#like gee I fuckin’ wonder

[telekinetic-issue]

gotta love that my father can’t give me a single good reason to not accept trans folks. it’s not “denying science” it’s been around since the dawn of humanity, expressed in every culture and celebrated in some, modern science and psychology has legitimately proved time and time again that biological sex and gender are two different concepts and that genitalia doesn’t equate to gender (nor sometimes to sex!) and yet he refuses to acknowledge that maybe HE’S the one with his eyes closed and his fingers in his ears going LALALA while a mountain of evidence is proving him wrong.

[wyfy-meltdown]

I have been in my room literally all day and I just wanted to sit with the family for a moment and I got fucking smacked, back into my room and never out again :`)

[im-smart-i-swear]

im sick so i drew my girl nika to cheer myself up,,

[juniperjelly]

get your app banned speedrun any%

[hearteyesdiaz]

.

[kenzie-ann27]

nothing gives me that kendall roy in secession kenergy quite like standing up to my mom via text then putting my phone on do not disturb because I fear confrontation

[leo-frognag]

this was so difficult that i had to use someone's favorite pokemon picker b/c i love all my guys with nearly equal intensity

runner-ups include: Wo-chien, Scolipede, Falinks, Stakataka, Gliscor, Jolteon, Slither Wing, Spiritomb, Luxray, Crobat, Umbreon, and Skarmory

images under the cut b/c it takes up less dash space that way lmao

(pokemon picker link: https://www.dragonflycave.com/favorite.html)

In no particular order, Metagross, Steelix (or Mega Steelix, I love them equally), Xurkitree, Dhelmise, Galvantula, and Orthworm

tagged by @pumpkaaboo

tagging @lesbiangiratina @metaflyer @potatosbutmashed @lesbiten @general-cronch @yeee-haw

post your top six Pokémon and tag six other people!

I was tagged by @seventeendeer!

I'm tagging @catboy-beb0p, @peppergoji, @metanarrates, @heartslobbf, @leo-frognag, @bornetoblood, and anyone else who wants to do it!

[hbdttg]

“Hold the elevator!”

The elevator doors are mere inches from closing, but Steve dutifully shoots a hand out to stop them. They slide back open, revealing a flustered-looking man about Steve’s age on the other side.

He’s dressed head to toe in black, decked out in a simple black pullover with a modest V-neck, snug black jeans, and all-black leather Chucks with a messenger bag slung across his chest. The messenger bag is, unsurprisingly, also black, but covered in a collection of tough-looking patches and pins in varying shades of—well, it’s mostly red, dark red, white, and some yellows, but the pops of color still stand out against his otherwise monochrome ensemble.

His dark, curly hair reaches a little past his shoulders and he’s got this frankly outdated fringe that, despite its very 80’s vibe, frames his face perfectly. His eyes are large and expressive, and he’s got this frantic energy about him that reminds Steve of a live wire. He’s nothing like the buttoned-up suits Steve usually shares his elevator rides with each morning, and it’s a refreshing change of pace.

The man gives Steve a thankful look before stepping into the elevator and leaning against the side wall. “Thanks,” he says, a little distractedly. He’s got a pair big of headphones on and Steve realizes he’s in the middle of a phone call when he adds, “No, not you, Gare, I was thanking the guy who held the elevator for me. Yeah, this building’s crazy. There’s a whole-ass sixtieth floor—guess I’m kind of a big deal now.” He lets out a small, self-deprecating chuckle, reaching for the panel beside him.

As the doors close and the elevator starts to slowly ascend, Steve notices the man pressed the button for the floor above his. Both the fifty-second and fifty-third floor buttons are lit in a halo of green.

“You know I didn’t want to leave you guys,” the man continues, a bit more quietly now that he and Steve are sharing the same small space, “but shit, I couldn’t turn down the pay.” He scoffs. “Ugh, listen to me, just another cog in the capitalist machine. Man, if high school me could see me now. High school Eddie used to talk big about forced conformity and rising up against the man, and now here I am—”

Steve tries not to listen to the one-sided conversation going on beside him, but it’s difficult when a moment later, he hears his own name.

“—clocking in for my first day at fuckin’ Harrington Hargrove Hagan. The pretentious bastards can’t even shorten it to an acronym or something. God forbid they have to miss out on the sound of their own names.”

Steve manages to hold in the obnoxious snort that threatens to escape him. He’s starting to think he might like this guy—Eddie, his mind supplies helpfully—but Eddie’s next words have him freezing in place.

“And it’s nepo baby central. Yeah, pretty sure all the H kiddies are hotshot brokers with the company. All the biggest accounts—gee, I wonder why.”

Steve can feel the back of his neck burning hot with a mixture of annoyance and shame as Eddie cracks a caustic joke about silver spoons and trust funds.

“You’re kidding, one of them works at this branch? Damn, I guess I’ll just keep an eye out for the guy who most looks like he’s got a giant stick up his ass.”

This is quickly becoming the longest elevator ride of Steve’s life. He grits his teeth and stares fixedly at the floor display panel above the elevator doors, watching the numbers climb higher and higher. Thirty-seven. Thirty-eight.

“Listen, I should go, but let’s grab a drink at the Hideout later. Cool, see you then. Bye.”

Forty-one. Forty-two.

Eddie removes his headphones and shoves them into his bag, angling slightly toward Steve. “Sorry about that, man.”

“You’re good,” Steve says shortly, not looking away from the changing numbers. They reach the forty-seventh floor, and all the while, he feels Eddie’s gaze on him.

It’s not like he’s openly staring, but there’s a certain weight to his furtive glances that completely counteracts his attempts at subtlety. It’s the type of gaze Steve’s familiar with, one that he’s been on the receiving end of since his sophomore year of high school when he hit a growth spurt and actually learned how to style his hair. Assessing. Appreciative. Interested.

