#if this flops i quit tumblr

[omaano]

Hi! If you're still accepting requests for the poly poses!! How about IH for Obi-Wan, Cody and Satine? Because yk he has two hands 🫡🥹

He does indeed have two hands, and both of them should be occupied at all times :3 Thank you for asking @lightasthesun 🥰

Polyamorous/platonic poses for sketching

and the other drawings I’ve made for them (I am halfway through all your lovely requests for reals this time!!)

[lazy-b1rdy]

i haven't been inspired lately.

[spinostarz]

for the record i am not against nuclear power

[shamblessm]

Gallagher come back plz

[casyawn]

my dirty secret is that i don't actually think lestat called him lou in that one scene in ep 5.. like i'm pretty confident he said louis but the second syllable wasn't super clear and the subtitles got it wrong...... sorry fam i just don't see it........

[fadelbison]

“What?” Sand asks, tosses the lube purposefully out of Ray’s reach, “How about you suffer my pruny, withered hole for once.”

I s2g this is THE WORST fic ive ever written sklfjhsgkjshfgksjfhgfkjgh

[for-mer-ly-clanswapper]

just watched stepbrothers for the first time and i thought it would’ve been exponentially better if they actually made will ferrells character transmasc and then let him push his brother into shark infested waters at the end of the movie

[thebibliosphere]

I’ve had an increase in rainbow aura with my migraines lately (I used to get them once a year, if that. Now, I’ve had it twice in one month) so I’ve become somewhat paranoid whenever something flashes over my vision.

Sometimes, it's just light reflecting off my phone, but it still makes me freeze up in a fear response when it happens because it usually means I’ve got about 20 minutes before I’m in agony.

Apparently, this new paranoia extends into my dreams now, too, because I was running down a long corridor, aware that there was something behind me that I needed to escape, but all of a sudden, in my dream, rainbow zigzags consumed my vision, and I stopped, dead and went, “fuck, migraine.”

That's when I became aware of James Bond/Daniel Craig standing beside me, gun drawn.

“Oh, shit. Do you need to lie down?” he asked while I stared at him.

I said, “What about the thing chasing us?”

“Oh, don’t worry about that, darling. If you need to lie down you can lie down. I’ll just kill them.”

I blinked at him for a bit, still winded from running then said, “Sure,” starting to get to my knees, ready to lie down on the cold stone floor beneath us.

“Sure?”

“Yeah. Kill ‘em. I’m just gonna...” I gestured vaguely at the floor. “Be right here, I guess.”

“You can go upstairs, you know,” he said, loading a fresh clip into his gun. “This museum has a hotel on top of it.”

“Oh good,” I said, starting to suspect this was a dream and not Daniel Craig about to murder the people chasing me because I had a migraine. “I’ll do that then.”

So I got back up and started climbing the stairs that looked an awful lot like the stairs in the Kelvin Grove Art Gallery, only to abruptly walk into Deathstroke and Nightwing doing their best to kill each other in the corridor of what was clearly a hotel based on the room service tray Nightwing was using to deflect projectiles.

They froze. I looked at them. They looked at me. “I’ve got a migraine,” I said,

“Shit, sorry,” Nightwing said, putting down his tray as both men stepped back to let me walk down the decimated corridor. “We’ll be more quiet.”

“Room 13 is open,” Deathstroke helpfully informed me.

“Is there a body in it?” I asked, now leaning against the wall, less walking along, more sliding.

“Not anymore.”

“Do you need anything?” Nightwing asked, “pain killers? Ice pack?”

I waved them off and made my way into room 13 where David Jason dressed as Detective Jack Frost looked up at me from the book he was reading on the bed.

“This is a dream,” he informed me.

“No it isn’t,” I said, despite knowing it was as I hobbled over to the bed and flopped down beside him. “And this room was supposed to be empty.”

“Open, not empty,” corrected Jack Banon who had taken David Frost’s place, dressed like young Alfie from Pennyworth as he sat beside me on the bed, leaning back against the headboard. “There’s a very distinct difference between the two. Oh, don’t look at me like that. Who do you think moved the body?”

“I need to sleep,” I said, “if I can fall asleep, the migraine might go away.”

“That's all right,” he said. “You do that. I’ll make sure no one else comes in. Oh, just one thing before you do.”

He reached into his pocket and pulled out something I couldn't quite see and held it out to me. “You’ll need this.”

“What is it?” I said, my brain doing the dream thing where it refuses to read books or interpret numbers correctly. “I can’t see, what is it?”

“Oft, sorry. Can’t tell you that. More than my job’s worth.”

“You’re job...”

“Yeah.” and thats when he leaned over, stuck me with a needle and said, “Night night.”

And I woke up to the sound of @mothman-etd getting into the shower and Holly Mop wiggling under thre covers with me.

First words out of my mouth were, “What the fuck?”

And then I immediately pulled up Tumblr to write this down before I forget it because what the fuck.

Didn't wake up with a migraine though so... *knock on wood*

[kr9vorebeazt]

I didn't know shadow ban also exists in tumblr

[sugutiva]

❝ THAT P ★ SSY GOT POWER ! ❞ — G. SATORU

ᥫ᭡. synopsis : for some reason . . . the strongest sorcerer in the world ( purposely ) got struck by a lust curse.

tags : smut, p in v, oral sex ( f! receiving ), enemies to lovers (?), reader folds quickly LMAO, gojo eats us out against the wall . . . again, hair pulling, pussy spanking, overstimulation, teasing, cowgirl, switch!gojo, slight orgasm denial, creampie, cursing, dirty talk, all lowercase intended, not proofread !

a/n : if this flops again tumblr is RACIST.

“ we need you to go talk to gojo satoru, and convince him to come back to jujutsu high.”

oh. so he’s the reason why you’re attending a meeting even though it’s your off day.

your face twists into an expression of displeasure, not only from the burdensome demand of gakuganji and possibly the other higher ups, but from the sound of his gravelly voice ringing throughout the spacious room. nonetheless, you bite your tongue. “ seriously, me? why would i ever do something like that?”

it’s extremely rare as a sorcerer to catch a simple day off, and the fact that you were called in to fetch a man-child to come back to his responsibilities was . . . aggravating. to say the least.

gakuganji continues, “ his disappearance has already gone on further than we’d like,” he takes a pause to lift his head slightly, looking you dead in the eyes. “ so seeing how you’re the only free adult, we chose you to go fetch for him.”

you cross your arms and legs before leaning back in the couch. as he explains in more detail on how there’s an increase of curses, and how no one's teaching the second and first years, ( not like they’d mind ) you start to feel a twinge of sympathy.

sure, you and gojo don’t see eye to eye sometimes, but it was unusual for him to go missing all of a sudden and leave everything behind. ( although he’d eerily fantasize about killing the higher ups whenever he was provoked enough ) you uncross your body before standing up from the couch swiftly.

“ i’ll check on him. but i wouldn’t guarantee a return from him,”

“ great choice, [last name].”

- -

all for jujutsu high and humanity.

giving three loud knocks to his door, you wait, and get no answer in response. “ gojo satoru, can you open up already?” you yell, surely loud enough for him to at least crack the door open. still, you get no answer from the other side.

just as you were casually mapping the outside of his house for an easy way to get inside, the door swiftly opens. there stood the man in question in all of his glory; he wore grey baggy sweats— and it seemed like no boxers underneath because of how his white happy trail seductively peeked out from underneath while the print of his cock was hardly concealed. the upper half of his toned body shined in a coat of sweat while he leaned his upper body against the door frame.

was he exercising. . . or maybe doing something else?

“ you just gonna stare at me after almost breaking my door off it’s hinges?”

shit. he caught you practically gawking at him.

“ i— um. we need to talk,” you gulp, feeling more nervous compared to any other time you’ve talked to him before. “ you‘ve been playing hooky for quite too long now and the higher ups are on my ass about it.”

he stares at you unfazed, you stare back.

but to your surprise, instead of slamming the door in your face and hiding away for longer, he shifts his body over, enough for you to come inside.

“ geez. those hags don’t ever know when to fall back.” he dramatically groans as you hesitantly step in to take your shoes off before walking in further.

vaguely, you swear you felt the weight of his eyes tracing your figure as you walk into his apartment, heading to his living room. you choose to brush it off.

inside it’s modern and creepily bare, like there’s no one actually existing in here— including this alluring scent. it’s not bad but it is heavy, as if a burdensome weight is on your shoulders. definitely musk but the strong scent of cinnamon is also within the mix. again, you brush it off while sinking down into the couch cushions, too late to turn back now.

gojo walks in later than you, and instead of sitting across from you— he plops right next to you, sluggishly resting his long arms on the back of the couch while manspreading, his freakishly lengthy legs invades the little space you have. your face contorts into an expression of outwardly discomfort. “ why’re you sitting right next to me, gojo?”

