#my girl and her fuck ass haircut

[feketeribizli]

she cut her hair 😔

[eyeball-freak]

POV you searched the livewire tag on tumblr hoping to find some content of one of your favorite Superman supervillains but you get flash banged by that ugly ass design from my adventures with Superman

[furballfaggot]

still no proper dni but if you watch turkey tom get away from my blog

[thedevotionaltour]

when i tell you i wanted to look exactly like 90s kon-el at the beautiful age of 13 and yearned for it since everything on planet earth makes sense

[stuck-in-the-ghost-zone]

OH WHAT EXCELLENT TIMIJG. KILLS MYSELF

[kittlyns]

.

[jellyjamheadobb]

I just got my hair BUTCHERED and I am on the VERGE of TEARS :)

[yieldtotemptation]

ANIMALS ft. Natty

natty x male reader smut

10k words

“All I’m saying is,” Natty starts, like she always does, with more unsolicited advice than you can handle at 2 AM, "for someone that complains so much about not having a sex life, you really don’t do much to fix it."

“And what, oh wise friend of mine, is your recommendation.”

“I don’t know. Get a haircut. Dress better. Try not being a massive pussy?” Natty shrugs. Or at least you think she does. Only so much you can tell over the phone.

You sigh. Bite back the urge to tell her to fuck off. But then, who else would talk you to sleep at this ungodly hour? So instead, you concede the point. “Noted.”

“Or, you know, if it’ll stop you from being such a little bitch,” and now she’s laughing, cackling really, and not once has that ever, ever meant anything good. "You could always just fuck me."

—

Two weeks and twelve hours post-Natty’s incredibly unhelpful suggestion that did absolutely nothing to alleviate you of your insomnia, and you’re back on the phone with her.

Only this time, there's video.

So, yay.

"Help me, please."

It’s a Friday and Natty's begging, again.

Because she knows she can count on you, knows that you’ve long since resigned yourself to your fate as Natty’s on-call ‘fixer’. There for everything from life-changing career decisions to helping her figure out what show to stream next.

And now, apparently, choosing her outfit for tonight.

“Help me, help me, help me, help me.”

God, this woman and her begging. Knowing full well that it’s your kryptonite.

"Okay, okay, okay," you're relenting, much earlier than usual. Mostly because as far as Natty’s petulant requests usually go this one’s a walk in the park. “But don’t you have people for this sort of thing? People who don’t, and I quote, ‘have a dogshit taste in style?’”

“It is dogshit!” Natty calls out, already turned around and leaving you (her phone) on the vanity, facing out to her bedroom and all its hideous pinkness. She disappears from the screen, diving deep into her closet for yet another pair of shorts that will most certainly hug way too close, or a top that dips way too low, or a pair of heels that scream—'hey, I have legs, would you like to spread them?' "But!"

Natty returns to the camera with a leather belt—oh no, that's a leather skirt—in hand; clad in nothing but a casual cotton bra/underwear combination that she’s filling out far too well for your sleep-deprived brain to handle.

She holds up the skirt against her waist for your consideration. Poses. It wouldn't cover a thing. Or maybe that's the point—again, you don't have any fashion sense, whatsoever.

“You’re a man, and I need a man’s opinion because I’m hoping to take one home tonight to fuck my brains out until I forget about this shit-storm of a week. So, you know—help a girl out?”

“As always, you have quite a way with words.”

Natty leans towards the camera, bending down to stare right at you. It makes entirely too much sense that she’s built an entire career around doing just this.

“It’s my third language, asshole.”

The insult lands softer than she likely intended, considering well, you’re a little too distracted to take it. It’s entirely her fault. The angle makes her tits look far too immaculate to pay any attention to her mouth.

Maybe she should consider going out just like this?

Yeah, that’d definitely get her fucked.

But, she frowns before you can make the suggestion, turning on her heels and sashaying back to her closet, leaving you to choke on air at the sight of her ass stretching out her favourite pair of panties. (The white pair with the pretty-pink bows. The one that rides up her ass when she stretches, bends, sneezes—basically any time she’s not standing perfectly still. And even then.)

Anyone else and this whole thing would be weird. Well, weirder than it already is.

See, you and Natty have this thing; this odd, cat and dog relationship that’s been going on since what feels like the dawn of time:

You’ve watched her shamelessly cycle through men faster than a teenager through a box of tissues, leaving a trail of broken hearts and broken cocks in her wake.

While she’s been forced to witness every time you’ve met ‘the one’, only to be there months later to help pick up the pieces when you’re burying your feelings in video games and alcohol and porn, wondering how it all went so wrong.

All this to say that seeing Natty bouncing around in her underwear with that laser-beam of a smile of hers; with all of her soft curves, thick thighs, her ridiculous ass and again, those immaculate fucking tits isn't that unusual.

In fact, it doesn't really do anything for you at all.

(Fucking liar.)

“Here, how about this.” Natty appears from the corner of the screen, having found a top that’s somehow made of even less material than the bra she’s already got on. The gall of her to ask, "Too much or not enough?"

You deadpan. “Does it come in adult sizes too?”

Natty grins, because she can read it right on your stupid face. She looks so, unbearably hot. Without even trying that hard. This bitch. “So just right, then.”

And then she twirls, leaving you to face her back, and before you even have time to blink, Natty’s bra has fallen down her shoulders; and you’re hating how you lean in to look because this damn app has no zoom feature to save your sorry eyesight.

Her fucking tits. Perfect, bouncy. Even through the pixels, even from behind, you can still see the way they spill.

She slips on her chosen top for the evening—a tiny, strappy number—and spins back around to face you in all her Natty glory. By the skin of your teeth, you’re looking away and leaning back, feigning nonchalance and leaving her none the wiser.

You think.

“You know,” Natty says, tilting to one side, hand on hip. Fuck, even that slightest movement makes them bounce. Utterly, utterly obscene. “You should just come tonight.”

You’re saying, “Fuck no,” before she’s even finished her sentence. ‘Coming tonight’ means ‘clubbing’, and ‘clubbing’ means being stuck listening to the shittiest music, surrounded by the worst people in all of Korea, drinking overpriced slop and watching Natty turn down a revolving door of douchebags on the dancefloor.

So, yeah.

If ‘fuck no’s’ were bricks, you’d be building the Great Wall of ‘Fuck No’, big enough for aliens on the other side of the galaxy to see with a fucking telescope and have their first contact with the human race be a giant ‘Fuck No’.

And that’s your polite way of turning her down.

Yet somehow, Natty’s hardly deterred.

“Come on, it’ll be fun,” Natty sing-songs, shuffling on her tiptoes, shifting her weight from foot to foot, making her entire body jiggle. It’s like she’s intentionally trying to sell you on the idea with every little movement. Make you believe that if you came with her, you’d be able to find someone who comes close to looking half as good as she does in that… whatever-the-fuck that is. Bralette? Crop top? Whatever. Fat chance. "Come on, come, come, come. Be my wingman please!"

You already have your second ‘fuck no’ queued up, but Natty just won’t stop fucking talking.

“Don’t you want to get laid? Don’t you think you need to have fun after what’s-her-name?” Natty continues, pouting at you through the screen.

And there it is, a study in how Natty usually gets her way—jutting out her bottom lip, digging her thumb into the waistband of her panties to expose just a smidge more skin, leaning just right to make her tits look like they’re about to pop out. It’s like she’s got a fucking manual.  

“Don’t tell me you’d rather stay at home with Handalf the Grey than come out with me and all my hot friends?”

“You mean having to clean up after all your ‘hot friends’ and their bullshit while you run off to score free drinks?” You retort, recalling all the other times when she managed to entice you out of your self-imposed isolation and into the deafening, sweaty hellhole known as a nightclub.

“Said hot friends that you’re too much of a pussy to hit on, mind you,” Natty chides, and then oh-so-casually decides to drop this nugget: "They all like you, you know, they'd be more than happy to break this dry spell of yours if you just asked. Don’t act like I haven’t seen the way you look at Julie."

You can feel your cheeks reddening. You’re not a teenager. You shouldn’t blush at this shit. But here you are, falling for Natty’s words and their magical abilities to needle at your insecurities and fill your head with thoughts of her friends and all their... well, incredibly positive attributes.

Natty pounces on your lapse in composure and gets closer to the camera, crouches. Drops down so she’s on her heels and all you can see in that tiny window of your phone is the red of her plush, plump lips.

“Come, you pussy—”

“Natty—”

“Do it pussy—”

“Natty, if you think that’s going to work—”

“Pussy, pussy, pussy—”

You’re yelling down the phone: “Fuck, fine!”

Natty’s victory dance is already in full swing before the words have even left your mouth. Bouncing around her room in pure joy at once again having ruined your evening. Dancing in that barely-there outfit, treating you to entirely sinful ripples across her curves and dips, pure sex on a pair of toned legs. Really makes you wonder how the fuck is she not illegal in at least fifty different countries.  

You hide your face in your hands, because there it is, the reason you’ve never really been able to deny her:

Her laughter, her energy, her fucking shameless glee whenever she manages to get her way (which, if you’re keeping count, is every single time).

She’s just so frustratingly adorable.

Somewhere in her celebrations, Natty finds exactly what she was looking for. Reaches down to the floor, picking up a belt—no, that’s another skirt—this one even tinier than the first.

“Oh, this is perfect,” she preens, holding it out to the camera (to you), before stepping right into it. She spins around, making it dance around her hips. It does wonders for her thighs. "How do I look?”

You swallow. “Like you’re going to get fucked tonight.”

The glint in Natty’s eyes. Like you’ve just served up the finest compliment on a silver platter. You feel sorry for whatever poor soul crosses her path tonight.

Natty winks. “Here’s to hoping.”