And in any other situation, Steve would gladly engage. He’d turn on the charm, quirk the corner of his lip up in that way Robin always rolls her eyes at but reluctantly acknowledges as ‘passably effective’, and maybe even make up an excuse to sidle a bit closer.

But he’s not giving this guy his A-game.

Instead, Steve waits in stifling silence until the fifty-second floor is announced and the doors slide open. He steps forward to exit, but at the very last moment stops in the doorway.

He initially wasn’t going to say anything—though, a past version of himself would have definitely spat something biting and bitchy to Eddie about his snark, would have snootily told him to take his little assumptions and shove them where the sun don’t shine—but sooner or later Eddie’s going to realize he and Steve are colleagues, and he’s going to remember shit-talking him in an elevator on his first day of work, and it’s going to be awkward and uncomfortable.

Steve’s just speeding up the timeline, pushing for the sooner rather than the later, when he decides to spin around and fully face Eddie.

“I think you pressed the wrong button,” he says, all sweet and helpful like he’s talking to Dustin’s mom over a sink full of soapy dishes. “Couldn’t help but overhear that you work at Harrington Hargrove Hagan. It’s on the fifty-second floor, not the fifty-third.” Then he takes a small step backward, moving out into the carpeted hallway.

“Oh.” Eddie scrambles for his phone, unlocking it and scrolling quickly until he finds something that has him straightening up and smiling gratefully at Steve. “I guess I remembered it wrong. Thank you.” He pushes away from the wall, takes a step forward to follow Steve out, but then stops dead in his tracks.

Steve gleefully notes the line of Eddie’s gaze, how it lingers at the breast pocket of his shirt, where, clipped to a retractable badge reel, his building keycard hangs. Eddie evidently hadn’t noticed it during the elevator ride up, but he’s certainly fixated on it now.

Perhaps on the abstract yet easily recognizable Harrington Hargrove Hagan logo in the top right corner.

But more likely, based on the positively mortified look growing on Eddie’s face, on the name clearly printed underneath Steve’s photo in bold, black lettering: STEVE HARRINGTON.

Slowly, Eddie drags his eyes back up to Steve’s face. He stares in silence, eyes bugging nearly out of his head, face turning a concerning shade of pink, mouth opening and closing like a fish out of water, and his reaction is extreme enough that a small part of Steve is almost inclined to take pity on the guy and laugh it all off.

Unfortunately for Eddie, a bigger part of Steve thinks Eddie looks kind of cute all red-faced and embarrassed like this. So he glances down at himself thoughtfully before turning his attention back on Eddie. “Wow,” he says with exaggerated astonishment, “now that you mention it, I guess I do look like I’ve got a giant stick up my ass.”

As if on cue, the elevator chimes in warning. The doors begin to close, but Eddie just remains rooted in place with that same wide-eyed, horrified expression.

When it becomes clear he has no intentions of actually exiting the elevator, Steve chuckles and wiggles his fingers in a cheeky little wave. “Welcome to the team,” he says airily, before Eddie’s still-blushing face disappears behind the elevator doors.

/ Now with a Part 2!

[citizen-sade]

Rain Check

Inspired by this text post:

-------

Eddie glanced from his guitar to the digital alarm clock on the side table next to his bed, where he'd been idly strumming for the past hour, not really trying commiting the tune to memory.

He realized the upbeat lyrics of Bruce Springsteen in Steve’s off-key tenor from the bathroom two doors down had trailed off long ago. He vaguely wondered if he’d dozed off again.

Eddie grinned wryly as he recalled learning the hard way about Steve’s singular habit of falling asleep in the shower.

***

He bounced his leg impatiently, eyes darting to the bathroom as the minutes ticked closer to 8:00. Steve had been in there awhile and it was almost time for the Miami Vice marathon.

7:00 turned into 7:15... then 7:30... 7:35... This was stupid. He didn't even like Miami Vice. It was Steve's idea. So, what the hell was taking him so long?

Eddie set the bowl of popcorn on the coffe table before heading down the hallway and rapped his knuckles on the bathroom door, "Dude, what are you doing in there? Did you get lost?"

No answer.

Clouds of steam wafted out the door as he opened it to the sound of running water.

“Goddamn. Hot enough in here for you, Harrington?” he asked as he used the sleeve of his t-shirt to wipe off an area of condensation from the mirror above the sink.

He stared at the reflection of the seafoam green shower curtain behind him, waiting for Steve to peek out and ask him what he wanted, but his stomach sank when that didn’t happen.

“Steve?”

Still nothing. He inhaled deeply to steady his nerves. Dramatic though it may be, he couldn't help but think back to the time he'd discovered a former bandmate in a similar manner, unconscious in a hotel bathtub from an overdose. He was lucky Eddie had found him when he did, the dipshit.

But Steve was different. Steve Harrington wasn't a junkie. Steve Harrington was smarter than that.

Although, it wasn't like he'd given Eddie a comprehensive list of any potential health issues. Not that he'd asked for one.

Eddie licked his lips nervously as he turned towards the bathtub. He sighed, scratching the back of his head.

“Very funny, Harrington."

Nothing.

He shifted his weight from one foot to the other before reaching for the shower curtain, half-expecting Steve to jump out at him.

“Ha!" The exclamation hung in the air as Eddie yanked the curtain to the side, revealing the lean, naked form of his boyfriend on the floor of the ceramic tub, slumped against the side.

“Oh, fuck—ohfuck—okay—uh—Hey! Steve! You okay?”

Eddie reached in to shut off the water and sat on the edge of the bathtub to lean over Steve, shaking him gently by the shoulder.

“Shit... shitshitshit... Steve! Hey!" Eddie eyed him with mounting panic, mentally compiling a list of emergency phone numbers, "Wake up, damnit!”

“Mmm—” the jock stirred, his forehead creasing under his dripping hair in annoyance as he mumbled, “five more minutes.”

Eddie stood up and cocked his head in bewilderment, "What the fuck?”

“Wha—” Steve sniffed groggily, “what’s going on?”