“ you rudely wake me up by pounding on my door, and now i can’t sit where i want in my living room?” he blows out a breath of air while rolling his eyes with a level of sass that makes you cringe slightly. “ girl. you really don’t have any manners at all. not like that’s a surprise tho—“

” please, let’s just focus on the reason why i came here.” you curtly cut him off, barely refraining yourself from slapping him in the head now that his infinity was off.

you knew he wouldn’t listen in the first place, so the sight of his head hanging off the couch while his leg rocked up and down rhythmically like this was the most boring lecture he had to sit through shouldn’t really piss you off— but it does. you let out an exhausted groan while rubbing your temples to soothe your growing headache. you really wish you hadn’t picked up the phone today. “ do you even care about the effect your disappearance has caused right now? you really are a careless manchi—“

“ i need to fuck you.” he bluntly states.

what? you couldn’t had possibly heard that right.

“ i-i’m sorry?”

he shifts, his body is now upright, contrasting his previous lazy posture. “ you want to know why i’ve been gone?” he waits for you to nod, which you do. “ i got struck by some sort of lust curse, so in order for it to go away, we need to fuck.” you don’t get a chance to fully register his words before his lips are on yours.

you feel him sigh into your mouth, as if you two making out on his couch relieved him from all his frustrations. you can’t deny that you’re into it like how he is, especially when he rolls his raging bulge into the inside of your thigh so desperately— but this isn’t the reason why you came here. obviously gojo thinks otherwise.

“ g-gojo! we can’t,” your voice trembles, and so does your body as you push the white haired man away from you. when he looks back in your eyes, you immediately notice that there’s truly something wrong. his pupils are wildly dilated— to the point where you can barely see his signature blue.

the intensity of his gaze freezes you in place. but you can’t shake off the feeling of being lured in.

almost like he’s hypnotizing you.

“ says who, baby?” his hand creeps down to the waist band of your pants, he tugs on your panties, only letting them go so they can soundly snap back against your skin, making your hips jolt in his grasp. “ don’t deny it now. i bet ya’ she’s gonna be leaking f’me.” the palm of his hand grinds down on your clothed mound.

this time, you’re the one to pull him into a heated kiss, and he matches your energy fully. your nails scratches at his undercut, forcing a needy moan to leave his chest and wander into your awaiting mouth. the kiss is so intense that you don’t realize that he’s taken off your pants along with your underwear until your bare skin touches around his while he carries you into his bedroom.

he presses your back to the wall only to hike you up further on the wall— the way how you’re positioned is that you’re currently using him as your own chair.

“ you do the most. are you really going to eat me out against a wall?” you tut, knowing that you’re not actually against the idea. your question isn’t answered with words, but when he presses moist kisses leading from your thigh to your soaked cunt, you think you have a inkling of the answer.

he blows on your erect clit before focusing his attention on your flustered face. “ for someone who was pushing me away . . . you sure are soaked.” your mouth opens, most likely with a bratty response. although it’s quickly forgotten when he presses a spit filled peck on your clit. there’s a line of spit that connects him to your cunt as he pulls away. “ ‘m not tryna embarrass you. just find it quite adorable.”

“ w-will you ever just shut up, and eat me out? i’m sick of hearin’ your mouth, gojo.” you murmur, watching as his grin grows impossibly wider— the bastard is riling you up on purpose just for his twisted entertainment. there will be a time later on tonight where you’ll get him back for that.

but for now, you need to feel his tongue mapping out every inch of your pussy.

he huskily chuckles, you want to ignore the effect that the sound does to you. “ heh. i got you baby,” with that, he rolls his tongue out on your heat, licking a fat stripe of spit in the direction to your pulsing clit. your body shudders as you finally get what you desire; your sworn enemy eating you out while your figure is trapped between him and a wall.

and oh is he nasty with it.

“ s-shit— you’re doing s’gooood, satoru!” you lewdly whine out, the knuckles of your hands turn a shade brighter than your skin as you tug on his pristine hair. moving away from your clit, he focuses on sloppily flicking your opening with his tongue. “ satooooru!”

for this being your first time hooking up together, gojo is uncannily skilled at fucking you dumb with only his tongue. it makes you yearn for what else he can do to you next.

gojo pulls back from your cunt, the lower half of chin is alluringly coated with your juices and his saliva. “ damn. she tastes too fuckin’ good. and why have you been keeping this away from me for so long?” he mutters to himself rather than you. his hand comes down on your cunt as a harsh smack, he delivers another and another before waiting for your reaction. when more slick dribbles out your hole, sliding down to your ass, it makes him want to go beyond feral.

“ looks like i’ve got myself a masochistic slut, heh.” no more is said as his mouth resumes back on your pussy, throwing you back into that wave of euphoria. the muscles in your thighs twitch, drawing him closer to your syrupy madness.

satoru moans, his hips bucks up on the wall as if to find some friction while splitting you down with that wonderful tongue. your toes are curled, back lifting from off the wall and every strangled moan you yell makes him thrust his tongue faster, along with his hips— the distant pleasure coming from fucking the wall is not near enough to make him cum, not that he’s worried about that, as your hypnotic taste is making him shamefully pussydrunk.

“ oh. ooooh, ‘m so close, you’re gonna make me cum!” you pant out while instinctively clamping your walls around his tongue shoving itself in. he’s more determined than ever, messily tongue fucking you while kneading your ass in his big hands. how he manages to hold you up by your ass only, it’s still a wonder.

your hips have a mind of their own as they grind down for your sweet release, and at this rate you don’t know if your pulling him away or closer to you. but when he hollowly sucks at your empty hole, that triggers your powerful orgasm.

“ d-don’t stooop! i’m cumming!” your eyes clamp shut as you throw your head back before bursting out into trembles. satoru continues to listen to your earlier words. he delivers kitten licks onto your clit just begging for his attention. “ satoru— i’m too sensitive,”

he doesn’t care to listen.

finally, he comes up from the spot between your thighs as your recovering from yet another messy orgasm. “ okay messy girl, as much as i love eating you out— i think you should show me some attention too.”

wordlessly, he carries your limp body over to his bed— in the traditional bridal carry this time. you think it’s somewhat romantic, but of course gojo has to ruin it by chucking you on piece of furniture, making you meet his incredibly soft duvets face first. “ the fuck?” you gain composure by lifting yourself on your hands and knees, looking back to throw him the nastiest glare you could muster. “ i swear at this point you’re getting no pussy, gojo.”

he pays your words no mind. as he pulls his pants down, his cock uncontrolledly springs free from it’s restraint. fuck, it was so big and pretty. the sheer length will no doubtfully have you feeling over cockdrunk, his tip flushes an angry red that makes your mouth water.

“ what about not getting any pussy?” he cheekily mocks you, stroking the head of his cock to smear the pearly pre-cum down his length.

“ shut the fuck up and get on the bed.” you whine, struggling by the second to keep up your bratty facade. the sound of the bed dipping under his body weight makes you flip over on your elbows and spread your legs wide for his gaze.

complying, he still rolls his eyes and clicks his tongue. “ geez. okay daddy,” his hands grabs you by the thighs and yanks you on your back completely. he presses the slit of his head against your clit, watching with delight as your folds compliments each side of his cock like a lewd hotdog. “ yer’ so mouthy but that’s expected, gonna have to fix that little problem though.”

“ i’m the mouthy one? that’s real fuckin’ funny coming from the one who cannot shut up for one second to save his life.” you bitterly cackle, although your voice comes out shaken from the audible clicks of your pussy getting played with. when he slightly dips into the warmth of your opening before trailing upwards to your clit again, you resist the urge to strangle him. “ — if you’re teasing me, i’m going to hurt you.”

he rolls his eyes unenthusiastically at the cold stare you give him from underneath your full eyelashes. “ tsk. you’re no fun, baby.” with one swift movement, he’s sinking into your gummy walls with a relieved groan.

maybe, because of the high side effects of the lust curse running it’s course is the reason why satoru finds himself cumming too early with not even a full pump.

and it’s a lot.

“ s-shiiiit— that was t-too early, can’t s-stop!” his body bursts into violent trembles— mimicking your own previously. hot ropes of cum taints your walls with the sensation of his cum while his hands grab at your thighs with a death grip that will for sure leave bruises later, having you sore for days. you think it’s rather endearing how vulnerable he looks.

gojo was just— if not more, surprised than you were.

it feels like forever when he finally comes down from his high, and you feel out of breath just watching him. “ that . . . that was not supposed to h-happen.” he weakly mutters, his head hanging down from embarrassment. somwhat, you’re prideful knowing that only you had him feeling like this.

“ ‘nd all that big talk just for you to be a one pump champ,” now, it’s his turn to weakly glare at you, “ think you can still fuck me? or do i have to ride you?” you grab a fistful of his hair before tugging his face close, to the point where your breath fans over his open, panting mouth. the pain from your dominant actions shoots through his veins and to his sensitive cock, resulting in it twitching greedily in your tense walls. “ am i talking to myself, satoru?”