—

Guess what?

Turns out you were right: this is the worst place in the world.

Only, you’re the sole person here that seems to think that.

Hours have passed since you helped Natty look perfectly fuckable and you’re at the bar, trying and failing to get the attention of the bartender. Unfortunately, he, like every other male with a beating heart and a boner seems far more interested in Natty’s little dance routine than his thirsty clientele.

You can’t blame him, really. It’s built in how she moves.

Strobe lights cutting through the air like knives, slicing her into this series of absolutely pornographic snapshots as she dances. And she’s not alone, she has friends—beautiful, all of them, in their own ways. They spin and twirl around her; but Natty’s the sun here, the star that everything orbits.

(You included).

You see it play out—the Natty effect. Men, even women alike gravitate to her, drawn by that magnetic force that is Natty at her very best. Trying to get a dance, maybe whisper a line they stole from some movie in her ear, even dare to reach out to touch or press themselves up against her.

But she’s a black hole, a dark star. Can’t get too close.

One by one, they’re swallowed up by the void of Natty’s disinterest. The shoulders slump, the smiles falter, and the hope in their eyes dies as Natty, with a simple flick of her wrist sends them stumbling back into the crowd, forgotten almost immediately.

And the whole time she’s doing this, she’s got you in her line of sight. A wink here, a smile there, a dance on its own; and all you can do is nod and pretend like you’re okay with all this.

You inhale. Deeply.

Her outfit looks even tinier in person.

You turn away for just a moment, shaking off thoughts of Natty, of her hips and their sway and her winks and her smile; attempting (and failing) to flag down the bartender once more.

This fucking night.

But, when you look back, Natty’s no longer on the dancefloor.

She’s standing next to you. Arms looping around your neck.

“Natty—”

But she’s not listening. Her eyes are darting around the room, searching for something—or someone—that you can’t see. Your stomach clenches, because that look on Natty’s face? That’s not her usual I’m-about-to-make-some-poor-soul-my-bitch look. That’s something else entirely. That’s fear.

“Shut up, I need a favour,” she’s in your ear, yelling over the thrum of the bass that’s rattling your ribcage.

You lean in, bend down to meet her, because, frankly, you’re worried. You’ve never seen Natty like this, wide eyed and shaky. Never seen her be anything but comfortable.

You’ve also never been this close to her. Felt her breath hot against your neck, felt her body press up against you, felt her softness, felt her—

Fuck, you should be asking her what’s wrong, but before you can even do that, the bartender's filling two shot glasses and sliding them over to Natty.

She takes one. You take the other. It tastes lethal.

Natty’s nails dig into the back of your neck, and she looks at you, intense. Words fast and frantic. “Just pretend we’re together, okay? For a bit. Until I can figure this out. Just—just keep playing along, yeah?”

You blink. The room blurs around you. You think you might’ve misheard. “What?”

“Be my boyfriend,” she says, taking a second shot before you can even digest the first. “I need you. There’s some creep and I need you. Now, please?”

You turn immediately, scanning the floor, but the lights and shadows make it near impossible to make out anything other than vague shapes and strobes of colour, let alone pinpoint a face. "Natty, where is he, I can—"

"No, no, no," she cuts you off with a shake of her head. “Focus on me.”

“Wait, why do I have to—”

“Oh, shit there he is—”

And then she’s kissing you.

Ending whatever argument you may have had, because she’s grabbing, pulling you in, and her lips are on yours and oh fuck, she’s really, really kissing you.

It’s a slap to the face, and you need to reel in from the sting. Because you’re already forgetting what you’re doing, forgetting how your limbs work, because Natty’s putting on the performance of a lifetime and you’re having trouble keeping up.

Her hands are in your hair, yours at the small of her back, and she’s pulling you close, squishing against you and the taste of her—sweet like candy and sharp like vodka—filling you all the way up.

Your tongue catches up, flicking against hers, licking inside of her mouth and she’s even convincing you—as if she’s the one that’s always been into the love at first sight bullshit and you’re the non-believer.

And it’s a problem, how right this feels. Because this isn’t what friends do—definitely not Natty and you. But still, you can feel her tension, her need for this to be believable; and you don’t dare to fuck it all up.

So you kiss her back, because that’s what you do for Natty.

You always do what she needs.

You’re about to pull away; this should be enough to have every single person here convinced that you’re hers and she’s yours. But Natty’s already sliding her tongue back in your mouth, pleading, “Keep going,” the moment a gap opens between your lips; and you’re diving back into the kiss without a second thought.

And then you hear it.

A flash of a camera.

A cheer.

A whistle.

Julie, Haneul, Belle—Natty’s friends, staring at you like proud fairy godmothers witnessing their own magic at work.

You break the kiss. You look down at Natty.

She giggles.

You feel like a fucking idiot.

"There is no creep, is there?"

Natty shrugs, looks up at you, and she actually looks—what is this? Shy? Embarrassed?

"There could’ve been," she says, her eyes wide and innocent, a mask. You see through her like you should have when she first wrapped her arms around your neck.  Oh sure, like she’s ever been innocent for a second in her entire life.

She’s far too smug for that.

You roll your eyes. You feel like every other idiot that’s ever fallen for a bat of her lashes and a peek at her tits. Hope is a hell of a drug, especially when Natty’s the dealer. And yet, despite yourself, the corner of your mouth quirks up. "You're fucking insane."

“Maybe.” There’s a long pause. She’s staring at your mouth. She presses a finger to your sternum. “But I had to do something.”

It takes a second. What?

What does that mean?

You stare at Natty, lick your lips. Her taste still lingers.

“Ask yourself the same question I’ve been asking myself for months now,” she says, louder this time, her voice cutting through the noise of the club and hitting your ears with a sobering clarity.

You know what she’s going to say—what she’s going to ask before she’s even opened her mouth. You’ve been asking yourself the same thing too.

So, swallow hard, try to ignore the way Natty’s friends have gone quiet. Try to ignore Natty’s hand still resting against your chest, her eyes burning a hole right through you.

“Why haven’t we had sex yet?”

The blood’s rushing to your cheeks; the music's too loud, the lights too bright, and the room's suddenly spinning around you like a carousel.

Fucking embarrassing.

But Natty doesn’t crack a smile. She just looks up at you. Hopeful. Searching you, searching your eyes for an actual answer; and you already know what it is.

“Because, Natty, we’re friends.” You offer up a weak smile, hoping against hope that she’ll buy it.

But she shakes her head. “Oh, please. Like that’s ever stopped anyone before. Besides, if you want to put a label on it, call it whatever the fuck you want. I just know what I need. Do you?”

You sigh. She gets closer. And closer.

Until your nose is brushing hers. Until her breath is hot on your face, until your heart is racing so fast you can feel it in your ears. Until her hand is sliding down, down, down, until it’s resting over your pants and oh, oh no, you’re straining.

You gasp. She smirks.

“See? You want it too. And I know you do, because, sweetie, your cock’s practically begging me to pull it out and shove it between my tits right here in front of everyone.”

She just throws it out there, so casually, so bluntly, she might as well be talking about the weather. And maybe, maybe it’s the alcohol, or maybe it’s just Natty being Natty, but fuck you can’t do anything but stay frozen still.

You’re letting her hand linger. You’re letting her touch you like she’s got every right in the world. You’re letting her because there’s a part of you—the part that’s growing by the second—that wants to see just how far she’ll take this.

“So, what is the real reason, ba-by?”

Because you’re in love with her. You’re in love with her, and you can’t just have casual sex with someone you’re in love with because it will ruin you.

But you don’t say that. Instead, you just tell her: “Timing.”

That makes her laugh. Has her closing what little gap remained between your bodies, until her tits are flush against your chest, and you’re coming to the conclusion that, yes, you did help her pick out the perfect outfit for tonight.

Perfectly, hopelessly, fuckable.

“Well,” she says, and she’s pulling you back down again and shutting you up with yet another kiss. “We’ve got all the time in the world now, don’t we?”

—

You’ve been here before.

Many, many times before.

You installed the showerhead and fixed all the cabinets yourself. Even secured the lock that you’re now unlocking with the digits that you coded.

But somehow, it feels like a first.

First time you’ve kissed her in the back of a car, pushed your hand up her skirt, felt the heat of her against your fingertips. First time you’ve pinned her against the wall of an elevator, made her feel just how desperate you were for her against her thigh, made her promise to be so good for you when you got to her door.

First time being pulled through the threshold, hands at your chest, tearing your shirt off you before you’ve even stepped foot in her apartment. Had her smiling against your mouth, because she’s won, again, and you can’t even bother to argue because you’ve lost to her so many times now that this shouldn’t be so surprising.

What is surprising though is how you’re naked first.

"Terrible, terrible taste." Natty's clicking her tongue as your shoes, your shirt, your pants are scattered along the floor behind you. “We’ll have to fix that.”

And then she’s moving on, hands clawing down your stomach to land at the waistband of your underwear, hooking her thumbs in and yanking down. You’re so obviously hard—you’ve barely made any effort to hide it from her—fuck, you pretty much flagged down the taxi with it.

"Holy fuck," is the first thing out of Natty's mouth when she takes a hold of you, feeling the naked weight of you in her palm. "You’re really not messing around, are you? I was expecting—"

"A sad, lonely little thing," you finish for her, because you've heard it before. "Yeah, you like to mention it a lot."

But Natty’s not laughing now.

She’s just staring. Almost reverently. She decides, her voice a little raspy, tinted with an apprehension that you never knew she was capable of mustering, "I like it. It's... massive."

You lean in, pressing your mouth against hers because if she’s going to say that, you’re going to kiss her, again and again, and there’s a strong possibility you're never going to stop.