Eddie raised his hands to his hips, “Are you kidding me?”

Steve cracked an eyelid to glance quizzically at him, “Oh, hey, Eds. Everything okay?”

The cold air against his wet skin suddenly reminded him of where he was and he looked up at the trickling showerhead, his face reddening as he scrambled to cover himself.

“Oh, damn,” he groaned, running a hand over his face, “did I fall asleep again?”

"Asleep??" Eddie blinked in surprise but sighed with relief, “Again?! Is this a thing you do regularly?”

“I—uh—“

“You scared the shit out of me!”

“Gee, man, I’m sorry—"

"Thought I was gonna have to drag your naked ass out of there myself."

"It’s just a thing I did—do—ever since I was a kid—”

Eddie scoffed playfully, “Well... don’t fuckin' do it again.”

The sheepish grin he received by way of an apology all but dissolved any trace of genuine exasperation. It was a dumb thing to be mad at him for, anyway.

Eddie rolled his eyes and grabbed the towel from where it hung on the wall to throw it at Steve, hitting him in the face.

“Dry yourself off before you get all pruny. The show's about the start!”

***

It wasn't until later, during a moment of intimacy on the sofa, Miami Vice muted in the background and Steve's eyes locked shyly on their intertwined fingers and the prominent veins that traveled up Eddie's forearm, that Steve had explained how he'd adopted the practice of locking himself in the bathroom as a kid. The running water was enough to partially drown out the sound of his parents arguing in the living room, and he would stay in there a little longer each time, allowing the steady rhythm and comfort of the warm water to lull him to sleep—until he would inevitably be startled awake by the sound of his father slamming the front door behind him in a rage, followed by a hurried knock on the bathroom door and his mother yelling from the other side that he was on his own for dinner. Again.

In Steve's defense, he didn't do it every time... and in Eddie's, he couldn't just not tease him mercilessly for it when he did.

Eddie laid his guitar aside. He was careful not to make too much noise as he snuck to the bathroom, expertly opening and closing the door behind him without a single creak. Once again, the only sound to meet his ears upon entering was the hiss of the water.

He slowly drew back the shower curtain to the familiar sight of Steve curled up beneath the steaming water, damp hair clinging to his flushed cheeks.

Eddie smiled fondly at the shallow rise and fall of his chest and heaved an exaggerated sigh, reluctant to disturb the serenity of the moment.

But they had a game to catch. Lucas would be taking inventory of the party from the basketball court, and God forbid he and Steve show up late to anything together. He could hear the obnoxious kissy noises and prying questions now.

Eddie leaned in to wrap his fingers around the cross-handle knob and, with a quick twist, turned it as far to the left as it would go without shutting off completely.

Steve shrieked, cursing incoherently and clambering to shut off the freezing water.

“SHIT!” he panted, eyes wide when he realized he wasn’t alone. In a daze, he grasped the shower curtain to pull it closed, but instead, managed to tear down the metal rod that it hung from. The curtain rod bounced off his head and clattered against the tile as it came to rest in Steve’s lap.

“Gah! Fuck!” he hissed.

Eddie snorted and clamped a hand over his own mouth to keep from laughing as Steve glared daggers at him behind a veil of wet hair, looking like a drowned rat.

A very pissed off drowned rat.

The vision of the so-called King of Hawkins High—usually so smooth; so collected—now fixing him with what was obviously supposed to be an intimidating scowl while sitting naked and waterlogged in his bathtub made Eddie cackle so hard that he had to brace himself against the bathroom sink.

“I’m glad my suffering is so amusing to you,” Steve mocked.

“You should have seen your face, Harrington!” Eddie wheezed as he doubled over at the waist.

Steve blinked and shook his head, tossing his wet hair out of his face.

Eddie's laughter trailed off, “I’m sorry, babe, but you've been in here forever!”

“Oh, shit, you’re right. What time is it?”

“Almost 5:30.”

Steve groaned as he shifted to get his feet under him but failed against the slippery tub floor.

"Damnit, you need to put something in here."

"You mean, like, those... adhesive rubber ducks?"

"Yeah," Steve sneered, "I mean, like, those adhesive rubber ducks."

Eddie watched with glee as Steve made a second attempt to stand and extended his arm, "Don't just stand there, Munson, help me!"

"Okay, okay! Jeez," he grasped Steve's wrist to help him up, only to be yanked off his own feet, falling over the side of the bathtub and into Steve’s lap as he reached up to turn the water back on.

“You dick!” Eddie screeched, "what the hell—" he froze as his words melted into Steve’s mouth.

He instantly relaxed into him, the lukewarm water beating down on them all but forgotten as the tip of Steve's tongue teasingly slid past his lips. Eddie purred against his mouth and Steve withdrew with a cocky smirk. Eddie started as if to protest, but exhaled a heavy breath and hung his head.

“Alright. We're even."

“Mm, let's get you out of these wet clothes,” Steve said, tugging on the hem of Eddie's soaked t-shirt.

“Woah, there, big guy,” Eddie splayed a hand on Steve's chest in a gentle halting motion, “did you forget we’re on a schedule?”

Steve paused, immediately dropping the Casanova act with a petulant huff, “Aw, man!”

Eddie chuckled and pecked him on the cheek as he rose, pulling Steve up with him. He wrung his damp, unruly hair out over the bathtub before twisting to grab a towel and unceremoniously throwing it at Steve’s face. He then grabbed one for himself.

Steve cautiously stepped out of the tub onto the worn plush mat, securing the towel around his waist.

Knowing they couldn’t afford to waste anymore time, Eddie resigned to getting ready in the bedroom so as to allow Steve and his Hair™ their allotted time alone—but not before planting a playful smack on Steve's ass. Steve yelped and grumbled under his breath as he turned to his reflection and the white aerosol can with the picture of Farrah Fawcett that smiled at him from the counter.

Suddenly the door opened again and Eddie peeked in, "Hey, Harrington."