“ fuck— n-no.”

you smirk, and to satoru you look exceedingly sexy and evil; a deadly combo. “ my good boy,” you peck his lips, letting the grip you have of his hair go so he can pull out of you. when he does, copious amounts of cum immediately pours from your quivering hole in a thick, flowing motions with a loud popping sound to accompany. with just one load he’s managed to stuff you full.

he flips over while hugging your body close to his. relaxing his figure, he watches as you aligned yourself against him, your shirt long gone by now, and your body is beautifully presented to him with the marks he inflicted upon the free reign of skin.

you could tell he wanted you just as much as you wanted him.

“ don’t— don’t think about teasing me now, not when i need you this m-much.” he briefly forgets how to breath as your sticky folds rubs against the head of his cock, drowning in more cum until it reaches his base.

“ oh, you don’t like your own game being played on you?” you grunt, rolling your hips sensually down. his adam’s apple bobs as swallows his growing anticipation he can barely contain. but after a few dragged out moments of teasing, resulting in you feeling torturously edged as well— you finally sink down on him. “ fuuuck . . .” you whisper to yourself.

you lips tremor as you pause, allowing yourself to being properly stretched out as your pussy invites in as much as possible. this isn’t the first time you’ve had sex with someone, but the hefty length of satoru makes you pause before going on. when the dull stinging pain shifts to that familiar mouth watering pleasure, you find your pace. satoru hands fly out to grip the sheets with faux serenity as your pussy continues to clamp around him like a vice grip.

“ haaah, you just couldn’t w-wait to fuck yourself silly on my cock, huh?” his voice is eerily clear, as if he wasn’t a overstimulated mess from his previous release. you make fiery eye contact with him, the way how his eyes are hazed but still feel so heavy on your body makes you almost go numb. “ this is everything i needed baby, shit!”

“ that mouth never knows when to s-shut up.” you mutter out, before the action of you bouncing up and down on his lap increases viciously. the sinful sounds of your skin clashing down against his, every inch of him knocking on your sweet spot, and both of your sweet moans combined together sounded like an erotic song that gojo would never get tired of hearing. “ sa— mmph, satoruu!” gojo has the most cockiest but pathetic expression right now; his brows are furrowed while he shamelessly watched you recoil your body against his.

“ i . . . i think ‘m close, keep on rocking your hips like that— fuck, you’re so sexy!” his tip spasms in your tight space as a warning as of what’s about to come.

but suddenly, you stop moving. edging him on with a cheeky smirk.

you cut him off before he can talk, “ we can’t have you cumming just yet ‘toru.” he’s surprised he didn’t bust right then and there when you said his nickname in that sultry tone. you give him a vigorous show by rubbing two fingers on your pearl for his view.

“ such’a needy slut playing with her pussy f’me.” he bites his lip as he watches your clit swirl under your ministrations, his orgasm is on the back burner of his mind while he watches you. “ roll it just like that— there ya fuckin’ go, babe.”

once you feel your pleasure heighten inevitably, you resume back to bouncing on gojo. this time, with your hand advancing rapidly on your clit, and his calloused hands squeezing your ass heart fully. he effortlessly looks attractive underneath you, his chest and neck are flushed a sweaty mess as strands of his white hair sticks to his damp skin around his forehead.

“ wan’a cum with you, toru.” you lean over to nip his throat, your pussy contracts when you feel his breath hitch. “ want to feel you s-stuff me full, pleaseee fuck!”

it’s unintentional, but your whiny voice alone drags him into a powerful orgasm.

it’s not long before you follow suit.

“ my nasty good girl,” his voice comes out as an harsh whisper before he grabs your hair to tug you closer to his face. the kiss you share together is no short of animalistic; it’s all teeth with tongue, and when you pull away your lip is bleeding, tainting his own an alluring deep shade of red.

you force your hips to continue rocking against him due to the frenzy. increased squelches resonates through the fuzzy room along with your combined moans. you feel sparks of electricity shoot through your limbs, your cunt squeezes more slick out, creating a translucent ring around the hefty base of his cock.

there must be something in the air, seeing how many orgasms you pull out of each other.

for some reason . . . the strongest sorcerer in the world got struck by a lust curse.

and you’re able to bring him back a day later, with just your pussy alone.

[badbtssmut]

A party for three

As usual, you and your boyfriend Taehyung travel by van to the same festival the both of you have been going to since you first started dating. But when you run into his best friend at the festival, you suddenly end the night with your pussy filled to the brim.

Contains: Everyone is under the influence, drunk, threesome, dubcon cause nobody’s thinking clearly, yn gets called a slut, double penetration in pussy <- yn winces and says it’s too tight but Tae encourages her, yn cries out of pleasure, riding, missionary, doggystyle, boobplay, multi orgasm, just fucking with literally zero thoughts

Admin note: fuck me I wrote this all on the tumblr app and it didn’t fucking save and I had to do it AGAIN!! :)

—

It was a warm night in the middle of summer as you and your boyfriend, Taehyung, pulled up in the parking lot of a venue you knew all too well. The two of you had been coming to this exact music festival for a few years now, and tonight was just the same as any other.

Or so you thought.

You cheered as one of your favorite bands entered the stage and took the crowd by storm, their fans immediately beginning to crowd the stage and the surrounding area.

Taehyung, on the other hand, wasn't even watching the band. He was busy watching you, your smile lighting up your entire face as you swayed your hips to the music and sang along to the lyrics. When you felt his eyes on you, you glanced over at him, smiling at him before you stepped closer and gave him a peck on the lips.

"Are you enjoying the show?" You asked him, giggling.

He shrugged. "I am now," he said, wrapping an arm around your waist and pulling you against him.

You giggled at his words; not sure if it was because you were tipsy or because you were amused by his cheesiness, but nonetheless he made you giggle.

A tap on his shoulder caught him by surprise and he turned around in confusion before a grin made his way to his face.

“Hey!” Jimin greeted cheerfully, (he was Taehyung’s best friend), waving at the two of you.

“Hey! What are you doing here?” Taehyung asked, which earned a playful push from Jimin.

“Dude, the same as you two are doing here, obviously, except I don’t have a pretty girl on my arm.”

You smiled at his compliment and reached over to give him a hug, and he hugged you back.

Jimin tagged along with the three of you, and the band was still going strong and performing, so you all decided to continue partying together. The music was loud, the drinks were flowing, and you were definitely a bit more than tipsy at this point. Your head was spinning, your body felt light, and you couldn’t stop giggling as you leaned into Taehyung for support, who was also quite drunk.

The band played a song that was more on the slower side, so everyone was moving along to the music rather than jumping up and down like they had been earlier.

"Hey," Taehyung murmured in your ear, and you turned around to face him, "want to head back to the van and relax a bit?"

You nodded in response.

“Jimin? You coming with us or staying here?" You asked, turning to his best friend.

“Yeah, let’s go.”

And with that, the three of you walked out of the venue and to the parking lot, where you all stepped into the van; it was one of those fancy ones, the really big vans that had a bedroom, a bathroom, a kitchen— it was fucking expensive but Taehyung insisted that it would be cool for road trips and it definitely was.

You flopped down on the bed and closed your eyes, your head spinning, and a few seconds later you felt the bed sink a bit, and you opened your eyes to see that it was Jimin, and he was staring at you.

"Y/N, I have been curious for a while... can I ask you something?" He said, a mischievous grin on his face.

"Sure." You responded, curious as to what he wanted to know.

"Your boobs, they look really soft, can I touch them? I've always wanted to feel them."

You laughed, his bluntness amusing you. “Okay.”

He reached his hand forward, and you watched as he gently cupped your breasts through your bra. He squeezed them a few times, and then he looked up at you. "Can I touch you under your shirt?" Jimin asked, his eyes hopeful.

You were feeling bold (probably due to all the stuff you took), and also very turned on, so you nodded. "Go ahead."

With your permission, he pushed your shirt up and over your head, and you sat up and unhooked your bra, letting it fall off of your shoulders. And then before you knew it, you and Jimin were cuddled up, your back rested against the wall as he laid on top of you, sucking on your tits and groping your boobs.

You had one hand resting on his head and the other found it’s way between your legs, rubbing your pussy through your shorts, moaning at the sensation.

Before you knew it, Jimin’s cock was in his hands, and he was pushing your shorts to the side and grinding his erection against your clit before it slipped in and was sliding in and out of you.

You wrapped your arms around his neck, holding him close as he pounded into you, the two of you breathing heavily.

"Fuck, Y/N, you're so wet, baby," he moaned, thrusting his cock in and out of your pussy, his hips snapping against your ass, "so good, fuck."

You were panting, throwing your head back as his cock slammed into you, over and over.

The door then creaked open, and you looked over to see that it was your boyfriend, standing in the doorway. However, he didn’t seem fazed by the fact his girlfriend was getting fucked by his best friend. Instead, he stepped forward and crawled onto the bed, next to you. He grabbed hold of your face and kissed you, his tongue slipping past your lips, and you could taste the alcohol on his breath. His fingers trailed to your clit, rubbing it with his thumb as he continued to kiss you.

Taehyung pulled away, taking in the sight of his best friend’s cock drilling into you.

“Good pussy?” Taehyung asked with a chuckle.