She whimpers, gasps into your mouth, says your name for the first time—not some nickname, not a jab or an insult. Just your name, in your ears, like it’s something sacred.

You’re not a saint. You can’t ignore that.

Your cock jumps in her hand, and as if on instinct, she strokes you.

It's slow, purposeful. She's too good at this. Knows the right pressure, where to twist and wind her wrist. How to sweep her thumb over the tip, smear pre-cum over your skin, and this entire time she's staring down at your cock like she's discovered something new.

“This is going to ruin me, isn't it?” she whispers, and you nod, because your voice is lodged in your throat and she’s stealing the air from your lungs. “Going to fit so fucking nicely inside me. Fuck it’s going to stretch me.”

You groan, collapse your weight into Natty, press your lips against the column of her throat.

Both hands now, one underneath, toying with your balls, balancing them in her fingers, and the other doing its best to squeeze, to pump, to make you fall for her with every stroke.

“I can’t wait to ride this,” Natty kisses these words into your cheek, your jaw, leaves these marks all over your collarbone. “I wonder if I can fit it down my throat. God, can you imagine what it’ll look like between my tits?”

And that makes your cock throb.

Because face it, Natty has always had a way of getting into your head; is far too dangerous with her words, and she’s all too willing to abuse this power she has over you to get you do what she wants, which is now, apparently, fucking her senseless.

You let her, let her build and build this pressure, let it coil inside you, tighter and tighter. Until the need to feel her, all of her, is too much to handle.

Until you grab her, take her by the shoulders, push her—not hard, but firmly—against the nearest wall.

You’re not gentle about it, because Natty doesn’t want gentle. She wants rough, she wants passionate, she wants to be fucked and have her cunt worshipped by way of complete ruin.

She’s told you as much.

"That's more like it," Natty bites into your ear, grips your shoulders. She follows your eyes. "Let me guess, my tits?"

So, maybe she has caught you looking once or twice. Either way, you don’t care much for her top anymore, it’s served its purpose. You take a fistful of it and pull, ripping it right off her and tossing it to the floor with everything else that’s kept the two of you from tearing each other apart.

“Better?” Natty poses for you, puts her tits on display—and yeah, you were right all along. Fucking immaculate.

You take a hold of one, palm it; fill your hand with flesh, twinge those dark, plump nipples, because of course you’re going to. You’re going to pinch and squeeze and suck on them. You’re going to mark her like she’s already done to you. Mark them, with your teeth, with your tongue. Fuck, you’re going to make them yours.

But for now, you're just going to slap them, because you want to watch them jiggle up close.

You laugh. Natty does too.

"Much better."

And with that, you’re back on her. Kisses that are sloppy, wet, and filled with all the pent-up want that's been simmering for months. You don’t even know where to begin with Natty, but you start with her mouth. It’s a good place. It’s always a good place with Natty.

Her hand doesn’t stop moving, can’t, won’t. The friction is heaven; you just let her touch you, fuck her hand while you indulge in her tits. Get to know the weight of them, the balance, the softness.

A sigh into your ear as your tongue finally finds her breasts, deep and messy, sliding over her nipple—she’s already so sensitive, just a flick and she’s gasping. You’re not even trying to be precise anymore, not that Natty needs it, not that she needs anything but for you to enjoy yourself against her.

It all makes the room seem smaller, the walls close, surrounding you with the scent—cinnamon and sweat and something else that’s just her.

“See this is why fucking me is such a great idea,” she slurs against your shoulder, hand tightening, stroking you harder, faster.

You mumble an affirmative into her breast. It’s a miracle you can still stand upright.

“Isn’t this so much better than like everything else? Anyone else?” She sighs, breathy, sweet sounds, as she takes you by the wrist, guides your hand southwards.

Fingertips graze her stomach, trace around her belly button and lower; until you’re digging into her skirt and feeling the heat rise off her skin. She’s soaked right through her panties, dripping with it. Another place for your tongue to land.

“We can just be fucking honest with each other,” Natty’s explaining, eyes tearing when your finger pads her clit, pressing down just right. “You already told me all the things you hate. All the things your bitch exes never let you do.” And she smiles, wicked. “Never had the tits to give you.”

Christ.

“And I can get you to fuck me exactly how I want with this big, fucking cock,” Natty finishes. "We’re a perfect fucking match."

It’s at that moment you find the zipper of her skirt, tugging it down, watching it fall to the feet. Leaving Natty to step out of the tiny scrap of fabric she calls her panties; abandoning the sticky mess of cotton.

You take a step back, unlatch your lips from her tits, because you need to see it. Need to finally see her, see your Natty, see the Natty you've never allowed yourself to look at.

So, take your time, drink her in—because the way she’s standing there, the way she’s touching herself now; biting her lip, sighing your name. All but saying, ‘Look all you want, but don’t you dare look away’.

Look at the arch of her neck, the red you’ve left there, that trail you’ve burned down to her tits. Bruised and swollen from your tongue, your kisses, and yet still not marked enough. Follow the curve of her hips; how they flare out from her waist, the plush squish of her ass cheeks against the wall behind her.

You want to kiss her, from the tips of her toes to the top of head; all of her, every part of her, because now she’s going to finally let you.

Because now you're going to fuck her until all she knows is you, going to make her scream your name, going to make her beg for you to fill her with your cock and cum and never ever leave her cunt empty again.

That’s the plan, anyway.

But Natty’s got plans of her own.

“Didn’t you say,” Natty begins, sighing, circling her cunt in a rhythm that you’re dying to recreate. She licks her lips. “That your last ex refused to suck that lovely, magnificent cock of yours?

"Yeah," you stammer, at a loss for breath at just the sight of it all. “And weren’t you trying to find someone to fuck your brains out?”

Natty’s eyes light up; and there's that easy, charming grin that knocks you right off your feet. "You’ve always been such a good listener."

—

Natty's plotting to ruin you.

It's the only possible explanation for the way she's looking at you right now—on her knees, at the foot of her bed, flanked by walls painted an ugly shade of pastel pink and Natty's tits, sandwiching your cock.

You’d imagined it, thought about it when you shouldn’t have been thinking about it. Whenever she brought you to watch her perform, whenever she sent you pictures of her outfit of the day. But your eyes always went there. Straight to Natty’s tits, every time.

You knew they were big.

You’ve felt them, on accident (though they don’t seem like accidents anymore).

But now, to have them enveloping your cock, drowning your shaft in their softness, and to have her, staring at your face with so much fucking excitement as she gives you everything you’ve ever wanted—it’s surreal.

You’re dying to paint them white.

“Looks like you’re already about to fall apart, baby,” she teases, and it’s even worse now that she’s calling you these sweet names, saying them like she’s always wanted to, like she’s finally letting herself. “Couldn’t wait, could you?”

“Fuck, Natty—” you breathe out, your hands finding her hair, tightening, because that’s all you can manage to do when Natty’s in control. Like she’s always been.

“Mmhmm,” she hums, keeping her eyes on you, making sure you’re watching, even as her tongue flicks out to taste you. A slow, taunting lick to make you buck your hips, desperate to feel the suction of her lips. “You must have been dreaming about this, huh?”

You don’t bother lying. She already knows the answer. “Every. Fucking. Night.”

Natty’s smile spreads across her face, and she rewards you with a kiss, pressing her lips down onto the head of your cock; before sliding them lower, eyes fluttering shut with the first taste of you. “Well, what took you so long? All you needed to do was show me your cock and I’d have been happy to do it whenever you want me to. Happy for you to use my tits as your cum rag. You know that, right?”

She moves; and the sight of it alone—Natty’s tits wrapped around your cock, bobbing up and down, hypnotising you with the flicker of her nipples—up and down, up and down. It’s merciless, unrelenting, and she keeps talking, keeps kissing these sweet little words into your cock that makes your hips jerk, trying to fuck her tits faster, harder.

"Look at how perfect you look," Natty keeps going, "how your cock fits so snug."

The sounds she’s tearing from your throat as her tits take you, and she’s barely even started.

“But we can do better, can’t we?”

Her pace picks up, and with it, the tightness of your grip on her hair. She’s pushing the ample mounds together, squeezing, putting her whole body into it, into this new art she’s pioneering. Driving you insane with just her breasts, making you swell between them, throbbing as she works you over.

“So big," she’s panting from just the effort, the bounce, bounce, bounce of it all, "I can feel you getting so much bigger."

Everything’s going too fast, her tits are too soft, her lips on you too hot, and she’s drooling, her spit dripping down onto your cock. You want to tell her to stop, that you can’t take it, but Natty just keeps going.

"Fuck,” Natty mewls, pinching her own nipples, for you, for her. Pinching and rolling them, making them nice and stiff and swollen. “Let me just try and—”

She cranes her head, bends; takes your cock deeper into the warm, wet heat of her mouth. Her tongue darts out licks your cock, gets that sweet spot on the underside, makes you shake underneath her.

Natty holds you there, even as you groan, even as your hips rise; just licks, spits, sucks. Her mouth moving up and down on you, making a mess down your shaft, down her tits. Taking you deeper, deeper, until you’re fucking her face.

She moans around you as your hips buck and you push deep, desperate for it. Her eyes water, her cheeks hollow, and she’s got you. You’re in her mouth and she’s loving it. Loving the power she has over you, loving giving you what she wants, loving how you’re pulling her by the hair, desperate to feed her more of your cock into her throat.

Like your entire relationship has been building up to this moment—to Natty’s tits wrapped around you, her mouth all over you, her eyes on yours, watching as you fuck her face.

"Fuck, Natty," you grunt, your voice barely recognisable. "What the fuck—"

But Natty's just smiling, you’re fucking that smug little smile on her lips, and she’s taunting you. "Come on baby, keep going, keep going."