Steve paused mid-spray and rolled his eyes at him in the mirror, "Yeah?"

Eddie clicked his tongue with a wink and the cringiest finger-gun gesture he could manage, “Rain check.”

[hearts4golbach]

Friday Night Lights.

kinktober day two: uniform.

"Look at you. Getting your uniform all dirty just for me, yeah?"

pairing:

Revenge!Gerard Way x Fem!Reader.

a/n:

Can you tell I've been in cheer? (sarcasm, but I have.)

kinda proofread

warnings:

smut, pet names (sugar, angel, good girl, pretty girl) choking— if you squint, unprotected sex, semi-public, riding,

word count:

1.7k

. . .

"Defense, attack!" You cheered from the sidelines, waving your pom's around. "Sack that quarterback!" Your short cheer skirt barely covered your ass as you jumped around. It was only a few seconds before you returned to your plastered position facing the field.

Your boyfriend, Gerard, always went to the football games. No, he didn't like nor enjoy sports, but he always wanted to support you in every way he could. So, there he was, watching you intently as you cheered for your schools football team (which wasn't even that good, honestly).

Frank sat next to him. He seemed to be somewhat interested in what was going on below. Did he know anything about football? Of course not. Gerard figured he just liked to watch men throw around balls and tackle each other.

Anyway, Gerard always believed green was your color, especially after seeing how perfectly your white and green uniform complimented you. He could barely take his eyes off of you. The two piece hugged you perfectly. Frank had to snap Gerard out of a trance multiple times just to talk to him.

There was something different about that game. Maybe it was the way you flipped your headache-high ponytail or the way you held eye contact the entire time you were cheering. What he did know was that he could barely wait until the game was over.

"Go! Fight! Go, fight, win!" You whipped around to continue the cheer. Your gaze soon fell on Gerard. You shook your pom's with enthusiasm, ending the cheer with a kick. He shot you a wink, smirking he watched your face glow red.

"You're going to need to catch another ride home, Frankie." Gerard explained.

"I fuckin' knew it," He rolled his eyes, "I'll just call Ray, dick." He muttered under his breath. "I'm gonna go get food."

"You do that." Gerard teased.

It was finally quarter 4. Gerard's leg shook impatiently. He only looked away from you whenever Frank came back with greasy stadium food. You caught his attention again when you started counting off the points on the scoreboard. The whole team began counting all the way to 35, ending with you doing the final kick. Gerard couldn't help but marvel at how flexible you were. His mind began to wonder once more before the flashing lights signifying a touch down began, to which you began cheering once more. A soft smile creeped onto Gerard's face.

Eventually, the game ended. Gerard pushed his way through the crowd of grinning teenagers to get to you. He met you at the barricade and you immediately intertwined your fingers with his.

"You were amazing, as always." Gerard gushed, placing a kiss on your temple as the two of you made your way out of the stadium. "wanna go get somethin' to eat, sugar?"

You simply nodded, cuddling into his side to avoid the other teens surrounding you. With the cold October winds, the heat radiating from him helped you warm up. Not to mention, your uniform barely covered anything.

Gerard wrapped his leather jacket around your shoulders. You blushed as his hand trailed down to your waist, slowly moving down to your hip. Any small move made by gerard still made you weak in the knees.

His fingers teased the hem of your skirt, which was shielded from the public by his jacket. Gerard knew exactly what made you tick.

"Gee," you whispered in attempt to grab his attention.

He hummed in response, continuing to drag you out to the car. The anticipation had you soaked. You climbed into the passenger seat, attempting to be secretive about how aroused you were as you crossed your legs. Of course he knew. Gerard could read you like a book.

His hand rested gently on your upper thigh as he drove. His thumb needed your soft, exposed flesh. "I was thinking we should go to [favorite fast food restaurant]. We can get it to go and I'll take you home. How does that sound, angel?"

You cleared your throat in an attempt to ground yourself. Your thoughts were everywhere but the present moment. You simply nodded and glanced over to see a small smirk plastered on his face.

He pulled into the drive through and ordered, because why wouldn't he have your order memorized?

"Y'know what, Gee? Maybe we should go find somewhere to park and eat. I don't really want to go home yet." You readjusted once more.

"Of course," He placed a kiss on your forehead before collecting the food.

He took you to your guys' spot, the one you two always went to to 'hang out.'

Even though Gerard had a really shitty car, the back seats went down so you two had a comfortable area in the back to sit.

You climbed into the back and Gerard followed with the food. You cuddled up next to him and ate in silence. Gerard poured about how well you did and sarcastically ranted about how Frank 'ruined his overall experience.' You knew he was joking. Kinda.

You laid on his chest. Both of you had finished eating and you were complaining about the extensive conditioning you had to do for cheer. Once it was silent again, Gerard turned your head so that you were looking at him. "Y'know, you're so gorgeous." He smiled down at you before pressing his lips onto yours.

You returned the kiss with more intensity. Without hesitation, he moved you so that you were in his lap. Your hands trailed up his chest and you tugged at his hair, eliciting a moan from him.

Seeing as he couldn't get his hands up your top, (it was too tight for your own good, but that fact turned him on further,) he settled on slowly moving his hands up your thighs and under your skirt. He scrunched it around your waist, leaving your spanks exposed.

He gripped your ass, grinding you down onto his already hard, clothed cock. "Someone's impatient," you teased, kissing along his jawline.

He grunted in response, regaining control. You hurriedly unbuttoned his jeans, making him giggle. "Now who's impatient?" His cock sprung out of his boxers. He hissed as he felt the chilly autumn air. He pulled down your spanks, pulling your panties off with them as he muttered, "you're so pretty, angel."

"Prove it," you challenged, making him roll his eyes before smirking up at you mischievously.

"You want me to prove it?" He asked between kisses. It was almost rhetorical, the way he questioned you. He gripped your neck to pull you closer. "Why don't you ride my cock like the good girl you are and I will."