"Very good pussy," Jimin replied, moaning as he thrusted his cock in and out of you, "gonna beat it up so good, gonna fuck it all up," he groaned, his hand reaching down to grab onto your tit.

“Mmhmm, I know how much she likes her pussy getting beat up. Do you like having your pussy beat up, baby?" Taehyung cooed.

You could only whimper, your mouth hanging open and your eyes squeezed shut.

“She loves it, dude, look at her," said Jimin, smirking.

Taehyung watched in awe as you rode his best friend's cock, your walls fluttering around his thick length. Taehyung could no longer ignore his hardening cock, so he reached down and unzipped his jeans, his erection springing free.

You felt him press his cock against your cheek, and you opened your eyes to see him holding his errection, the head rubbing against your cheek.

"You want it, baby?" He asked, and you nodded eagerly, opening your mouth. He guided his cock towards your mouth, and you opened it wider to take it, allowing him to slide it between your lips.

As you sucked on his cock, he ran his fingers over your arms before he held onto your hand and watched as you bobbed your head up and down, slurping and sucking on his shaft, your mouth full of his cock.

“Jimin…” You whined, spreading your legs as far as they could, allowing his cock to slam into you even deeper, and it was driving you crazy.

"What's wrong, miss Tae’s girlfriend? Can't take anymore?" He teased, grinning as he watched your face contort in pleasure, Taehyung’s cock slipping out of your mouth. Jimin grabbed you by the hips, holding you in place as he adjusted himself, fucking you from a deeper angle. Taehyung wrapped your fingers around his shaft, and you started to rub him off, watching as Jimin drilled into you.

"Such a pretty little slut, taking me and Tae's cock, I bet your pussy's just dying to get fucked, isn't it, slut?" Jimin asked with gritted teeth.

You cried out in response, your eyes rolling back in your head, and soon you were cumming, your pussy squeezing and contracting around his cock.

Taehyung stroked himself faster, watching as you came, and Jimin pulled out, wanting to feel your mouth around his cock, while Taehyung took his place, lifting you off the bed and putting you on his lap, facing him.

You sunk yourself onto his cock, wrapping your arms around his neck as you started to ride him, and he thrusted his hips upward, meeting yours.

“Yeah babe, ride my cock just like that, bounce on my dick," Taehyung encouraged, groaning as he watched you bounce up and down on his shaft, his hands resting on your hips.

Jimin stood next to the bed, jerking himself off as he watched you get fucked, and he stepped closer to you and held his cock out, and you immediately took him into your mouth, moaning as you moved your head back and forth, taking him all the way in.

“Love it?” Taehyung cooed, his hands moving to your ass and squeezing your cheeks.

“Love it so much," you managed to say, the two of them thrusting their cocks in and out of you.

"Love your holes filled with my cock and my best friend's, don't you, baby?" Taehyung whispered as he caressed your face.

"Yes, Tae, love it, love cocks so much, please," you begged, your voice a whimper.

"Gonna fuck you until you're sore and can't walk," he said, smirking as he slapped your ass, "want two cocks in your pussy? Think you can handle that?”

“She wants two cocks?” Jimin pulled his errection out of your mouth, stroking himself as he stared at your pussy.

Taehyung lifted you off his dick, turning you around, your back against his chest and his dick pressed against your ass.

"Jimin's cock is nice and big too, so I think it'll be a tight fit. Think you can handle that, babe?"

“Please, want them,” You giggled, rolling your hips impatiently, “put cock in me, I want it."

Taehyung grabbed hold of his cock and pushed the tip into you, and then slowly lowered you down onto him, letting out a hiss as your sweet pussy engulfed him.

You leaned back into his chest, and he wrapped his arms around your waist, his hands resting on your stomach. He began to pump his cock in and out of you, his eyes falling closed.

"Mmhmm," he hummed, "love your pussy, so good, babe."

"I love it too," said Jimin, climbing onto the bed, his cock brushing against your thigh, still rock hard. “Where do I put it in? Don’t see space, too tight."

You were about to open your mouth to tell him where to put it, but before you could, Taehyung spoke first.

"Just push it in on top of mine," Taehyung told him, "don't worry, she'll make space."

Jimin did what he was told, and you felt him start to push in, at which you winced and whimpered.

"Shhh, you'll be okay," cooed your boyfriend, his hand going to your clit and rubbing it gently, "just relax and let it happen, baby. Don't worry, we're not gonna hurt you, promise.” He whispered against your ear, before leaving a trail of kisses down your neck.

“Too tight, too full…” You whimpered, squirming in his arms, but he held you in place, his grip tightening around your waist.

"Baby, I can feel Jimin’s cock, it’s almost in all the way, you feel it too? He's rubbing his cock against mine," said your boyfriend, chuckling softly.

"Yeah, yeah," Jimin breathed, finally pushing his cock all the way in, letting out a deep groan, "fuck, so tight, fuck."

The two of them started to move, and the sensation of having both their cocks inside of you was almost too much to bear.

"Please, don't stop, don't stop," you chanted, tears streaming down your cheeks as they pumped their cocks in and out of you, stretching your pussy even further, filling you up so perfectly.

They both began to speed up, and the room was filled with the sounds of their grunts and moans, along with the sound of your pussy squelching as they fucked it.

"Shit, she's milking my cock," said Jimin, his hands grabbing onto your thighs, pushing your legs back as he drilled into you. Taehyung never lost his rhythm, pounding upwards with a steady pace, his cock hitting all the right places— while Jimin pushed in, Taehyung pulled out, when Taehyung took a break, Jimin didn’t stop, and occasionally you’d be double drilled when they’d both push their cocks in at the same time, the sensations overwhelming and mind numbing.

You cried out as your pussy began to spasm, and soon you were cumming again, the two of them fucking you through it, their dicks continuing to pound into your pussy, not slowing down for a second.

“Oh, oh!” Your eyes rolled back, mouth wide open and drool leaking from the corner of your mouth. You didn’t know how you were taking two cocks at the same time, but you were, and it felt amazing.

After the double penetrating, you ended up in the arms of your boyfriend who fucked you missionary style, the two of you making out while he thrusted into you, his tongue down your neck and his hands exploring your body, squeezing your breasts as he enjoyed your pussy. Then after, Jimin took over and fucked you doggystyle, your legs spread and back arched as his cock rammed into you from behind, your ass jiggling each time his hips met yours.

You didn’t know how long the three of you managed to keep it up, but you fell asleep somewhere between the sex, and when you woke up the sun was shining through the curtains and you were wrapped in a blanket.

Taehyung was heard in the kitchen, presumably making breakfast.. or lunch.

You sat up, wincing as your muscles ached and the events of last night replayed in your head.

That was just a fucked up wet dream, right?

Your boyfriend stepped into the room, holding a plate.

"Hey babe, here, I made you some breakfast, thought you needed it after last night."

[wibben]

Pillow Talk

Choso discovers new sensations when thoughts of you turn innocent moments into something much more… hands-on.

↳ pairing: friend! choso kamo x afab! reader

↳ warnings: 18+, nsfw, smut, virgin! choso, m masturbation, pillow fucking, overstimulation, fantasizing, pillow fucking, (not sure who the artist is, if you do please let me know so I can credit!)

↳ wc: 3,485

↳ notes: another cross-post from my ao3 while I try to make tumblr my main writing hub! I hope you enjoy! <3

“Goodnight.”

Choso’s voice is soft, barely louder than the creak of the bathroom door as he eases it shut behind him. Yuji is already asleep, he assumes—he doesn’t expect a response, but routine compels him to speak into that dark hallway void anyway. He waits, listening—a response does come in the form of a loud snore down the hall. 

Choso smiles fondly as he silently pads back to his own room, taking that as his queue that he is well and truly done with the day.

The cool, lingering dampness from washing his face clings to his skin, tiny droplets of water catching the faint flicker of silver from breeze-blown curtains as they trace thin rivers down his cheeks and neck. His hair, still slightly damp around his face, sticks to his forehead in dark, unruly strands. He doesn't care to tame it, nor does he bother to brush away the residual drips of water. They cool his skin wherever they touch, and he’s grateful for that because he feels oddly warm.

Warm enough that his t-shirt lies discarded on the bathroom floor, haphazardly kicked towards the laundry to be dealt with later.

He toes open the door of his room and nudges it shut behind him with his heel, listening for the soft cli-click of the knob. The room is dim, illuminated only by the soft glow of the moon filtering through the window, flickering through sheer curtains that really serve no purpose other than to look cute. That’s what you said, at least. Home decor…he doesn’t get it, but you seemed pleased with the addition so he was too. 

Choso shuffles with mechanical routine as he approaches his bed, his body craving the comfort of his soft mattress, to nest into the carved divet in the foam created by and molded to his body.

With the unceremonious flop of a marionette with cut strings, Choso allows himself to fall onto the bed, the springs squeaking their protest and his sheets rustling under his weight. He lays there face down, eyes closed, and simply lets himself sink.

In the quiet dark of night and behind closed eyelids, he wonders if this is what boats feel like.