It’s utterly obscene—the smack of her lips around your cock, her slobbering all over you, her gagging, her moaning around you, looking up at you and asking, “Is that all you’ve got?”

You're so close, so fucking close, and she knows it. Moving her tits faster, faster, and you're about to blow your load all over Natty's pretty face, her chest.

But she keeps talking.

Even as you stuff her cheeks, even as you muffle her, “None of those other skinny bitches could do this, could they, could handle this big, fat cock?”

Even as you force her down, pull her by the hair, “You’ve been so obsessed with my body, so obsessed with my tits, haven’t you?”

Even as her tits slide off you and your cock smacks her across her cheek, “I always saw the way you looked at them, fuck I was showing them off for you, you just took too fucking long to notice.”

She won't stop fucking talking.

You finally snap. "God, are you ever going to stop?"

But Natty just laughs, bats her lashes. Slides her tongue from your base to your tip. "Maybe you should find something to gag me with."

Your hand wraps around her throat, squeezing just enough to make her eyes go wide, to make her mouth pop open. She rolls out her tongue for you, and you know what she expects you to do, what she expects you to fill her mouth with.

But you don’t—instead, you fill it with your kiss.

It's deep, it’s bruising, it’s saying ‘fuck you’ in the sweetest way possible, without uttering a single syllable. Natty laughs against your mouth, a ‘fuck you’ right back with her teeth, biting down on your lower lip. Not breaking skin—not yet—but the promise is there.

Her hand leaves your cock to wrap around your neck, pulling you closer to her, her mouth eager for yours, and you don’t even think twice before you hoist her up, her legs wrapping around your waist. Giggling again—another sound that’s going to be your undoing—before you’re both stumbling back onto her bed.

The mattress dips under the weight of your bodies falling back into it. Natty straddles you, presses her cunt down onto your thighs. So wet you can feel it on your thigh, leaving your skin sticky and stained with her. Your hands move to her hips, dragging her closer, so you can feel the friction grinding against your cock, making you ache.

She breaks your kiss, gasping for air. Her eyes are dark, pupils blown wide—seeing her pant like this, it’s not even fair. She’s just so fucking beautiful, like a painting you’re afraid to touch because you might smudge it.

You tell her as much.

She blinks. Blushes.

Grins.

“You,” Natty breathes, her hand trailing down your chest, finding your heartbeat, resting there for a beat, two, “are so fucking in love with me.”

You don’t argue because she’s right.

Her hand slides up your arms, nails dig in and she’s got your wrists, pinning them over your head. You let her. Let her grind herself against your cock, feel the warm, wet heat of her cunt against the tip.

She takes her sweet time, melting herself into you, pressing her tits into your chest, and you can feel her heart racing against yours.

She whispers, “God, I’ve waited so fucking long for this.”

You can’t even form a coherent thought, so you just grunt.

“I’ve dreamt about this so much,” she continues, breathless words sending shivers down your spine. “Your cock, fuck, it’s just as perfect as I imagined. And now, it’s all mine.”

And then she does it—she sinks down onto you, slow and sweet, her pussy taking you in inch by glorious inch. You groan into her shoulder, your eyes shut as Natty’s tight heat surrounds you. It’s like nothing you’ve ever felt before; sure there’s been others but something about Natty’s cunt is so intense it’s almost painful.

“So tight,” you grit out, the words torn from your chest like they’re made of glass. She just laughs, low, sultry, and starts to move.

It’s a dance, a rhythm that’s been building between the two of you for what feels like an eternity. She’s rocking her hips back and forth in this torturous grind. Fucking you like it’s the last thing she’ll ever do, like she needs to make the most of it. Like you’re going to vanish into thin air the second she lets you go.

“I knew you’d feel this good,” Natty sighs into your neck, already surrendering to your cock. “Fuck, I knew it—why did you keep this from me?”

You can’t answer, not really.

You’re too lost in the feel of her, too consumed by the way she’s moving on top of you. Every inch of her body is pressed against yours, and she’s so warm, so alive, that you can’t think of anything but how Natty’s finally letting you in. How she’s letting you make her whole.

But it’s too much. Natty’s cunt, tight and wet, fucking you so slow it’s a fucking crime. Pinning you down, a butterfly on a board spread out, displayed, unable to do anything but take her sweet, sweet punishment. And she’s whispering it in your ear, grinding down, rolling her hips, “Fuck you. Fuck you for keeping this from me,” with every stroke.

She’s doing it on purpose, you’re sure of it. Driving you crazy, making you beg, making you want it more than you’ve ever wanted anything in your life. Your hips jerk up to meet her, trying to speed things up, to get that friction you need, but Natty just pushes down on your shoulders, keeping you in place.

So you tell her, "This is fucking torture."

Natty just smirks, her hips never stilling. "Is it?" she asks, as if this all isn’t intentional. Like she doesn’t have some grand plan to ensure you never forget the things her cunt can do to you. "Do something about it then."

So, you do.

It takes more effort than you’ll ever admit, but you break her grip on your wrists, grab her hips, and flip her over, sending her sprawling onto the bed, face down.

The squeal from her. It’s music.

How her eyes go wide when you treat her like a ragdoll, how her tits juggle and bounce, smacking the mattress. And when you push down into her, slamming your hips into her ass, how she arches back into you, her back bowing like a fucking violin.

“Yes!” She cries, fucking cheers into the mattress, like she’s been waiting for this—for you to have had enough of her shit and take her without asking. “Yes, yes, yes—”

You hover over her, throb inside her. "Is this what you fucking wanted?"

Natty sighs into the bedsheets, urging her hips against you, begging without words, begging for you to do more.

“You want it rough, baby?”

“Yeah,” Natty says, pushing back against you again, nodding immediately. “If you can.”

Still with the provocations, unable to resist pressing at your buttons.

You grab her hair, yank it back so she’s staring at you, force her to look at you. And you fuck her hard. Fuck her like you’ve wanted to since the first time she walked into your life and decided to make it all about her.

You fill her with deep, long strokes, fill the room with the smacks of your hips colliding against her, of your cock thrusting into her cunt again and again.

She claws at the sheets, trying to find purchase, trying to push back against you. But you’re too strong, too desperate.

You pound into her, impale her with your cock, watch her face twist in pleasure, in pain. You’re fucking her like you’re trying to break her, like she asked. Trying to solve her—how hard can she take it, how deep, how fast.

But Natty won’t give you an answer, she just takes it all—every inch, ever pump into her sopping wet cunt. Just grins and takes every bit of your need, your frustration. A bottomless pit of pleasure, begging for more with every whine, every little noise she makes that’s not quite a scream but is so close that it rattles your brain.

And when you finally let go of her hair, Natty’s licking her lips, and without even a care for what it does to you, she coaxes, “You can do better.”

You don’t know how she can talk right now, how she can even think with your cock so deep inside her, but something about the way she says it makes you want to test the limits of her ability to stay coherent.

But first, there’s the problem of her ass.

“Let’s see about that,” you murmur, dragging your hand down her spine, feeling the dip of her waist, the swell of her hips, and coming to a stop at her perfectly rounded ass. It’s a masterpiece, a work of art, and you’ve always had a bit of an artist’s soul.

You do what comes naturally.

A spank against Natty’s ass. Hard, hard enough to make her yelp.

Again—another slap, another yelp, louder, better.

You keep fucking her, keep spanking her, keep watching red bloom across her cheeks and Natty squirm underneath you. The whines get louder, her cunt gets wetter, but it’s still not enough to dull that smug look on her face.

“Fuck yes,” Natty gasps, raises her ass, presenting it to you like a trophy for you to claim. “I always knew you had it in you.”

You grab her hips harder, your knuckles white, your hand a blur as it connects with her ass. It’s so explicit, the sound of it in the quiet of Natty’s apartment—each spank echoing through the room like a gunshot.

But Natty just takes it, her body jolting with each hit, her cunt tensing and tightening around you.

“God, don’t fucking stop,” Natty sputters, tears of pained pleasure leaking from the corners of her eyes. “You’re using me so good.”

You lean down, kissing hard against her neck, branding her shoulder. You want her to feel you, to remember you. To not be able to ever feel remotely good again without first thinking of you.

"It's your fucking fault, Natty," you growl into her ear. "You drive me mad."

And she laughs, the sound vibrating through her body and going straight to your cock. "Good," she answers, "Good. Be mad. Be angry."

But you’re beyond that now, beyond the point of no return. All that you know is Natty’s cunt, Natty’s ass, Natty’s moans, and Natty’s grin that you’re aching to wipe off her face.

"Fucking hate me if you want," she’s saying, and she can’t seem to stop, "just don’t stop fucking—ah!”

You nearly stop when you realise you’ve finally done it. Finally left Natty out of breath, lost for words. A fucking miracle, really—the kind that makes you feel like a fucking god.

It doesn’t stop her cunt clenching around you, tight as a vice, because even now, Natty’s got some kind of death grip pussy, and she’s using it to fucking kill you.

You whisper in her ear, “You like that?”

Her only response is a breathy, needy little whine, so you spank her again.

And again.

Her cunt tightens. She’s close, so close. You can feel it.

“You like it when I use you, Natty?”

She nods, her eyes screwed shut, her mouth crying into the mattress, a mess of hair and sweat and utter bliss.

“Say it,” you demand, slapping her ass once more, watching as the pain ripples through her. “Say it.”

And Natty does, because she’s a good little whore, because she’s yours now. “Yes, yes, I like it when you use me, when you fuck me like this, when it’s only about you, your cock, your needs, your pleasure—”

God, it feels good to hear her say it, but you still want more than just words. You want her to fucking scream it.

You make the bed shake, knock the headboard against her wall, it’s a competition of what’s going to break first—the frame or her.