You caved under his gaze, nodding eagerly. He hummed in approval and slid his hand up to your mouth. You spit on his hand, allowing him to lube up his throbbing dick with your saliva. You let out soft moans as he ran his tip along your entrance. "Gee- please," he slipped inside of you without warning, making you cry out as he stretched you open. He dug his fingers into the sensitive flesh of your hips as you began to move.

Gerard moaned, "look at you. Getting your uniform all dirty just for me, yeah?" You sat on his cock, allowing his tip to brush against your g-spot.

You bit down on your lip, letting out a high pitched moan in response. "Oh, shit, Gee.."

"Hmm," he hummed. His hips thrusted up in time with your movement as you continued to bounce on his cock.

He let out choked off moans. He reached down to rub circles on your clit with his thumb as strings of moans and curses escaped your lips. His hand trailed up to your chest, kneeling your breast through your uniform. He moved his hands back down to your waist and began to kiss along your neck. You squeezed your eyes shut as all you could hear was Gerard's moans and groans.

"Always so goddamn tight for me, sweetheart. You look so fuckin' good like this," he began to move you faster. You dropped your head as you let out a moan. He brushed your g-spot with each thrust, making your walls clench around him.

"Oh fuck, don't stop!" You squeeled as he sucked dark hickeys into your neck. It took him no time to find your sweet spot. He relished the noise you made whenever he gently sunk his teeth into your neck.

He pulled you back to his mouth and kissed you passionately. The two of you breathed heavily into the kiss as the pace never slowed. You bit down on his lip, making a low whimper escape from his lips. He pulled away from you and admired how hot you looked on top of him. He didn't think he'd ever get enough of you. He smirked, letting out a breathy chuckle. "I love the way your thighs shake," he kissed along your jawline. "Just wait til i'm done with you. We might have to skip school tomorrow."

You couldn't help but laugh as the car began to get stuffier by the second. "Gee- 'm so close.."

"Yeah? Tell me who's pussy this is, pretty girl. Then, I'll let you cum." A smug smirk was plastered on his face as he rubbed your clit with quick motions.

You jolted at the sensation, making you want to scream. "Fuck- yours! I'm yours, Gee!"

He hummed in approval. He peppered your face in neck in kissed, "cum for me," he demanded in between.

You collapsed onto his chest as you felt your walls spasm around his cock. He helped you ride out your orgasm, gripping your ass and moving you up and down with slow movements. He released his seed deep inside of you. The car was filled with heavy breaths and the smell of sex.

Gerard let out a low sigh, "fuck, I love you." He placed a kiss on your forehead before pecking your lips.

"I love you," you mumbled against his lips. "Stay the night?" You pulled back to make eye contact with him.

"Of course."

[all2angels]

WHITE CHRISTMAS | santa!gerard x gn!afab!reader (short) christmas special fic <33 merry xmas to those who celebrate, here's my gift:

warnings: p in v smut, no protection (wrap it before you tap it), a little dub/con & somno, dom!gee sorry i couldn't help myself, smut written by a virgin, there might be missed grammer & spelling mistakes (tell me if there are any pls)

it was late, you had already fallen asleep before twelve expecting to wake up on christmas morning. that was, until you felt a person remove the blanket that was lying so comfortably on top of you. you whined, feeling the cold air hit your skin, but you were too tired to do anything about it, deciding to just sleep it off.

but it didn't end there, you felt the buttons of your pajamas get undone, and before they could get to the last button you stopped them, grabbing their hand gently wondering who was doing this to you. despite your exhaustion, you open your eyes to gerard dressed in a santa costume. you giggled, thinking it was silly.

"whatchu doin', gee?" you asked fully awake now. he ticked his tongue.

"don't laugh, baby. you've been naughty all year round. 'm just gonna take care of you," he said, undoing the last button. you felt a shiver run down your spine as he was now working on removing your pants and underwear, exposing your bare body to him.

he undid his belt and tossed it off to the side with a loud thud and you hear him unzip his trousers. then he lines up the tip of his dick on your cunt, teasing your clit with his tip. The teasing makes you feel like you're about to explode if he doesn't fill you up soon so you whimper to get him to hurry up.

"shh, I know..." he coos. gerard spits in his hand and gives his shaft a few pumps before sliding it in you without much of a warning. you let out a little moan under him, feeling all of him inside you.

he held your hips tight, his pace was nice and slow at first but got faster and rougher with each thrust. he rammed over and over in your cunt, hitting your special spot every time.

you rolled your eyes and held onto his red jacket, he fucked into you raw, barely holding back. you weren't going to last any longer. his thrusts began to get sloppier, you could tell he couldn't hold it in anymore as well.

"gonna c-cum?" you managed to let out, he nodded and you felt him go faster, building upon his high and deepening his thrusts. you groaned and came on his cock. he followed shortly after, feeling the hot load of semen inside you. he panted, wiping the sweat on his forehead, pushing his hair to the side.

he pulled out, leaving you feeling empty, missing the feeling of being filled. he kissed your cheek, "there's your white fuckin' christmas." he laughed, laying down on the bed next to you.

but you weren't done yet. you crawl on top of him, "think it's my turn..." you mumble, his eyes widened. you sat on top of him, going in for another round.

[sytokun]

To anyone thinking or saying Dillon Goo is unworthy of acquiring RWBY, not because of anything realistic like finances or the size of his studio, but because he's "just an animator", or just a rando from the internet who cannot write or run RWBY:

Thanks for perpetuating the piece of shit mindset that every soul-sucking corporation and braindead consumer has: that animators have no value or are just there to push buttons and make pixels move for the real creatives.

Animators are artists and creators. They have to work with numerous departments to make things work: They have to know what the writer/director wants, and tell them if it's even possible to put to screen; they have to work with artists and character designers to tell if they can commit that art into moving parts. And for an animated show, they're kind of... I dunno, the entire backbone of its production.