He’s never been on one, but he’s seen plenty—in movies mainly, like the one you watched together earlier that evening. With senses deprived, his body rocks with the gentlest sense of vertigo, up and down, forward and back, soothing. He feels heavy, liquid and relaxed, and yet… not quite right. There’s a restlessness beneath his skin, an undercurrent to his gentle tide he can’t quite shake. He keeps his face buried in his pillow, wrapping an arm around it and holding it tight, as if the soft fabric could anchor him.

…He doesn’t know how long he’s like this but fuck he can’t sleep.

He turns his head from his pillow, eyes cracked open in the dark, lower lip pouted and dragging against the fabric; he wears a petulant expression with nobody around to see it, nobody to explain away his uneasiness. He’s tired he knows he is, and yet he feels like a taut bowstring, ready to snap at a moment's notice.

Choso rolls onto his back instead, running a hand through his damp hair and pushing it back from his forehead as he stares up at the ceiling. The room is silent save for the occasional creak of the house settling, and the faint, distant sounds of the city outside. A dog, a car, the smash of a bottle on a curb, the flap of his curtain, the grinding of his teeth—he categorizes each sound methodically, filing them away neatly and willing the tedium to bore him to sleep like it always does. Always did. But not tonight.

He closes his eyes, trying to force tranquility and exhaustion upon himself, but his mind refuses to settle. He thinks of boats and the ocean, he thinks about when you came over and knocked on the door, he thinks of the movie he watched with you and Yuji on the couch, he thinks of cooking dinner with you in the kitchen—he thinks of you, you, and you again. The tension in his bones stirs more insistently with each and every thought, each train tracking straight back into your station.

But that’s okay. Choso likes you, likes thinking about you, and thoughts of you have lulled him to sleep before with a sort of embracing comfort he can’t even begin to name. He smiles to himself in the dark—the same brand of smile only you seem to inspire in him. He just needs to think of you more and then surely—

He remembers your smile when he opened the door, the way it lit up your entire face, the wrinkle in the bridge of your nose as it screwed up and made him smile in return. Your laughter, too, was infectious. It always is, and he caught that particular sickness with remarkable consistency every time you tittered or giggled—a laugh reciprocated in his own throat as quick as a lit match, earning more than a few wide-eyed, slack-jawed looks of disbelief from his brother.

And then there was the spaghetti. 

It’s a simple meal and he eats it far too often—but it’s good, and easy to make for three. And you, ever eager to help, had insisted on joining him in the kitchen while Yuji picked out a movie. He didn’t mind though; your presence was nice, even if it meant treacherously navigating around you as you both shuffled around the small space with enthusiastic clumsiness. You bopped cabinets and the fridge closed with your hip, which he too fell victim to more than once, finding himself nudged into the counter by a stray hip-check. Despite the occasional collision, your proximity was a comfort, a warm, lively presence in the otherwise mundane routine.

Choso couldn’t help but chuckle as you fumbled with pots and pans, finding your determination to be helpful endlessly endearing, even with something so simple as flitting about the kitchen. He directed you to the cabinet where a jar of tomato sauce was stored with a quiet look of anticipation—innocently underhanded is the request. You wouldn’t be able to reach, he was sure. You wouldn’t be able to reach, and you would ask him for help, and he would be able to help—

He remembers the way you stood on your tiptoes, reaching for the jar with your free hand splayed against the counter. As you stretched, he watched as if in slow motion, fabric unfolding like the draw of a curtain away from a theater stage. Your shirt rode up, exposing just an inch of the skin above your waistband.

The sight was brief, but it held a searing magnetism that held Choso hopelessly hostage. It sapped his mouth of moisture, glued his eyelids open, and his hand gave a peculiar twitch with the sudden urge to touch you. He watched your skin shift as you reached higher and higher, the gentle curve of your waist, the way your skin looked so soft and inviting and smooth as satin and he so badly wanted to see if this usually hidden expanse was as soft as it looked, and Choso doesn’t want for much but god did he want—

And he completely forgot to offer you a hand, his mind swept blank with ringing tinnitus in his ears when you laughed and settled back onto the balls of your feet, whirling around and flourishing the jar with a triumphant smile. Your eyes sparkled with satisfaction, and there was a slight flush on your cheeks from the effort. Choso had smiled back then, feeling a warmth in his chest that surely had everything to do with the heat of the kitchen.

Choso suddenly flinches in surprise, abruptly torn from the pleasant memory as he absentmindedly rolls his wrist over his erection. He must have been doing this for some time now, judging by how the waist of his sweatpants has already rolled down his hip bones, freeing the red and needy head of his cock to the cool air and smearing a shiny trail over his arm. He stares down at the unmistakable bulge snaking up towards his navel silently perplexed, his shaft straining against the loose fabric where it’s still confined.

He’s fully hard. He hadn’t even realized it happened, hadn’t recognized the feeling building inside him until it manifested so obviously. Arousal snuck up on him, licking up his spine with hungry fangs while he was lost in the memory of you.

Familiar heat pools low in his abdomen, a dull hook that drags beneath his skin. His cock twitches with every beat of his heart, a heavy, insistent pulse that’s impossible to ignore. And he has tried to ignore it before. It keeps him from peace, from sleep— god he just wants to sleep.

It’s a mix of aching need and slick, simmering napalm that spreads through his veins and ignites kindling he hadn’t even known was there. He knows this feeling well, even if it has no name; the way his cock grows heavier and jumps against his stomach, the way his breathing grows rough and deep—all sensations he’s experienced before, though they never fail to leave him flustered and bewildered…and annoyed, above all else.

The intensity of the need always catches Choso off guard, consuming his thoughts and clouding his mind until he could find some way to deal with it. It frustrates him how this desire would strike at the most inconvenient times—when he’s trying to sleep, or worse, the times when he’s with you —an all too frequent occurrence, he thinks, and he wonders if you’ve done something to him. He’s been a decent friend to you, so it’s with a feeling of tormented betrayal that he simply cannot understand why you would afflict him with this so cruelly and so often.

Choso lets out a shaky breath, his hips shifting restlessly against his sheets. He hesitates, a moment of self-consciousness flickering through him and burning his face with a secret blush that blooms on his face first then leaks to his throat. He shifts upright, yanking his pillow from beneath his head, the familiar texture of the fabric cool against his skin, and positions it between his legs. He shoves his pants down, bunching them around his knees—good enough.

He tilts his thigh outward and lifts his hips up, giving an almost tentative grind into the pillow, as if unsure he’s doing it right. The friction is familiar, almost comforting in its predictability. Choso’s nostrils flare with a heavy sigh, his head falling back to the mattress as he stares heatedly at the ceiling, his eyes narrowed to slits. Slowly, he starts to fuck his pillow, the movements deliberate and mechanical, driven by the single-minded need to rid himself of the troublesome arousal gnawing at him.

His cock throbs with each slow thrust, the pressure of the pillow against him both soothing and maddening. The heat in his abdomen builds, coiling tighter with every grind. Pre-cum slicks the fabric, smearing in thin, dark stripes with each drag of his length against it. The pleasure is there, tingling all the way down to his toes, but it doesn’t crest, doesn’t even come close, leaving him teetering on the most frustrating of knife edges.

He grinds harder, hips moving more forcefully now, desperation seeping into every motion. The familiar rhythm that usually brings him relief is failing him, the need growing more intense with each passing second. His mind is a haze of lust and longing, the image of you blending with the sensation of his cock twitching against the pillow, creating a heady tonic that seeps deeply into his brain, sinking hooks that he doesn’t know yet he will never be able to remove. He bites down on his lip, a low, frustrated groan escaping his throat as he thrusts harder, faster, violently clawing for the release he so desperately and suddenly needs.

But it's not enough. His body is slick with sweat, muscles tensing and trembling with the effort. The pillow, once a source of solace, now feels infuriatingly inadequate. It only works him up higher, hotter, veins in his forearms standing out as he whines in frustration.

The pillow crumbles beneath Choso’s hands, the downy feathers within compressing and shifting into a useless lump under the abuse of his pelvis. Each pounding drag against the pillow drives him further from his peak, his own aggressive hopelessness raking him over hot coals as the very thing he uses to relieve himself falls apart in his hands.

His breaths are harsh, ragged, his heart pounding in his chest as he fights against the insistent ache that won’t go away. His goal remains just out of reach, a teasing promise that leaves him gasping and grinding against the pillow with mounting desperation. He wants to scream—it isn’t working, it isn’t working, why isn’t it working?

With a final, helpless thrust and bitter groan, he collapses onto the bed, panting and trembling with unspent desire. The need is still there, throbbing and insistent, leaving him feeling more restless than before. He whips the pillow aside to thump somewhere on the floor, damp and crumpled.

Choso lies there, staring up at the ceiling, his body aching with unresolved tension. The memory of you lingers in his mind, water and oil with the frustration of his failed attempt at relief. He feels helpless, yearning in the dark for something. Sleep, peace, release from his torment, you.

You.