“This cunt. Your cunt. I’m going to use it. Fuck it whenever I want.”

But Natty catches you off guard, because that’s what Natty does best. She opens her eyes, looks right into yours, and suddenly she has her voice again: “Whenever I want. You’re going to fucking move in with me.”

You freeze. Your hand mid-spank. Your cock mid-thrust. It throws you entirely off, because, what the fuck?

"You're going to be my boyfriend now," Natty says, wrenching back control, fucking her ass back into you. Stating not asking, leaving no room for argument. "Move in with me, your place sucks anyway."

"You're out of your fucking mind," you start to protest, but she cuts you off with another squeeze of her cunt around you, and now she’s the one fucking you, her hips rolling back and forth in this maddening, sinful way that has you biting down on your tongue to keep from shouting.

"Move in and just fuck me every day," she says, all light and airy, like it’s already been decided, like moments ago you didn’t have her dead to rights. "Morning to night. It would be so fucking nice."

This is real, you know that for sure. It’s not just something she’s saying to get off, not another way to get under your skin. You know it in her voice, she’s deadly serious and suddenly your mind’s racing.

"Come on," Natty purrs, punctuating each word with a slap of her ass against your waist, "You know you want it, why fucking wait?"

She’s not wrong. It makes too much fucking sense to deny. And yet, part of you still can't believe it. That Natty, the girl who's had countless men at her feet, could have any man at her feet, actually wants you. That Natty is underneath you now, eyes glossed over with need, mouth swollen from your kisses, ass cheeks flushed crimson from your palm.

"I'll take such good care of you, baby," she says, unaware that she’s already completely won, unaware that her cunt already has you bending to her will. "Every day, every night.”

You can't help but nod. You're too consumed in her to do anything else. You just let go of everything. The fears, the doubt, the fucking logic.

And Natty says it, the three words that seal your fate—"I'll love you," she cries out, "I'll fucking love you forever if you just keep giving me this fucking cock."

It's like the world stops, like everything you've ever wanted is right there in front of you, wrapped up in Natty's tight fucking body.

You're so close, so fucking close, that you can almost taste it—the sweet release of your orgasm; giving in to Natty’s unbelievably sensational cunt sleeving your cock, pulsing with each thrust, desperate to milk you dry.

There’s nothing left to do but give Natty wants. Fuck her, hammer into her so hard that you’re going to fuck a Natty-shaped hole into the mattress, fucking shatter her bedframe, and then keep drilling her straight through the floor.

And she’s crying out your name, forgetting about everything that isn’t you, isn’t your cock, isn’t the dream of your cum filling her to the brim and spilling out of her cunt every single day for the rest of your fucking lives.

“Are you close, baby? Are you going to cum for me? Please, give it to me, I need it so bad, I need it now, because I'm about to, about to, about to—"

And then it happens.

Fucking destroys her.

It hits. A crescendo that peaks as you bottom out inside her, shaking her to the core. Her cunt spasms about you, her body rises off the bed as if you’re performing a fucking exorcism, and she screams your name so loud it’s only a matter of time before the neighbours come banging on her door.

"Oh my fucking god you—"

Natty gushes around your cock, juices running down your shaft, your balls, and she’s squirting. Oh god, she’s squirting all over the fucking place.

Natty’s body goes rigid, her back arching so much it’s like she’s trying to fold in half, crying, sputtering these words that don't even make sense—until you realise she's speaking an entirely different fucking language.

Not that it matters, because you can tell what she's saying, read it in her body, in the way she's spurting and making a big fucking mess beneath your bodies. Whatever she’s saying sounds utterly depraved, filthy and so, so good to your ears.

It keeps going and going, until she has enough sense to speak your language again, needing to make sure you hear it when she says—"fucking fill me, baby," she whimpers. "Give me everything, all your fucking cum."

And it’s your turn to be hit—like a fucking freight train.

You're cumming, hard and fast and out of fucking nowhere. Your balls tighten, your cock throbs, and you’re flooding Natty’s cunt.

It’s biological, in every cell of your body—like your entire being is coming undone, and the only thing holding you together is Natty, Natty, Natty.

Her body shaking beneath you, her cunt contracting around your cock as wave after wave of cum fills her up.

She’s so fucking tight, so fucking perfect, that you can feel every pulse of your orgasm, every drop of your cum spurting into her. You're not sure how long it lasts, how much you give her, but it’s enough to make your muscles shake, enough to knock the architecture right out of your limbs.

"So fucking good, so fucking good," Natty coos. "Fucking finally, finally filling me up so good."

Her moans a lullaby, sending shockwaves of pleasure through your body with every syllable. You lean down, burying your face in the crook of her neck, your every inhale and exhale ragged as you try to catch your breath. Still twitching inside her, still releasing the last of your cum, and Natty’s just lying there, her body limp, her eyes closed, basking in it all.

"So perfect," she keeps repeating, right up until the very end, “So, so, perfect.”

You collapse on top of her, just lie there shivering together, your face next to hers. She’s got this look on her face, a victorious glow, and you just have to accept it. Yeah, she’s won again, in devastatingly convincing fashion.

For a second, you’re both just that—spent, exhausted, entirely drained. Like you’ve just run a marathon. Or been in a fight. Or both.

Then Natty’s got the nerve to stir, to kiss your cheek with the tenderness of a whisper. Lips softer than you thought possible, given how hard she’s just been fucking you. And that’s it, the moment your body decides it’s had enough of playing dead, enough of lying there like a sack of potatoes.

You roll over, bringing Natty with you, her body curling into yours like she’s been made to fit there. Her head rests on your chest, her legs entwined with yours, and for a moment, you just hold her close.

It feels fucking right.

"Tomorrow," Natty sighs contentedly, her cheek finding home atop your heartbeat.

You blink. "Tomorrow?"

"Yeah, you're moving in tomorrow." Natty’s deciding for you already, setting the dynamic for the rest of your future. Doing all this with her eyes still shut as she snuggles closer to you. "I'll hire the movers."

You sigh, the weight of the world and Natty's body both feeling surprisingly light. You think about the next few days, the weeks, the years even, with Natty. The idea is so ludicrous, so absurd, that it feels like a fever dream.

But as you hold her, feel her warmth, her unabashed, blatant satisfaction, something inside you shifts. A reframing of the concept of Natty that you hold in your head. The thought of her naked body in your bed, her laughter in your living room, her mess in your kitchen—it doesn’t feel like an intrusion, it feels like home.

"Are you sure?" you ask. A little shaky, a little hopeful.

Natty opens one eye to look at you, a laugh playing on her lips. "Oh, you know I'm going to be the worst fucking roommate ever."

"Yeah, I can see that. But as long as you keep being the best fucking everything else..." Your words trail off into a whisper, your hand tracing idle patterns on her back.

And then she says it again.

"You’re so fucking in love with me."

Natty kisses you hard, deep, her tongue sliding against yours. And you know, you fucking know, that she's right. You are desperately, entirely, so fucking in love with her, and you wouldn't have it any other way.

You laugh, the sound a little desperate, a little wild, and roll her again, pin her down again. A strange feeling rushes through your mind. Like you’re going to be repeating this exact same motion for the next hundred years. And somehow, that doesn’t sound like the worst thought in the world.

Natty squeals, cheers, moans when you settle between her legs.

"Fuck you, Natty."

"Oh, baby," Natty giggles, reaching down between your legs, squeezing you. Once. Twice. Until you're filling her hand once more. "That's what I'm here for."

[gatheringbones]

[“It was only after I came out as a dyke that, for the first time in my life, I felt ready to celebrate being a girl, and I did. Actually, I overdid. Armed with Esther Newton’s Mother Camp, Judith Butler’s Gender Trouble, and Joan Nestle’s A Restricted Country, I embraced femme. I dressed up in short flowery dresses, pushup bras, satin panties, and lacy stockings. I paid great attention to my long, curly, perfectly-coiffed hair, my glamorous makeup, and especially my pouty lips. I spritzed Lola’s smell on my skin—Estee Lauder’s Private Collection—and painted my nails. I wore all of it with black combat boots and a brilliant sense of irony. I reveled in my girliness, went over the top, learned how to tweeze my eyebrows and line my lips with a lip pencil.

My gender presentation was unmistakable: blatant female sexuality. I was a proud, in-your-face, take-no-prisoners, uppity, don’t-assume-I’m-straight-because-I-wear-lipstick-and-dresses femme dyke. Because femmes are always assumed to be straight or sleeping with men, and I do sleep with men, I made sure to always have a butch on my arm so I’d be read as femme. Even though I was sure I’d be mistaken for straight, the boys took one look at me and steered clear. It was as if I was too much of a woman for them to handle, like I was a handful, and I was. But butch girls love a handful—a handful of tits, a handful of ass, a girl who needs to be handled, a girl who can handle herself.

How I figured out I was a femme had a lot to do with the women I was attracted to and the dynamic between us. When I was in junior high, I used to mess around with a friend of mine named Angela. Angela was one of those girls who developed early; I remember she had big breasts in like sixth grade. We mostly kissed and touched over clothes, and we played out various boy-girl scenarios. I was always the girl—my early femme roots. My favorite of all our little scenes was the one where she was my male boss and I was the secretary. The boss made me have sex with him and told me if I didn’t I would get fired. Now this was all before Clarence Thomas, Anita Hill and the media awareness/obsession with sexual harassment. I remember she’d tell me to suck her dick and push my face unmercifully into her crotch, which smelled amazing,. The drama of it all—the force, the degradation, the power games—really got me off. After that, there was no going back to simplicity. I was hooked on the power.