Anyone stupid enough to claim that, by their logic, should claim that Miles and Kerry were "just writers" and don't have the right nor the intelligence to have any opinions on RWBY's animation, character designs or music. That's how I know you have zero fucking idea how any actual media is produced, because in your head, these positions all just exist as separate little boxes in your brain so it's simple enough for you to grasp.

It was "just an animator" who made RWBY in the first place, dumbass. A "rando" making animations on the internet that Rooster Teeth took a chance on, and now he's responsible for their best-selling IP. By comparison, Dillon is starting at a way better starting position than Monty was, with a successful YouTube channel, public support from multiple current and ex-CRWBY like J Grelle (Tyrian's VA), Kim Newman (former animator who animated Sun's gunchucks in V5) and Jessica Nigri (Cinder's VA), and multiple collaborations with big companies like Hoyoverse.

If anything, I'd expect an animator like Dillon to know and care enough about his staff to not give them near-irreparable spinal damage. Gee, I wonder why Newman would think he'd be a better employer to work with? Dillon would know how an animation project is run and budgeted. Him being an animator is a benefit, for god's sake.

Monty had character design sketches but needed help from professional artists to fully design them. He knew bits of the plot but needed help fleshing it out. Do you have enough brain cells to rub together to know that's precisely what Dillon can do, too? Fuckin', I dunno, hire people? For his studio??

I'd rather have an animator run RWBY because RWBY is an animated series and he would know precisely 1) what complements the medium best and 2) the precise limits of what can or cannot work within his budget. By your ass-backwards logic, I would rather get EC Myers to run RWBY's production over Dillon just because he's a writer and has been employed with RT longer.

That's another moronic argument: "He's only been employed by RT for 1 Volume". Man, I don't care if he's been there for zero Volumes, his work clearly shows a greater understanding of RWBY's aesthetic, mainstream appeal and style than its own showrunners have for the past 7 years. Or is seniority in a defunct company responsible for a steadily unprofitable IP suddenly a positive in this business deal?

I need you to be aware that RWBY as an IP is a joke outside of the bubble of its fandom, and I am telling you bluntly as a fan. Nobody takes it seriously and the ones that do only praise it for either its action choreography or its character designs, one of which is guaranteed with Dillon's studio. Diehard fans may love RWBY, warts and all, but all that love and support clearly wasn't enough to keep it alive, because its reputation was already cemented from its own mismanagement.

What you do is you get the right person for the job. And Dillon ticks a lot of boxes for it. If you think he's unable to acquire RWBY because he's not a big corpo or cannot meet Warner's asking price, that's 100% fair. If you think he's unable to create something on the scale of Volume 9, that's also 100% fair, but only if you're attached to the idea that you'd rather have Volume 10 or more of the same RWBY that was operating at a loss than any RWBY at all. Or if you'd rather see a season of 14 episodes 15 minutes long where 60-70% of it is made up of exposition, talking head scenes and increasingly overambitious world expanding, over shorter episodes with amazing RWBY action sequences with a story that never bites off more than it can chew.

But if you think Dillon is unqualified or worse, unworthy or undeserving (what a weirdo thing to say about a person, like owning RWBY is like inheriting the fucking throne of Gondor), all because he's "just an animator" or because he was smart enough to see RT for the meat-grinder hellhole it was and left to find success on his own, you're full of shit.

And if you disapprove of him because of his association with Shane, go find a restroom because your unsightly hateboner is showing. It's been almost ten years since the letter and you all have been holding this unfettered rage clenched between your buttcheeks longer than Shane's ever been with Rooster Teeth.

And for what? Pointing out Rooster Teeth is a fucked place to work at? Whoops, that was true and now it's six feet under for every scandal and worker abuse case they brought on themselves. For stealing and cannibalising their creators' IPs? Whoops, that's fucking true as well.

[pretending-ican-write]

Cowboy Up - Pt.13

A/N: Greetings all! Apologies this isn't a massive part after all your waiting but hopefully be back in the swing soon. Let me know if you have any thoughts on what the relationship reader has with the Duttons should be like as I want to explore that more.

Pairing: Ryan (Yellowstone) x Dutton!reader

Previous part - Next part

---

Y/n looked up from where she was buttoning her jacket against the incoming cold to see Jimmy riding towards them with a calf across his saddle.  She chuckled to herself at his ability to fall off his horse, lose his hat and find a missing calf all in the same day.  Encouraging Comanche towards Rip and Lloyd, she gestured to them across the field.

“Told you he’d work out just fine,” She directed towards the foreman, “you dared question my teaching prowess.”

Rip rolled his eyes at her, “I learnt long ago to not question what you put your mind y/n.  The question was whether he had the will to follow through with it.”

“Ah he’ll adapt just fine,” Lloyd brushed him off, “y’know she won’t let him quit.”

Fred shouted across the fence to Jimmy, “well look who decided to show up.  You have a nice ride?”

“Shut up and just open the gate,” y/n snapped at him, “nobody wants to deal with your bullshit.”

Ignoring the glare burning into her back, she swung Comanche around to keep the cow away from the gate whilst Jimmy rode in.

“Wonder which one’s its mama?” He asked.

The cow Comanche was keeping back lowed loudly.

Rip sighed, “gee I fuckin’ wonder.  Put it in the pen.”

“That’s as cowboy as it gets Jimmy,” Lloyd assured.

Y/n smiled at him as he rode past, pulling Comanche away from the cow to return to sorting the rest of the herd.  She glanced back to watch Jimmy put the calf down and barrel straight towards his mama.

“He’ll make it,” Lloyd assured her.

Y/n smiled, “with our expert guidance.”

-/-/-

After finishing organising the cattle and putting the horses away, the hands made their way back to the bunkhouse.  Ryan was at the front of them, arm slung casually over his girlfriend’s shoulders despite her protests of being caught by Rip (Colby having already been given the middle finger for his wolf whistling).

Her body was pushed forward by Fred kicking Jimmy’s feet from under him into them.  Ryan grabbed her waist and pulled her into him to stabilise her.