It’s a new thought, one he’s never entertained before, but now it feels so undeniably right. He doesn’t question where the idea comes from; it’s an instinct, an impulse he can’t quite name but can’t ignore. Driven by this sudden urge, he trails his hand down the firm ridges of his abdomen, wrapping his fingers around his throbbing cock. The sensation is electric, sending a shiver up his spine as he tentatively strokes himself.

The sensation is immediate and overwhelming. It's like a jolt of lightning, a direct line of pleasure from his cock to his brain. His eyes flutter shut, a soft gasp escaping his lips as his fingers slide along his length, the friction so much more intense than the pillow. It's hotter, slicker, and he can feel every ridge and vein beneath his touch. His hips lift off the bed, rutting roughly into his palm with a choked whimper.

He strokes himself again, more confidently this time and slowly at first, exploring the unfamiliar territory with hesitant drags of his hand. He grips himself tighter, his thumb brushing over the sensitive head, and a strangled moan breaks free of his flushed and sweaty throat. It’s sharper, more focused, and it’s like nothing he’s ever felt before.

Thoughts of you flood his mind, but they're different now, colored with a perverse longing that makes his heart race and his cock throb in his hand. He remembers your kind smile, but now it feels like an invitation, a secret shared just between the two of you. Your laughter echoes in his ears, sweet and melodic, but it twists into something more intimate and utterly salacious.

His strokes quicken, his breath coming in ragged gasps. He thinks of you reaching for the jar of tomato sauce, the way your shirt had ridden up, exposing a strip of skin that glowed in the kitchen light. That innocent moment which only planted seeds of interest is now blooming with raw, aching desire. He imagines touching you—it would’ve been so easy to reach out and skim your flesh with his fingertips, to wrap his hand around the soft curve of your waist as he stood behind you, pin his hand over yours on the counter—

His fingers move faster, slick with pre-cum, each stroke sending pops of color to the edges of his vision. He thinks of the way you held the popcorn bowl between your thighs, the meat of your legs squishing around the ceramic and the genuine affection in your eyes when you offered it to him. But now, he imagines those eyes darkened with lust, looking at him with the same desire that grips him now. He pictures you close, your body pressed against his, your breath hot against his neck as you whisper his name.

Your voice would never sound as saccharine as it would as his name forms on your lips, your voice sweet as spun sugar as you coax him toward oblivion with a hand much gentler than his own.

The friction is maddening, his grip tight and unrelenting. Each pump of his hand draws him closer to the edge, his pleasure building in a way that’s almost unbearable. He imagines your fingers tangling in his hair, your lips ghosting over his skin, sending shivers down his spine. His hips thrust into his harried palm, chasing a climax that’s so deliriously close as his room is filled with the wet little sucks of pre-cum leaking between the creases of his fingers.

He imagines those same fingers in his hair drifting down his body, splayed over his abs, leaving red lines in their wake. The thought of your touch surprises him, but it feels so vivid, so intoxicating. He pictures your hands moving lower, tracing the dark hair that trails down his abdomen, teasing and scratching lightly. He imagines your hand… fuck, he imagines your hand.

Choso’s body tenses, his breath hitching as the pleasure peaks. His mind is filled with you—your smile, your laughter, your touch—how can he so vividly feel a touch he’s never known? How can he crave it so feverishly? By god does he crave it. 

With a gasp he suddenly turns his face into the crook of his arm, teeth pressing forcefully into the cords of muscle as he cums, muffling the guttural moan and reducing it to desperate whimpers instead. 

Cum spills over his fingers, hot and sticky ropes spurting onto his chest, his stomach, his spine arching under the almost blinding force of it and he only remembers to breathe when the lack of oxygen makes him dizzy.

His breath comes in ragged, uneven gasps as he lies there, stunned as certainly as if he’d taken a blow to the temple. Using his hand made all the difference, and picturing you rather than the detached clinicality he always approached this with changed everything. For the first time ever, the act of masturbation didn't feel like a necessary chore, it was a joy. His cum glistens on his skin, thick and milky, smeared across his abs and chest and sheets, a living, dripping, testament to that change of heart.

Choso’s hand remains wrapped around his cock, now softening in his grip, but he can’t bring himself to let go—an irrational concern that he might never feel something so exquisite again if he were to release himself. His cum dribbles over his fingers, pooling in the creases of his palm, and still he cannot let go.

He milks his cock slowly, drawing out every last drop with each firm squeeze around the head. The sensation is almost painful, the overstimulation sending sharp sparks of pleasure and discomfort through him, but he can’t stop. Each squeeze brings another bead of cum to the surface, dribbling down over his knuckles, mixing with the sweat and ejaculate that already slicks his skin and connects his hand to his belly with pale ropes.

His mind is a whirl of conflicting emotions. Embarrassment floods his thoughts, a blush creeping up his neck and settling in his cheeks with that awful clarity that always crashes his consciousness after. 

He wonders if he shouldn’t be thinking of you this way. He’s never thought of anyone else like this before, and the intensity of it all leaves him feeling exposed and vulnerable. But then, a small voice in the back of his mind reassures him. You’re friends, after all. This helped him, and you always love to help.

He’s struck with an odd desire—not the desire that landed him here, spent and weak and flushed in his bed with his palm wrapped around his soft and gooey cock, but a different kind. Gratitude. He’s grateful to you for afflicting him with this and unknowingly aiding him through it. Should he thank you? Choso thinks he should thank you. 

But for now, he lets himself drift in the hazy aftermath, your image the last thing on his mind as he begins to succumb to sleep, the feeling of your imagined touch still warm against his skin. Yes, he thinks as his brain all but weeps in joy as the curtain closes on wakefulness, he would have to thank you.

[tealvenetianmask]

I want to talk about a kind of troubling reaction I've been seeing to both Apology Tour and Ghostfuckers among parts of the fandom. The person is usually a reaction youtuber but sometimes someone writing on tumblr or twitter. They say something along the lines of "oh, I'm glad Blitz is being forced to confront his crimes/traumas/pain. This is the only way he will finally heal."

That's not how healing works.

I know that reaction youtubers don't always have the most developed takes because they're . . . you know . . . reacting in the moment. But I think it's still worth talking about.

I'm going set aside the people who seem to believe that Blitz needs to be punished for his crimes, and address those who genuinely think that getting a tidal wave of his own trauma in his face is what he needs to heal.

There's an attitude in contemporary culture that traumas are something people need to confront. As in, put on a brave face and dive in like a big boy. I blame capitalism, rugged individualism, and all the pieces of media that tie up a character's arc neatly by having them confront their darkest fears and insecurities. It can put a nice bow on things, but it isn't really how healing from trauma works.

Apology Tour:

Blitz gets confronted by a shit ton of people who hate him, at least some of whom are his exes, who he feels he's personally damaged. The decor and party games are all about killing and torturing him. Verosika confronts him about how much he hurt her. Oh, and then he sees the love of his life, who he's just recently pushed away, making out with another guy- proof, in his eyes, that Stolas is happier without him. And this all reflects the underlying fears he already has about who he is as a person (shown to us by Truth Seekers).

So what was the takeaway? Blitz came to the conclusion that he doesn't always want to be like this (good, but like . . . worth this much pain?). He flops on his steering wheel (relatable). He stops trying to reach out to Stolas (uh oh . . . ). He spends A MONTH spiraling in his own misery and making a mess of all aspects of his life until he's dragged out of it by a caring friend.

The party doesn't empower Blitz to change. It knocks him down and fucking traumatizes him (seriously, images of Stolas from the party show up later in his trauma reel) too much for him to be able to do actually work toward said change. I suspect that if left to his own devices, he would have kept spiraling for quite a while longer. It's one thing to want to change, and another to try to do so alone in the aftermath of a pile-on.

Ghostfuckers

After Blitz drags himself out of his hole of cheesy ice cream and despair to "play sex ghosts" (escapism, again, still knocked down by Apology Tour), infester demon Rolando picks him out as an easy target and assaults him, yes, assaults, with horrific images of his worst traumas and fears.

Not to state the obvious, but Rolando isn't interested in helping Blitz heal. He's trying to kill the guy. He wants to engulf Blitz in his trauma to the extent where he's consumed by it and loses the will to fight back. And as some excellent posts by others have pointed out already, he very likely would have succumbed if not for Millie's support.

Millie helps Blitz get through the onslaught by telling him about what makes him great and how he's improved her life and showing him love and care. And by literally beating the fucking infester out of him. Because there's someone in him who's hurting him, who's re-traumatizing him against his will. She takes him away from the reel of horrible memories.

So . . . do I think that confronting traumas can play a role in healing? Sure. But only if it's consensually (which neither of these situations are) and when the person trying to heal is ready. And most likely in small doses. No one's going and successfully confronting every horrible thing that's ever happened to them in one go.

And in my humble opinion, it's not going to work (for anyone, but especially not for Blitz) alone and without a healthy dose of kindness and compassion (both external and internal).

Blitz has a long road ahead of him toward healing, and it's going to be hard work on his part but also require love and support from the people in his life.

In a wonderful moment near the end of Ghosfuckers, Blitz and Millie work together to get Blitz's wrecked van unstuck and push it back through the portal into Hell. I love it because it's so simple and it kind of tells us everything we need to know. This sweet and salty gremlin has a lot of work ahead of him, but he doesn't have to do it alone.

