what was once clear, and removes Keri Hulme's voice from her own narrative.

The original interviewer is not paid, or given proper recognition: I get it, sometimes just copy pasting an interview doesn't feel transformative enough, but something that one would learn if they worked in the queer history field and weren't a literal robot rehashing what has already been said, is that not everything needs to be transformed. In those cases, we give credit to the person who said the original words (in this case Keri Hulme), and the interviewer who facillitated the conversation (in this case Shelley Bridgeman). This case (again a best case scenario), takes the attention and byline away from the original interviewer and gives it to an AI.

The original publisher of this story is deinsentivised from paying interviewers in the future: The original publisher of this interview has ads on their website. As a person who also has ads on their website, taking an article like this and rephrasing it for no good reason (the orginal word count was not prohibitive and the rephrasing did not make it more readable), takes money from the publisher. It's pennies, but it's also removing numbers could have been used to justify further interviews with asexual people and archiving of asexual stories. The org that stole from this publication does not interview people themselves so the money and numbers that could have gone to continue to preserve asexual stories goes to stealing them instead.

These are just the active harms that I saw in this specific case. As you said, I am not an expert in generative AI, and will not be speaking as if I am. But I will say that asking me not to speak out on active harm that is being caused in queer history spaces, is disrespectful to my many years in this field.

To illustrate this even clearer: if you were a patron, you would know I recently took down an old article. I have been rereading and editing our backlist of articles, and I found one that no longer fit my standards of sourcing. My standards had recently raised due to a video made by HBomberguy about someone in the queer history space who was stealing from other creators. I watched this video not as a work project, but because I watch most of HBomberguys videos, and this one made me think more critically about sourcing. An AI can't do that. All an AI has is what has been inputted, and it is right now impossible to input every available peice of information about ethics into an AI and get a coherent ethical basis on which it will function.

It is a distinctly human trait to absorb information and change in that way. AI can rephrase information that already exists, steal it, recontextualize it even, but it cannot create something altogether new.

Do I believe that there one day might be an ethical use for Generative AI? Maybe. Do I believe that coming into a queer history space, stealing the words of a Maori asexual author, rephrasing them, and giving the original interviewer and publication no form of compensation for their work, is accomplishing that? No.

On a more personal note: I am coming at this issue with a bias. As a queer history creator, I do not want AI in my space, because it is literally damaging to my financial prospects. It has been like pulling teeth to try and get patrons in the current state of the global economy. I don't blame anyone from that, but I feel very disrespected that I am being asked to compete with a machine now. Not only that, but I am being asked to shut up and be fine with it? No, absolutely not. I cannot and will not stay quiet as space that I have fought tooth and nail to create in mainstream discussions is taken and given to AI.

AI was not supporting me when I was sent gore to try and scare me off of discussing queer history. A person did that. AI was not there to tell me I had written too many sad stories, and I needed some happy endings to remind myself of the good in the world. A person did that. AI was not there when I was being harrassed for supporting and including asexual stories on my website. A person did that.

And after all that, I am being asked to lie down and take it when my ability to pay the people who supported me in those ways, is being threatened. Nope. Not going to happen.

An AI doesn't have to make rent. An AI doesn't understand what it feels like to have to stop holding their wife's hand in public. An AI didn't get calls from people needing comfort in reaction to the election. Pay me for my work, and get this AI nonsense out of my face.

[mad-hunts]

tw: cannibalism, (slightly) graphic depictions of violence and HEAVY elements of horror will be ahead, so i'm going to put this under a 'read-more' if you'd rather skip out on this one.

so they looked around for a bit, and that's when they found it. this blood trail going down the floor of the hallway, which was already kind of scary, though it was nothing compared to the sound of someone's ringtone suddenly resounding from one of the rooms in the back (think one of those love songs with sort of creepy vibes to them like ' unchained melody. ') so, once your muse gathered enough courage, they decided to proceed down it even though something inside of them was screaming that something seemed wrong. and it seemed like they were right because once they reached the back, they found a dead body just... pressed up against the wall with blood spattered behind them. and there were other spots of the wall spattered with blood as well.

i feel like, for a character that's supposed to be pretty horror-oriented, that this account has been kind of lacking in content related to that lately, SO imagine this scenario, y'all. your muse is friends with or just cares about barton in some way. and thus, whenever they find out that he's attracted the ire of someone dangerous + that he's been missing for WEEKS, they assume the worst and try to find out his location. which leads them to this already creepy, dilapidated, and abandoned mortuary. and they honestly didn't know what they were expecting once they entered it, but it certainly wasn't this deafening silence, and there seeming to be... no one around?

so, you try to circle around to find out what the hell is going on, but then you see the thing that barton is hunched over is a body and a third one on the autopsy table in the room. and your muse can't help but blanche + feel like they've just stumbled into the lions den, because barton is not only SO beat up, but he's eating the person below him. and it's absolutely horrific because whenever they gasp at the sight is when barton finally looks up at them.

it was ALL over this corpses' face, though, as it appeared like they died from some sort of brutal blunt force trauma. but there's also another blood trail that is smeared across the floor up and under one of the doors in the back, which they are REALLY questioning whether they want to open now. they choose to do so with their eyes closed after remembering that barton would do the same for them (and by that, i mean he would want to save them JSJSJ), and all they can see when they open them is the back of barton hunched over something, or someone as you discover while getting closer to him. and it's like he is either ignoring you or hasn't heard you enter the room because he's still focused on whatever he was doing.

and there is just NOTHING behind those eyes even though he's got a copious amount of blood dripping down from his lips and dripping down his chin + neck. like JSJSJ i don't know about you guys, but i would be sooo scared because not only is this NOT normal behavior for him at all, it's god damn terrifying to see someone cannibalize you someone else. and so if he were real, along with me being in this situation, i probably wouldn't talk to him for a while because i wouldn't even know where to begin AHHH