“You’re a fucking dipshit Fred,” he muttered as the three of them carried on walking.

Y/n stopped both of the boys who turned around to see Jimmy punched to the floor.  She ducked down to help him up, “alright you made your point.”

“No no no no,” Ryan groaned when Jimmy went back for Fred.

As they fought, y/n felt herself be pushed behind Ryan and Colby.  She took that as her sign to go find Rip to break them up.  Turning her back on the boys she ran for the bunkhouse where she found Rip and Lloyd sat at the table.  Both of them looked up with concern seeing her burst in at speed.

“Where’s the fire kid?” Lloyd asked.

“Fred started on Jimmy,” she explained, “and the dumb fuck wouldn’t stay down and they’re not stopping.  He’s gonna do some real damage to him, Rip.”

Rip groaned but gestured for Lloyd to follow them out to the barn.  

When they reached them, Jimmy was face down in the dirt.  Y/n watched Rip put Fred on the floor before turning her attention to where Lloyd was helping Jimmy up off the floor.  She made for them but he waved her off, wanting to save the new hand the scolding she would give him for continuing to fight.

“You wanna fight somebody, you come fight me.  I’ll fight you all goddamn day,” y/n couldn’t help groaning at Rip’s rule and how ridiculous it always sounded.

“I’m the one who started it.  It wasn’t him, it was me,” Jimmy tried to defend the other hand.

Ryan carefully pulled her out of Rip’s path and she allowed herself to go into her boyfriend’s arms despite the foreman in front of them.  Y/n worried her upper lip when Jimmy was hauled around, just healed brand on display.

“You see this, you know what it means?  Means don’t fucking touch Fred.  Don’t fucking touch,” Rip dismissed them, “now you guys can go get the supper that you didn’t earn.”

Alongside Ryan and Colby, y/n left the situation to be dealt with by the members of the ranch involved in the dirty work.  When they reached the bunkhouse, she opted to stay out for a moment, needing to decompress with a cigarette before dealing with the hands asking a million questions about the fight.

-/-/-

Later that evening, after choosing to eat in the kitchen with Gator instead of deal with her family, y/n slipped away to the bunkhouse.  The chef had given her a questioning look when she left through the kitchen instead of the front door but thought better of asking and gave her a batch of cookies for the hands.

After checking in on the horses, she swung into the bunkhouse where she immediately noticed the absence of Fred and Lloyd.  A cursory glance around the room showed Jimmy asleep in his bunk and Jake gave her a reassuring nod that he was okay.  Ryan and Colby were sat on the sofa playing some convoluted card game they’d made up over their year on the ranch that nobody else understood the rules of.

“Gator made y’all cookies,” she announced, placing the box on the table and watched as they all made a dive to get the best one, “anyone would think y’all were starved.”

Ryan reached around her to pick one up, arm securely around her waist.  Y/n closed her eyes, leaning back into his chest and allowed the conversation between them to wash over her.  

“Y’all notice Fred’s bunk is empty?” Jake asked.

Y/n opened her eyes to look at him, “Rip and dad were never gonna let him stay here after all that.  Branded man and all that.  Just hope the spot gets filled before we get busy.”

“You going back to the house tonight?” Ryan asked, chin tucked over her shoulder.

She smiled, “thought I’d stay here if that suits you.”

“More than fine with me sweetheart,” he kissed her cheek, “I’d have you in my bed every night.”

---

Tag list: @child-of-of-the-sunshine @kendallroydefender @qardasngan @thecobraghost @little-diable @hawkeyetrained

[booty-uprooter]

gee i wonder why the kid who looks like rena mizunashi would be looking for rena mizunashi it's a real fuckin mystery if only there was a genius teen detective here to solve it

[secretpajamas]

BLOODY HELL

a Max x reader fic

pairing: max (bloodsucking bastards) x female reader

genre: humor/crack (but with a movie like bloodsucking bastards, is it really crack?)

rating: M

words: 861

content: period talk, mentions of oral sex

a/n: I have no goddamn clue what this abomination is. It’s been sitting in my docs for three years. Enjoy!

—

It was simple; you just needed Max to sign off on your report before you sent it over to legal. However, when you walked up to his door and peeked through the window, he seemed to be in the midst of a giant temper tantrum.

“I can’t do this anymore! FUCK! FUCK!”

He was yelling so loudly you could hear him through the closed door. You shrugged, dismissed this outburst as another one of Max’s eccentricities, and opened the door.

“Sorry to interrupt,” you said, and Max’s head whipped around to glare at you.

“What do you want?” He hissed as he slunk over to his desk and sat down, crossing his arms tightly against his chest. He had shed his three-piece ensemble throughout the day, his vest, tie, and suit jacket tossed haphazardly over an open filing cabinet, leaving him in just his white dress-shirt. It was unbuttoned clear past his collarbone and the sleeves were rolled up his forearms.

It struck you as very odd. Max was usually extremely fastidious with his appearance—this Max looked utterly frazzled.

“Well?” Max barked, and you straightened.

“Uh, um, I just needed you to read and sign these before I give them to legal,” you said, handing over the papers. Max swiped them out of your hands and gave them a cursory glance before slapping them down on the desk.

“Is that all?” He asked, glaring at you, his nostrils flaring.

“Uh, yes, Max,” you said, looking at him with a degree of concern. “Pardon me if I’m being intrusive, but are you okay?”

Max stared at you, expression blank for a moment before breaking out in laughter. It was a harsh, raucous kind of laugh, one that did not tend to denote amusement.

“Am I okay. Am I fuckin’ okay.” He gesticulated wildly for a moment. “I was okay. Everything was fucking peachy in this office. A hell of a lot better than the last one I had the displeasure of running.And then you... You waltz in here last year with your perfect references and your perfect resumé and your perfect everything and I think, ‘oh, gee, she’ll be a great addition to our team, let’s hire her, what could go wrong?’ Everything. Everything could go wrong.”