Jen really epitomized all the girls I was attracted to then and still am. Being with a butch girl, I was valued for my combination of strength and vulnerability, for dressing up, for wanting an arm to hold onto, hips to wrap my legs around, being able to give my body over to her and say, I trust you, I’m yours. My butch loved me in low-cut dresses, appreciated my sexual voraciousness, worshipped my inner slut. I reveled in the fact that I could be strong and submissive all at once. Surrender and still be a feminist. Being a dyke is not just about who I fuck and love, it’s about being a girl who doesn’t play by the rules.

Butch girls don’t play by the rules either, and I love butch girls. Girls with hair so short you can barely slide it between two fingers to hold on. Girls with slick, shiny, barbershop haircuts and shirts that button the other way. Girls that swagger. Girls who have dicks made of flesh and silicone and latex and magic. Girls who get stared at in the ladies room, girls who shop in the boy’s department, girls who live every moment looking like they weren’t supposed to. Girls with hands that touch me like they have been touching my body their entire lives. Girls who have big cocks, love blow-jobs, and like to fuck girls hard. Every day, it is the girls that get called Sir that make me catch my breath, the girls with strong jaws that buckle my knees, the girls who are a different gender that make me want to lie down for them.

Someone else said it about me recently and it’s right on target: “She gets off on all different sorts of people sexually, but she falls for butches.” Like the poet who bought her first strap-on with me and then wanted to sleep with it on. The shrink-in-training who got harassed every time she drove down South. She did look so much like a fifteen-year-old boy: blue button-down shirts, neatly-combed blond hair. The ad exec who had names for her dildos and used to love for me to spit-shine her wingtips. The photographer whose face was so mannish she could pass almost anywhere. The writer who wanted a body like Loren Cameron’s. The telephone repairwoman who drove a truck. The cook who had a boy’s name. The academic who got cruised by gay men on Castro Street. The cornfed farmboy from the Heartland with arms so hard and strong you swear they’ve been working the land, not the iron at the gym.

And there’s the one who’s got the James Dean stare down, and dresses like a clean-cut fag, and looks at me like she could look at me forever and never blink or grow tired or move from the spot she’s in. She’s a girl who loves girls like me—girls in velvet bras, girls who want to surrender to her mouth. She’s a girl who isn’t afraid to throw a femme down on the bed and fuck her. Possess her. My kind of girl. This girl is different.”]

tristan taormino, from this girl is different, from a woman like that: lesbian and bisexual writers tell their coming out stories, 2000

[sanaexus]

social's as shidou's girlfriend

-liked by itoshi_sae, isaichii and 145.7k others

yourusername: i feel bad for rin this mf don't even go easy on his on girl

tagged: shiidoryu

shiidoryu: they say all is fair in war and love ↳itoshi_sae: it's love and war fucking idiot ↳shiidoryu: you love me 🥺👉👈 ↳yourusername: mate IN MY FUCKING COMMENTS? ↳shiidoryu: you're saving as if i don't eat that pussy every night ↳yourusername: blocked. reported. I FUCKING HATE YOU??? ↳chigi.who: woah guys maybe like don't do that here??

nikkoki: why the last image. ↳yourusername: why not 🙁 ↳megubachi: for gits and shiggles 🥰 ↳rin.itoshi: that's not the fucking quote?? ↳megubachi: and you're not the best striker so stafu ↳rin.itoshi: TAJTS SO UNNNESCARY?? ↳isaichii: look at rin finally genz-ing w the spelling errors and capital letters ↳hiyori: feels like yesterday he was js a little baby ↳megubachi: they grow up too fast ↳rin.itoshi: you guys are my 13th reason.

shiidoryu: si 💔you💔won't💔mention💔the💔part💔where💔i💔 bought💔you💔icecream💔and 💔then💔talked💔sjit💔ab 💔your💔ex💔 ↳yourusername: and you're not gonna mention the part where we had the bet who could swing the fastest and i won bc you fell on your butt and felt like you were ab to throw up so you HAD to get me icecream? ↳shiidoryu: #donttakltomeiamdespressed #betryaedbymyowngf #emo ↳karasu_tabito: HE FELL ON HIS ASS? DO YOU HAVE THE RECORDING I'LL PAY FOR IT ↳yourusername: bet how much we talking? ↳karasu_tabito: enough to buy another shidou prolly ↳yourusername: check your dms ↳eita.otoya: are we buying people from the black market ↳kenyu.yukimiya: no we are not the fuck?

-liked by kuniisuke, megubachi and 159.4k others

shiidoryu: i actually do love my girl and i don't always act gay

tagged: yourusername

julian.loki: "i actually do love my girl" proceeds to try to throw her into a garbage can ↳mikka.kaiser: fucking dustbin you mean? ↳hiyori: OH MY GOD U REMIND ME AB LINDASY FROM MY 4TH GRADE CLASS WHO USED TO NITPICK ON EVERYONE FOR THERE ENGLISH ↳mikka.kaiser: their* ↳isaichii: stfu it's called a trashcan ↳kuniisuke: i think we're straying off topic BC THAT'S A WHOLE AHH HUMAN THAT'S GOING TO BE PUT ON A FUCKING DUSTBIN ↳mikka.kaiser: in* ↳oliver.aikyu: i swear to fucking god i will ↳alexis.ness: nuh uh ↳yourusername: MAN KUNIGAMI AND OLIVER THE ONLY REAL ONES FR ↳oliver.aiku: we gotchu girl ↳kuniisuke: second that except in a less gay manner ↳julian.loki: SHE'S BEING PUT IN TRASH. ↳rin.itoshi: she's fine. shidou has that trash tan all the time ↳megubachi: i think she's okay considering how ego roams around with that garbage ahh haircut ↳isaichii: that trash can't be worse than igaguri's football skills, she's fine ↳mikka.kaiser: YOU SAID FOOTBALL THANK FUCKING YOU ↳shiidoryu: you're fucking him?

user1: ignoring the second picture the one is actually so cute like 🌷🧚‍♀️💅🎀💕✨‼💯 ↳yourusername: lyt cutie ↳shiidoryu: YOU NEVER EVEN CALL ME CUTE? ↳yourusername: go stare at sae's ass or something ↳itoshi_sae: no don't do that don't stare at my ass ↳yourusername: jokes aside he was actually nice to me in that picture (he didn't try throwing me off) ↳user2: something in that sentence makes me think she got thrown off a swing far too many times ↳shiidoryu: in my defense she keeps putting tomatoes in my sandwhich ↳yourusername: you look like one don't blame me

karasu_tabito: did he fall on his butt this time? ↳yourusername: he was careful bc i was sitting on his lap ↳eita.otoya: shidou in his softie green flag era? ↳yourusername: what if he's actually doing this to gain my trust and like gives me off to some kidnapper ↳nikkoki: bffr rn he would probably BE the kidnapper ↳shiidoryu: yeah what if I AM the kidnapper

-liked by chigi.who, hiyori and 198.5k others

yourusername: he isn't always an asshole <3

tagged: shiidoryu

chigi.who: the last picture?? ↳yourusername: my life goals right there ↳yourusername: shidou that better be us when we grow up ↳shiidoryu: that already IS us ↳yourusername: are you called me a 73.8 year old grandma? ↳shiidoryu: IN MY DEFENSE IM CALLING MY SELF A GRANDPA TOO

aryu.jubei: your hair is very ✨glam✨drop the hair care routine (did he try to yank your hair?) ↳yourusername: check dms ↳yourusername: SURPRISNGLY NO?? HE WAS ACTUALLY REALLY NICE TODAY?? ↳shiidoryu: i'm always nice baby ↳yourusername: yeah to your side chicks ↳shiidoryu: YOU are the side chick, sae is ml ↳yourusername: oh fuck you what does that man have other than thick thighs, a thick ass and an ass attitude ↳itoshi_sae: what do i not have ↳yourusername: proper relationship with your family ↳itoshi_sae: fuck off

shiidoryu: you look pretty ↳yourusername: ily im gonna go cry ↳shiidoryu: DON'T CRY WHY ARE YOU CRYING NOW I COMPLIMENTED YOU ↳yourusername: THAT'S THE THING YOI COMPLIMENTED ME ↳shiidoryu: wajt

user3: she looks so pretty and happy in the second pic. shidou you better watch out, i'm in your walls ↳shiidoryu: my walls are nasty, what if my dead hamsters are there ↳yourusername: MY TEIGO. I BOUGHT IT TO YOUR HOUSE AND IT JS DESPAWNED ↳shiidoryu: I'M SORRY

user4: when a zesty ass loving thigh loving (man loving) tomato looking demon who kicks balls around and pick fight w emo boys can pull ↳yourusername: my dms are open for u ↳shiidoryu: no they're not ↳oliver.aiku: how much we betting that he's gonna go make 15 accounts to spam y/n dms ↳isaichii: betting a whole ahh bachira ↳megubachi: WHY ARE U BETTING ME OFF??? ↳chigi.who: betting my other acl ↳kuniisuke: HELP WHAT?? ↳kenyu.yukimiya: betting my already shit vision ↳nagi.seishiro: my gaming console ↳reo.miikage: my entire networth ↳itoshi_sae: my abibas sponsorship ↳user5: ABIBAS 🔥🔥💯💯🔛🔝🗣🗣 ↳rin.itoshi: betting off my brother ↳itoshi_sae: what

welllll that took a lot longer than it should have buttt here you go shidou simps i had fun writing this ig sorta maybe kinda idk

[bengals-barnesbabe]

Picture Day

Tee Higgins x Chase!Reader

Desc: You start getting antsy 5 weeks postpartum and find something to do with your hands.

TW: nothing too bad, mostly fluff.