[sketchy-tc]

This feels pointless for me to post this on Tumblr knowing this will flop and only getting 4 or 5 like but I'll post it here anyway.

Meet lunar sea cookie the first daughter of sea fairy and moonlight cookie.

Man why do I keep posting my drawing on Tumblr knowing it will flop and what's the point of drawing 45 hr for??? For it to flop?

It's pointless. Writing this feels useless and dumb no one will read nor no one will see. They probably won't even look at it Once. Not even once.

I'm better off just quit post my drawing minus well quit art altogether. I feel useless drawing and posting my art. Pointless, useless and dumb

[centrally-unplanned]

I watched a Todd in the Shadows video on Madonna's post-9/11 flop album American Life recently, where she tried to be this political, anti-war artist but instead she wrote this anodyne, "consumerism is icky", navel-gazing nothing song. Imagine writing lyrics like this:

I'm drinking a soy latte, I get a double shoté It goes right through my body, and you know I'm satisfied I drive my Mini Cooper and I'm feeling super-duper Yo, they tell I'm a trooper, and you know I'm satisfied

And setting it to a music video of you in military fatigues dancing to footage of war crimes and thinking, yeah, that is gonna work! She rapped the above by the way? The 90's cast a long shadow.

Anyway that is why I now call this the "Madonna Critique":

What is the alternative you are proposing to iced lattes, and why would I care? If I drink premiere microbrews does my drink choice give my life meaning suddenly? In whatever fantasy ethno-religious utopia you are envisioning as the foil to this, people will still jog, still buy food, still live in housing, and still work jobs. Quite commonly from a laptop.

They do this rhetorical aesthetic thing of listing objects in sequence that share an affect (in this case, shallow consumerism/"bullshit jobs") and just hope the length of the list makes it seem, in its exhaustiveness, like it must be the totality of their existence. Which is silly, in between the lattes people are reading classic novels, going to church, connecting with friends, fucking their partners in those condo bedrooms. Not anyone on Tumblr, obviously, but others are. A world without lattes sounds pretty shitty tbh, there is no point here beyond the aesthetic.

Which is obvious, I know, sometimes we rant about the petty stuff here!

[sp0o0kylights]

Steve and Gareth as Cousins, no longer a warm-up and now called Lifelines, part three! I’ll throw it up on A03 when I finish the fourth part. 

Prior parts can be read here: Part One / Part Two 

First things first, the most amazing @ sereinpetrichor managed to track down the OG Twitter thread this runaway train is based off of! 

It was this thread by @gatorthots, the Tumblr version of which can be read, here.  All blame for this idea firmly rests on their brilliant, plot bunny inducing shoulders. 

The other, follow up thread I mentioned was this one by Silas, whose tumblr name I do not know. 

As always and forever, shout out to the most amazing @chalkysgarbagefire​ who helps me edit/plot/pats my head while I’m crying in their inbox bc the words aren’t wording right. 

Warnings: Steve and Robin are canon (S3) drugged. I took a slightly (kinda sorta) more realistic approach. Vomit mention, canon threat of violence/guns (the Russian guards) Mention of pantsing/past bullying, Steve and Robin’s drugged asses not understanding personal space, Dustin’s canon...Im gonna go with assholishness? but like, I think its more than he’s a young kid and doesn't quite have the emotional growth/awareness yet in this kind of insane situation to know how to react to the whole address/torture bit (really who does)/its a defense mechanism--and Gareth sort of has a panic attack. 

Whatever the hell they had been drugged with, Steve and Robin went from 'giggly happy fun time' to 'vomiting into toilet bowls while loudly wishing for death’ awfully fast. 

Gareth was not an expert on drugs. He knew Eddie wasn't either (the guy never dealt anything stronger than your average psychedelic--had some agreement with his Uncle about only selling "the 70s basics") and repeated looks towards him proved Eddie was still trying to figure out what Steve and Robin were on. 

Answers hadn't exactly been forthcoming--Eddie's gently made attempts at ferreting out information had only caused more confusion.

Like why the two of them were so freaked out about a gate, or what had made Robin gasp, and then laugh so hard she cried when Steve had made a particularly rough noise then muttered; "Even that sounds better than Tammy Thompson." 

Either way, Gareth was mostly trying to figure out what the hell they were going to do, because sobering up in a busy, public mall wasn't exactly the best idea. 

"I regret," Robin tried to say, in-between gagging. "I regret--hrk--" 

"Me too." Steve moaned, head resting against the stall wall. Gareth, still caught up in panic, had been permanently regulated to door guard while Eddie alternated between sweet talking, rubbing backs and offering quietly whispered advice. 

"Let's go back in time and ignore the whole silver cat thing." Robin continued, slumping back down onto the floor. 

"Wouldn't have mattered." Steve muttered. "Dustin would have figured it out without us. Kid’s too damn smart." 

"So?" Robin grumbled, quietly thanking Eddie as he once again brushed her hair out of her face. 

"So he would have gone down there anyway, which means I'd be down there anyway." Steve concluded. "We shouldn't have gotten you involved though." 

He shakily pushed himself up, staggering to his feet and looking like bambi on ice while doing it. 

Eddie quickly came round to offer his help, hands spread as Steve groaned out a curse and clutched his head.  

The older took a step forward right as Steve lurched back, unbalanced and shaky. 

 "Oh shit." He said, eyes wide as he crashed backwards into Eddie, the latter catching him with a grunt. 

Despite the entire situation, Gareth found himself stifling a laugh as Eddie wrapped his noodle arms around Steve's chest, trying to hold the other up without falling himself. 

"Come on big boy, why don't we just siiiit back down." Eddie said, slightly breathless as he helped guide Steve back to the floor. "There we go…"

They did so outside the bathroom stall, Eddie sinking into a kneel as Steve sort of flopped down on top of him. 

Blinked a few times, like the drop had rattled what little sense he’d managed to recover in the last few minutes. 

A pleased noise came out of his cousin's throat, and holy shit was Gareth going to have blackmail for life, because rather than vacate Eddie's lap, Steve just turned around in it. 

Reached up with one finger outstretched and proved himself to be very much still under the influence as he touched Eddie's nose.

"Boop!" He said, and then giggled as Eddie dropped onto his ass in surprise. 

Gareth watched Robin as she took the whole thing in, from Steve's snickers to Eddie's shocked expression, eyes growing wide in excitement. 

He failed entirely to cover his own amusement when Eddie abruptly found himself with two sailors invading his personal space, each taking turns to boop his nose. 

“Uh.” He managed to get out, blinking rapidly and at a loss for words. “Ah.” 

Steve caught the metalhead’s awkward, red-faced expression and proceeded to drop his head to Eddie's shoulder, muffling his laughter against the man's vest. 

The helpless look his best friend sent him was one Gareth would remember for a long time. 

“O-kay.” Eddie said, frazzled, as Steve recovered far too quickly, turning to rest his cheek against a slim shoulder as he walked two fingers up Eddie’s battle vest and towards his hair. Likewise, Robin had discovered Eddie’s wallet chain, and had begun fiddling with it. 

One finger curled around a strand of brown hair and Eddie jerked his head, removing the tempting piece away from Steve’s hands. 

“I know you’re used to getting whatever you want, your highness.” He said, his own hand smacking against his waist before Robin figured out the other end of his chain ended in a handcuff, “But you of all people should know the hair is off limits.” 

Completely undeterred, Steve just gave him a loose, easy grin. “It’s so pretty though.” He complained, fluttering his eyelashes in a blatant attempt to try and turn on the ol’ Harrington charm.  “You can touch mine if you want.” 

Yeah, Gareth’s blackmail was getting better by the second. 

He might even get a new piece for his drum kit out of it, if this kept up. 

Free weed too, considering Eddie’s blush was now fire-engine red. 

“Man,” Eddie said in a clear bid to deflect the entire situation (and Steve’s fingers) away from his hair, “the last time someone called me pretty was right before I got pantsed—-is Tommy H hiding in one of the stalls again?” 

Steve picked his head up, confusion crashing down his face. 

“Did he do that?” He asked. 

Then, with growing horror; “Do you think I’d do that?” 

Eddie raised an eyebrow. “Isn’t that your whole little court’s M.O.?” 

Steve sucked in a breath, looking downright hurt. "I wouldn’t do that." He insisted, eyes wheeling from Eddie to Gareth and back, as though hoping Gareth would back him up. 

“I’m not--I’m not friends with Tommy anymore.” Steve continued, voice growing smaller as he spoke. “I’m not friends with anybody anymore, except maybe Dustin.” 

It sounded so defeated; trodden on and subdued that Gareth stepped forward automatically, to do--something. 

Provide the fucking comfort his cousin was oft denied and hug the guy. 

As always, it turned out to be the wrong move. 

"Oh thank god." A kid said, seconds after bulldozing through the main door and nearly bowling Gareth over in the process. "I found them!" He shouted over his shoulder as swept into the room. 