You wracked your brain, trying to think of a time that your performance was less than stellar. You prided yourself on your work ethic; it had earned you respect and a raise in the relatively short time you’d been here.

“I’m sorry, Max, I don’t know if I understand,” you said.

Max waved a hand at you before continuing. “Look. I’ll be blunt. Anna’s got an IUD, she never has a period. Trish probably went through menopause in the 90s. Maria’s birth control makes it so she only has a period once every three months, and I can easily schedule in a couple sick days around it. You, however,” he growled, “are a fucking nightmare.”

You balked. What the hell did your coworker’s menstrual cycles have to do with anything?

“You come in here reeking of blood every goddamn month! Sometimes every three weeks! For five fucking days at a time! And I have mentioned how goddamn frustrating it is to think it’s over and then come back the next day, thinking I’ll have some modicum of peace, and you’re sitting there like, ‘oops, silly me, still bleeding!’”

You wondered what the fuck Max was going on about until you remembered.

Wait.

Your boss is a vampire, you dipshit.

“Oh,” you said, shifting in your seat. Knowing he could smell that you were on your period never occurred to you, but now his monthly mood swings made a lot more sense. “Um. I’m... sorry.”

“You have no idea how much restraint I’m showing right now,” Max said with a huff. “But killing you would be a mess for HR to clean up. And the janitor. Do you know how hard it is to get blood out of my ties?”

“Try bloodstains on underwear,” you griped.

“Not. Helping,” he hissed.

“You know,” you said, “You could still, uh. Drink my blood. Without killing me, I mean.”

Max looked confused, then he sat up straight as a board. “You can’t be serious,” he said.

“Really? Has it never really occurred to you before?” you asked, incredulous.

“I can’t say it hasn’t,” he said.

Silence stretched between the two of you.

Fuck it. Even if your boss was an asshole, he was hot, and you could use an orgasm or two.

“Well... I’m game if you are,” you said.

Max’s eyebrows shot up. Silently, he stood and walked to his door, as if expecting you to follow.

You were embarrassed beyond belief. What were you thinking, coming on to your boss? You got up and made your way to the door, reaching for the doorknob.

Max held out his arm, blocking your hand. With one swift motion, he locked the door and backed you into his desk.

“Take off your clothes,” he snarled.

You grinned. “Got it, boss.”

Needless to say, this was going to be a fun week at the office.

[shutit-haha]

WolfBakugo pt.3

"You know you never did tell me your name," you took a seat at the table. The stool was to high so your legs dangled over the floor, and the metal backing could use just a bit more support. Ok so it wasn't the comfiest chair. "Why not sit at the other table?" You suggested, wanting to move to the better wooden chairs. (Despite how hard those are going to be.)

"Shut up," he growls, "talk too much." The grumpy blonde shovels food into his mouth, chewing in the silence.

"Was just trying to be polite, and the seats are a little uncomfortable," you mumbled.

"You're wearing my clothes," he gestured to your outfit. Your hair was still damp so it left wet trails on the back of his shirt. "You're eating my food," he gestured to the dish in front of you- already half eaten. "You're staying in my house, in one of my rooms and now you want to decide where we eat."

Well gee mister not anymore, "I never asked to stay with you."

"You were freezing your fucking ass out there!"

"Ok and?"

"Don't be a dumbass," he shoveled more food into his mouth. More silence as the both of you ate.

"You're a good cook," you complimented. A water droplet fell from a strand of baby hair at the bottom of your skull, rolling beneath the collar of the black shirt. You shivered.

He noticed.

"Are you done eating as well?" You were standing next to him, shorter due to the tall ass stool. Your hip was pressed up against the table, plate in hand to take to the sink.

"I'll do the dishes," he rose from his place.

"No it's fine, I've already taken a lot from you." You snatched the plate up from him, moving to the sink to clean them. Another shiver from you, just before the water turned on.

"You're cold."

"It's ok."

You placed the dishes in the rack to dry, just as you turned around something slammed into your face. "Hoodie, so you don't freeze your ass." Black and orange with a large graphic on the center of it. "Rooms down the hall and 'cross from the bathroom." He was already leaving to call it a night. "Go the fuck to sleep."

When morning came you had hoped to sneak out under his radar however he was already up. "Good morning," you smiled from were the hallway bled into the kitchen.

He grunted not even sparing a glance at you as he cooked the eggs. There was an open carton next to the stove, four of the eggs already missing. Freshly cut chives left on a cutting board, accompanied by diced bell peppers and onion. "What are you making," you glanced over at the seasoning he had open. The flavors would be considered bland in your household but you assumed the vegetables were to make up for that.

"Breakfast," he grunted.

"Wonderful conversationalist," you rolled your eyes at his back. "I'll be leaving so.."

"You're not gonna eat."

"You seem like I'm bothering you, leaving just made sense."

"It's too fucking early for talking, I woke up and my room was fucking cold, and now that you're up too the place fuckin' smells like you." He plates an omelet setting it aside and checking whatever is sizzling in the oven.

"I'm sorry, do I stink?" You lifted an arm to smell yourself, you seemed fine.

"Are you a fuckin' idoit? Dumbass," he kissed his teeth. "You have a scent, everyone does."

"I know that-"

He pointed to the dog tag dangling from his neck, "are the dots connecting?"

"Do I really smell that bad," your brows drooped to make a sad face.

He sighs taking the baking sheet out of the oven, and plating another omelet. "No," more smells mingle in the kitchen. Bacon and quartered potatoes, it's like some sort of Disney breakfast. "Eat and then I'll take you home."

"Thank you," you look down at your food. It's quite beautiful actually, everything is proportionate and none of the flavors are too overpowering. "Bakugo."

He looks up at you, head moving so quickly it startles you. Carmine eyes glare with such an intensity it makes fireworks in your brain.

You swallow, "your tag."

He glances down at the engraved name. Another grunt from the ash blonde, "and you?"

"Oh..."