Princess Ti | Main Masterlist

WC: about 1k

＊✿❀ *. ꕥ * · ❀✿＊

The buzz from your clippers fed your creative soul. You had only come in the salon to reminisce and take some time to yourself while your baby girl naps. You couldn't help but miss the chatter of clientele and the smell of coconut oil usually in the air. The pristine white counters in front of each station were completely bare, only each counter’s handheld hair dryer sticking out of the black cubbies.

Sitting in front of the first station, you think back to when your husband asked you what you really wanted in your home. It was a ballsy ask, in your opinion; you weren’t even sure what he meant by it. But he said you could turn the basement into whatever you wanted. It baffled you because you thought he’d want a man cave to escape the realities of marriage. That’s what your dad did, so you thought it was normal to think so.

So you tossed around the idea of taking on more personal and private clients in a home suite. A month later, he pleasantly surprised you with a fully furnished and functional home salon. It resembled a mini version of your main salon in the city. There is nothing that man wouldn't do for you.

After giving birth, Tee kicked into full dad mode. When he said your only job once Tiana was born was to just take care of her, he did not go back on his word. He's been an absolutely phenomenal father and partner, always taking her when you need a break, making sure you eat and stay hydrated, and even getting up during the night to calm her down. Him and your brother are literally upstairs putting together a new nursery glider so your morning feedings can be cozier.

Maybe that's why you're so antsy. You were so used to always caring for others; now that someone is holding you down the same way, you don't know what to do with yourself. You don't even cook anymore. Your mom has been handling all the meals so you can take time and heal. Everything they were doing was amazing, and you deeply appreciated it, but damn, you were bored.

The sound of your phone buzzing made your train of thought drown.

Bigheaded Dumbass🐧

we're done with yo fancy ass chair, come see it while Titi still sleep

sent at 2:23 pm

You thought about going back upstairs for a minute, but a different idea caught your attention.

To: Bigheaded Dumbass🐧

I have a better idea, you bring your wack ass fade to the basement and come sit in my chair😌

read at 2:27 pm

Bigheaded Dumbass🐧

arent you supposed to be resting, imma tell momma👎🏾

To: Bigheaded Dumbass🐧

Im offering you a free haircut and you wanna go rat me out😑 don't you have team pictures in a few days👀

Bigheaded Dumbass🐧

fine im coming, but when momma finds out I'm blaming you

To: Bigheaded Dumbass🐧

yea right, just come down here. AND DONT TELL TEE!

Bigheaded Dumbass🐧

yea... a little late for that one😬

read at 2:33 pm

Great, just when you thought you'd be able to do your own thing, your little brother goes and fucks it up before it happens.

Oh well, you shrugged and walked over to the back of the salon for your supplies to set up for Ja'Marr's haircut. You grabbed an apron for you and a barber cape for him (even though you should let him be itchy for threatening to snitch), your black pro clippers, a razor, a number 1 and 2 comb, some holding spray, and a brush. Then, set up your chair.

Minutes later, you were all ready, and your client walked in with your husband.

"Y/n, what are you doing?" He asked with an amused smirk on his face.

"I'm giving my brother the haircut he so desperately needs." You smile back, patting the back of the chair for J to sit down.

"You're supposed to be resting." He crosses his arms as you drape the cape over your brother.

Smirking, you untie your apron and walk up to your husband with your hands on your hips. "Look at me, babe." You slowly spin around to give him an eyeful of your postpartum baby body.

"I see you, mamas. Trust me, I see you." The very nice thing about everyone making sure you take care of yourself these last few weeks has been your ability to prioritize your "snap back." You weren't working out to get to a certain shape. You were just prioritizing strengthening your core, which meant some belly binding, light ab exercises, and self-care. You were nowhere near your pre-baby weight, but you liked the extra curves, and someone else did too.

"You can't just expect me to just sit down and wait for Tiana to wake up. I gotta keep my body active, practice my trade."

He knew you were saying words, but ever since that apron came off, his mind was somewhere else. "Oh, I know how you can get active."

"Alright, y'all just nasty. Am I getting my hair done or what?" Ja'Marr groans from behind you.

"Yea Tee, you gon' let me work or what?" You say, biting your lip.

He takes a deep breath and shakes his head. "Fine," he says, pulling a waiting chair over to the corner of your area. The 6-week rule playing over and over in his mind.

"Good, now let's get to work. Don't worry babe, you're next." You chirp, picking up the brush to begin the haircut.

But Ja'Marr jerks his head away. "Ay, Y/n don't go too rough now."

You can't help but snort. "Yes, yes, I know. You too tenderheaded for my skills."

⋆.ೃ࿔*:･

~ a/n: yall see what I did there ;) last addition to the au for a while. time to go work on some other fics ♡

[spatialwave]

V's All That

Chapter 2 || The Invite

➥ Summary: Jayce Talis, the school's golden boy and a guaranteed pick for Prom King, seems to have it all—looks, charm, and popularity. However, when Kino presents him with the opportunity to win back Mel, his ex-girlfriend and the one who got away, Jayce jumps at the chance. The challenge? To transform Viktor, a snarky outcast who is as far from popular as possible, into Prom King instead. Jayce takes the bait, but he may have taken on more than he can handle. ➥ Word Count: 3.8k ➥ Pairing: Jayce Talis x Viktor || Arcane

🧡 beta'd by @spxllcxstxr 🩷 art by @wapimostosis 🧡 available on ao3

<- part 1. | part 3. ->

“You need to stop showing up uninvited,” Caitlyn’s voice rang clearly in her bedroom, sharp blue eyes analyzing the dozens of homework pages on her perfectly tidied desk. Her hair was tied back into a tight pony, a sign of concentration from the girl who’d spent much of her time reaching academic heights. Ready to tackle her upcoming senior year.

Jayce was sprawled out on the floor next to her bed, his back against the hard, wooden surface, his hazel eyes staring up at the stark white ceiling. He was lost in his thoughts, the day replaying through his head over and over again as he refused to answer Caitlyn.

His thoughts were rudely interrupted by a pink-haired girl who stepped over him and stared down with a playful expression of faux sympathy. 

“I think he’s broken, Cupcake,” Vi murmured, cocking her head to the side and holding the football between her fingers just above Jayce’s face. She had it briefly before dropping it, letting the ball fall from her fingers.

He reacted almost instantaneously, swatting it away as it plummeted to his face, eyes narrowing at her in disbelief.

“What are you even doing here?” He grumbled, a frown creasing his forehead.

“Leave my girlfriend alone,” Caitlyn sighed in exasperation, spinning on her rolling chair to face them, her expression offering clear signs of annoyance. Not only was there a mountain of notes to be studied before the end of the day, but having Jayce and Vi around always led to unnecessary distractions. At least it was nice to know they got long—for the most part. “You didn’t come here to sulk, so spit it out. What did Mel do?”

Vi snickered under her breath, stepping over Jayce and collapsing onto Caitlyn’s bed, head hanging off the edge and powder blue eyes fixating on the boy on the floor. Reeking of sadness and desperation.

“Mel didn’t do anything,” Jayce lamented, dragging his hands over his face. Caitlyn cringed at his dramatics. I miss her, but that’s not the problem… God, I really miss her.”

“I can’t believe she dumped your ass. You really fucked that up,” Vi howled out a laugh, the sound vibrant, but was quickly shut up by a warning glare from Caitlyn.

“You’re so funny, Vi. It’s actually incredible. You should consider a career in comedy with all the jokes you have under your belt.” Jayce spat, though there was no real anger behind his words. Slowly, he sat up so he could instead hang his head between his bent knees. It was a pathetic sight that left both girls staring, knowing they had to at least try to mend the poor guy’s obvious broken heart.

Vi let out a quiet grumble, annoyed that she was dragged into the mess Jayce had served them on a silver platter. Since Mel broke up with him a couple of weeks prior, she’d been finding it difficult to find alone time with her girlfriend, but it was hard to blame the poor guy.

Heartbreak was tough, she knew that after a few rough patches with Caitlyn during their past year together. She shed plenty of tears, gave herself a butchered haircut that had just grown out, and spent one too many nights being consoled by Powder while they watched ‘80s romcoms and ate their weight in ice cream and junk food.

Caitlyn, now completely turned around in her seat and staring at Jayce, let out a sigh as she let her stress of the day release so she could focus her remaining energy on him. “What’s the problem?”

Jayce didn’t respond, sulking, his head still hanging pathetically between his knees. There was no response for a moment, silence filling the air until he asked in a quiet voice, “Is it hard to be my friend?”

Caitlyn and Vi exchanged confused glances, unsure of what Jayce was about to spring on them.

“A little–”

“No,” Cait interjected, lifting a finger at Vi and stopping her mid-sentence without even looking in her direction. She focused her attention entirely on Jayce, someone she considered a big brother after years and years of being stuck together at the hip. She knew him better than anyone; despite his flair for the dramatic and occasional immaturity, he had a big heart. For him to feel this way made it hard for her not to sympathize. “Why do you ask? I find it hard to believe someone wouldn’t want to be your friend.”

Sadly, he peered up, eyes shifting between the two girls. “You have no idea, Sprout.”

“Seriously? Mr. Golden Boy is having a hard time making friends. I call bullshit,” Vi said, rolling over so her chin rested on her crossed arms as she stared at Jayce. As a girl from the ‘wrong side of the tracks’ it was hard to feel for the guy who had everything handed to him. 

If Viktor was anything like her, he would be rather bitter about some of the school's wealthier and more popular kids. He wanted nothing to do with Jayce. 

“Again, why are you here?” Jayce snapped, glaring daggers at Vi.

“Oh my god, this conversation is going in circles. Jayce,” Caitlyn clapped her hands together, grabbing his attention and forcing him to look in her direction, “What’s going on? You have to be transparent, or we can’t help you.”