“Speak of the devil.” Steve said flatly, and even drugged, he managed to pull himself back together from distressed to stoic in mere seconds. 

The curly-haired kid--Dustin apparently--stormed right up to the pile of humans splayed on the floor, hands on his hips. "What the hell. We told you two to stay put!" 

Steve rolled his eyes as Robin booed him. 

“Have you forgotten what’s happening? Or how we’re kinda in a Red Dawn situation?” Dustin continued, looking like he’d just escaped from a summer camp. 

The kid even had a walkie talkie clutched in one hand, of all things. 

“We know.” Steve and Robin deadpanned at once, before looking at each other; Steve pointing a finger towards Robin and Robin pointing one back. 

This caused the kids to trade their own long suffering, “can you believe this shit” faces. 

"We need to go, and the only way we’re gonna get out of here unnoticed is if we blend in with the crowd." Dustin said impatiently.  “Now come on Steve, get up already, you've had worse.”

"I really don't think I have." Steve muttered, but moved to push himself to his feet anyway. 

Eddie beat him to it, and he and Gareth both hovered nearby in case Steve was still unsteady. 

Thankfully, the kids' presence seemed to sober up Robin and Steve both. 

Not actually sober, that wasn't how drugs worked, but whatever was left of the fun was sucked right out of the bathroom, replaced by two teenagers who were sort of functional on whatever they'd been drugged with. 

Stress and adrenaline, Gareth knew, could overcome a lot of things. Including Russian "truth serum" apparently. 

“Yeah well you're lucky you got found by these guys and not anyone else. " Dustin continued pointedly, before turning his attention towards Gareth and Eddie both. "Thanks for watching our friends, but we've got them from here." 

Gareth made a sort of unhinged, disbelieving noise. 

 “No, no you do not.” He declared, anxiety clawing at his gut at the mere thought of abandoning Steve to two children. 

"I don't think you heard him." The girl stepped forward, braids swinging about her face as she lifted her chin and nailed him with a cold glare. 

 As if this entire situation couldn’t possibly get weirder, Gareth suddenly realized she had a helmet in her hands and knee pads on.

 "He said we got this. So scram." She flicked her fingers out in a dismissive sort of "shoo" gesture.

"And leave my drugged cousin with his new girlfriend behind!?" Gareth challenged right back, emotions far too raw and frayed to care he was snarling at a little girl. "I don’t think so!”

"Cousin!?" Dustin bit out, sounding almost betrayed for some reason, at the same time Robin who'd been climbing to her feet with Eddie’s help, shouted; "I am not his girlfriend!" 

Steve, clearly unwilling to entertain whatever fight was brewing, clapped his hands together. 

"Yes cousin, Dustin. It's a type of family member." Steve said, after they all flinched and looked to him. He at least looked steadier on his feet this time, though Gareth still lingered nearby in case he took a wrong step. 

"I know what a cousin is, Steve!" Dustin shot back. 

“Then why are you acting like a lunatic?” Steve complained, and Gareth got to watch in real time as Steve pulled on the persona he often wore in high school down around him. “You said it yourself, we don’t have a lot of time. Worse, I don't know if anyone saw Gareth and Munson here with us.” 

He jerked a thumb sideways in Eddie’s direction, not that anyone couldn’t figure out who “Munson” was. 

“They stay with us until we’re out of this mall.” Steve finished, before he started towards the door.

One step he was Gareth’s cousin, drugged and vulnerable because of it. 

The next he stood taller, talked smoother, took charge with an aurora that said he expected everyone to listen to him. 

It was fake as hell, but it worked. 

“I know you’ve got a plan Dustin, so spill it.” He commanded as he walked.  

 Dustin, despite all the squawking, did just that. 

xXx 

Of all the things Gareth had expected to see upon escorting their little ragtag crew out of the bathroom, groups of intimidating, mean looking assholes wasn’t on the list. 

He found himself repeatedly nudging Eddie in the ribs, unable to take his eyes off what was clearly a checkpoint as he staggered to a halt. 

It was one thing to be told people were after Steve and the “Scoop’s Troop” As Robin had jokingly named them. 

It was another entirely to see the security guard directly in front of him look over a woman’s ID before apologizing to her, a sleazy grin matching his oily pony-tail as he waved her on. 

They really were looking for someone. 

Not someone, Gareth realized in dawning horror.

Them. 

Robin apparently, came to the same conclusion seconds later, because she snatched Steve and Dustin’s arms both, hauling them backwards. 

“Argue about Dustin’s address later, we need to find a different way out.” She hissed quietly as she tried to slowly reversed direction, movements still a bit sloppy. 

She might have even gotten away with it, had Sleazy Pony-Tail not turned and made eye contact with Gareth right after she spoke. 

His eyes swept over him, then to the rest of the group, freezing like a cat that had spotted its prey.

“Abort, abort!” Dustin sputtered, wheeling about on his heel. 

Erica, whose name Gareth had learned when she kicked him in the shin after he asked why an actual infant was running around with Steve and Robin, pointed towards the escalators before she beelined over to it, ducking into the center and riding it down like a slide. 

Something Eddied was downright delighted to copy. 

Gareth might have enjoyed it himself, had he not been looking over his shoulder to see not one, not two, but four security guards giving chase--and gaining. 

“Fuck, fuck, fuckikity fuck.” He heard Robin chant as she shot past, Steve planting himself at the top as he made sure everyone got down to the next level before sliding down himself. 

"Do not let them leave!" One of the guards yelled to the others, accent clear as a bell. 

"Holy shit that guy's actually Russian." Gareth found himself saying as he skidded across the floor and bolted after the others, Steve hot on his heels. 

He had kinda expected the Russian thing to be some sort of drug influenced inside joke and not an actual, honest-to-God Soviet. 

Which led to the question of why the fuck adult men in security uniforms had drugged random teenage retail workers.

Food workers.

Whatever the fuck one called a two people who scooped ice-cream in sailor costumes. 

"There's another group up ahead!" Eddie yelped, swerving sideways and nearly taking Erica out while doing it. 

Noise erupted ahead of them in the form of foreign shouting and loud, harshly barked commands to “Freeze!”  

‘Oh hell no.’ Gareth thought wildly, as he caught the form of the giant fricken gun the guard closest to him held. 

“Split up!” Dustin howled, and before anyone could comment about how bad an idea that was, Gareth found himself being yanked sideways. 

Steve swore loudly behind him as Robin, who’d crashed backwards, pulled him in the opposite direction and in a second their group broke in two. Gareth, Eddie and Dustin going one way, Steve, Robin and Erica another. 

"This isn’t happening." Gareth muttered, words made in a sort of pleading denial as he and Eddie turned the corner and immediately vaulted over the counter of an Orange Julius. “I smoked or drank or did something and this is a hallucination that is not. Actually. Happening.” 

Dustin at least, was smart enough to dive around the counter instead of over it, sliding towards them on his knees. 

Eddie quickly yanked him down to the floor in-between himself and Gareth once he was close enough to grab, one hand going over the hat to shove the kids head down. 

Annoying or not, he was at least several years younger than them, and Gareth could practically feel Eddie’s protective instinct kick in as he kept his hand on Dustin’s head. 

Together they tried to silence their breathing as the guards’ shouting continued on behind them. 

What was worse than their noises though, was when they unexpectedly and suddenly, went silent. 

Gareth’s breath felt far too loud as the stillness gained a suppressive weight, pressing down harshly against him and making it harder and harder to inhale. 

‘Panic attack.’ He realized, thoughts a touch detached. ‘You can’t afford to have a panic attack right now.’ 

Not when it had a high chance of getting them all killed. 

Slowly he moved his own free hand, placing it atop of Eddie’s, fingers gripping down in a way that was no doubt painful. 

Eddie glanced over to him and Gareth thanked every single time he’d smoked way too much weed, because his best friend immediately clocked what was wrong. 

Turned his hand over, so that Gareth could hold onto it atop Dustin’s hat. 

It didn’t help with the knowledge that his very much still drugged cousin and his equally drugged not-girlfriend were also hiding somewhere, or that there was significantly more Russians than there where terrified teenagers (and one--whatever age Erica was.)  

Flashlights cut shapes into the wall overheard, trailing along the Orange Julius menu. Quiet voices covered even quieter footsteps and Gareth had the sudden realization the probability of there being more than one guard carrying a huge gun, was very, very high. 

Worse?

This part of the mall wasn’t that big. There were only so many places to hide, and as such, only so many places to look. 

Death comes for everyone eventually, but Gareth hadn’t exactly expected it to show up before he hit twenty.

Not that they could do anything but wait. Pray to God and the universe and any other higher power he could think of to intervene, head pressed hard against the wood behind him as the small noises drew nearer.

What he hadn’t expected was for said prayers to get answered in the form of a of a fucking car being thrown into the Russian’s like bowling balls. 

“Run!” Dustin shouted, and Gareth wasted absolutely no time in doing just that. 

The only goal on his mind was to find Steve, get out, and then have a very long discussion about what the hell this all was, in that exact order.