Jayce scrunched his nose, his mind reeling at how to explain the situation, fearing judgment from them. They didn’t have to know about the bet, did they? Was it really that important of a detail to disclose?

Shifting to face them both while still sitting on the floor, he groaned and shook his head, “It’s Viktor.”

Both girls stared at him with puzzled expressions, the name ringing a bell in one of them.

“I don’t—”

“Viktor? Really? That dude Powder hangs out with?” Vi spoke up, raising an eyebrow.

Jayce’s eyes shot towards Vi again, “You know him?”

With a shake of her head, Vi replied, “Hardly. I know they get together to play that weird board game in our basement once a week. The one where it’s like—” She snapped her fingers a few times, trying to recall the information, “They fight dragons and roleplay. Real nerd shit. Mylo and Claggor join in sometimes.”

“Dungeons and Dragons?” Jayce clarified.

The pink-haired girl briefly narrowed her eyes at Jayce, a small smirk forming on her lips, “Didn’t peg you as the kind of guy to play that sorta’ thing.”

“I don’t play,” he scoffed, cheeks warm from embarrassment with a pink colour dusting over his tanned skin.

“Jayce, don’t get me wrong,” Caitlyn chimed in, “but why on earth are you trying to befriend him? He’s not really…”

“His kind of friend. I’m calling more bullshit.” Vi murmured.

“Christ, fine. Let me explain before you jump to any conclusions,” Jayce explained, hands moving with his words. “He’s in my chemistry class, and I tried to ask him for some help today, and he brushed me off like I was nothing more than shit on his shoe. I don’t get it! What’s so bad about helping someone out with some homework? What have I ever done to him?”

Vi raised an eyebrow, “Yeah, but what have you done for him? He’s not entitled to help you for no reason.”

“Don’t you have a 3.9 GPA, Jayce? Why are you even asking for help?” Caitlyn added, trying to wrap her head around the situation. 

“That doesn’t matter,” Jayce brushed her off, running his hands through his perfectly styled hair as frustration consumed him once more. “I never ask for help. Can you just tell me how to get him to help me without judging me?”

Vi stared at the poor guy, huffing a quiet sigh as she sat on the bed, legs dangling off the side. While he buried his face in his hands again, she glanced at Caitlyn. She offered a sympathetic shrug, and Cait nodded, slowly slinking away from her chair until she was on the floor in front of Jayce.

Her delicate hands extended out, fingers with neatly manicured nails wrapped around his wrists as she pulled his hands away from his face.

Jayce was forced to look into her eyes, cheeks flaring bright with embarrassment. He wasn’t keen on asking for help, his pride often getting in the way, especially from someone he considered his younger sister. He was supposed to be the role model here!

“Can I give you some advice?” She asked gently, pulling her hands away to rest in her lap.

“Yeah. I could use anything at this point.” Jayce mumbled, at a loss for motivation as his eyes dropped to his hands that fidgeted together.

Caitlyn took a few short moments to consider her wording carefully. She had never taken advice-giving so lightly, especially with a passionate man like Jayce, who could take things personally. He was rather impressionable.

“I don’t know what you’re trying to get out of this, Jayce, and it’s not my place to ask if you don’t want to share, but you could try to put at least some effort into this. Vi’s right, there’s no reason for Viktor to help someone who… well, someone who doesn’t give him the time of day otherwise.” Her voice was gentle, but the words still cut deep for Jayce. A realization he needed but hadn’t been prepared for, shattering the assumptions he carried.

“Goddamnit,” he groaned, trying to fight the small smile growing on his lips despite his frustrations, “I hate that you’re always right.”

“Me too, man,” Vi said from her spot, raising her hands defensively when Caitlyn snapped her gaze to her, “Don’t look at me like that, babe. He said it first!”

Jayce let out a genuine laugh as he watched the two bicker, a rhythm in their relationship that he sorely missed in his own life. Mel was back on his mind again, and she hadn’t really left, had she? Yet, while he lay in bed later that night, he found someone else taking over his thoughts as he tried to sleep: Viktor.

The conversation from earlier that afternoon replayed in his mind like a broken record, the sound of Viktor’s annoyed voice clear as day: “I don’t want to help you.” 

It made him cringe, his stomach churning and twisting as he imagined trying to talk to him again the next day, wondering how he would move past his poor attempt at conversation. He hated how invested he had become in this bet and how he had lied to Caitlyn about the actualities of this, hopefully, soon-to-be-friendship. He never lied to her.

To make matters worse, she was right; Jayce had absolutely no justification to ask for help from Viktor. He was already accepted into several prestigious colleges and was the fourth highest in their graduating class for grades. Where was Viktor on that list? Would Jayce even learn anything from him?

It was easy to fall into the repetition of insecure thoughts, a pattern of negative thinking he thought he had left behind long ago.

Groaning, Jayce rolled over to reach toward his nightstand, his fingers fumbling until they grasped at his portable disk walkman. In the dark, he pressed the play button, wrapping headphones over his ears as the foam earpieces blocked out the distant sounds of cars driving through the suburbs. 

Instead, the familiar sounds of Simple Plan filled his mind and allowed him to drift off to a deep sleep—disturbed only by the loud blaring of his alarm clock at six a.m.

-

“Well, isn’t it the Prince of Piltover,” Kino’s voice rumbled loudly, catching Jayce’s attention as he walked through the halls confidently. There were only a few minutes left of their lunch break, and he’d been trying to figure out where Viktor would be lingering—no time like the present to attempt a second introduction. It was now or never.

The last person he wanted to see was Kino.

“Hey, man,” Jayce said, watching as his friend caught up to his pace, the crowds of students splitting open as they walked through like royalty. Girls gawking at them unashamed, and young freshman boys taking mental notes of how to be like them one day.

“You been avoiding me?” Kino asked teasingly, smirking as he nudged Jayce’s side with a sharp elbow.

“That obvious?” He teased in return, flashing a smile at the other as they turned the corner. It seemed that God worked in mysterious ways, and those ways were handing Viktor to Jayce at the worst possible times.

“Oh, shit,” Kino snickered, stopping in his footsteps in tandem with Jayce. His eyes focused on his friend, noting the nervous expression that flitted across his features, “You still haven’t talked to him since yesterday, huh? Dude, at this rate, it’s going to be prom night before he even says hi back to you.”

“Shut up, Kino,” Jayce hissed, brushing him off with a dismissive wave of his hand, “Can you just… fuck off for a second?”

Kino snorted a forced laugh, covering up the anger that swirled within him, “Yeah, whatever, man. Good luck.”

Jayce hadn’t paid any attention to Kino after that; instead, he paused in the hallway and stared at Viktor like a deer in headlights—unable to draw his gaze away, even if he wanted to. He watched as the tired-looking student stood at his locker, his cane put aside momentarily as he rummaged through his belongings and switched textbooks for afternoon classes.

When Viktor finally closed his locker with a sharp move, he nearly let out a yelp at the figure standing right next to him—wearing a toothy grin and leaning against the lockers much too casually for someone who had pissed him off the day before.

Viktor’s jaw clenched involuntarily, and he reached for his cane, his thin fingers wrapping around the wooden handle as he stared at Jayce with an uninterested and annoyed glare. “Haven’t I already told you no? Is that not an answer you like?”

Yikes. That was harsh.

Jayce let out a nervous chuckle, keeping himself calm and collected at the onslaught of Viktor’s obvious disdain for his presence. “I’m sorry. Yesterday, I came off a little strong, I realize that now.”

Viktor eased for a moment, hating the way Jayce’s laugh made his stomach flutter, shoving that feeling far, far down before it affected him any further. He couldn’t lie; an apology was a nice gesture, but it was far from enough to change his mind.

“The answer is still no,” he grumbled, a single hand tightening the lock of his locker, preparing to leave Jayce behind like he had yesterday.

“That’s fine, I totally get it,” Jayce replied coolly, but his heart was beating hard, and his hands were getting sweaty again. Trying desperately to figure out where he could pivot this conversation, “Is there any way I can make it up to you?”

There it was—a gesture that worked wonders on Mel anytime they argued. It usually resulted in a bouquet of flowers and a night together, but he was certain that this bait for Viktor would go a very different route.

Viktor’s eyes narrowed slightly, golden hues sparkling in curiosity. He ignored the looks of passing students, the chatter of them whispering the same thing to each other again and again: ‘Why was Viktor suddenly so interesting?’

Jayce mastered the art of ignoring everyone around him, but it was for good reasons. His ego clearly loved the attention but knew how to give someone his full attention when needed. He wasn’t a total asshole.

“Anything at all?” He urged, that stupid smile on his lips making Viktor want to say yes, but he’d be damned if he’d let himself get caught up in whatever Jayce was aiming for. Jayce may not have paid attention to him, but Viktor had a knack for observing the world around him and would not admit the number of times he’d stared at the Golden Boy himself from a careful distance—usually from the back of the class.

He noted how academics came so easily to Jayce, how he would silently cheer to himself whenever he got an A-plus, or how he looked defeated whenever his performance was less than perfection. 

“Jayce,” Viktor sighed, and oh, he hated how much he enjoyed the way his name rolled off of his tongue, “I really don’t think—”

“Viktor—oh! Hi, Jayce.”

Two sets of eyes looked to Viktor's other side as another student approached them, the same girl with rounded glasses that Jayce hadn’t been able to name. Once more, his mind was filled with a flurry of names, none of them fitting.

“Hi, uh…” Jayce cringed, desperately searching for her name, but it never came.

“Sky,” Viktor stated bluntly, his interest in Jayce disappearing, “Her name is Sky. She is in the three classes we have together.”

For a brief moment, Jayce’s eyes widened in surprise. Viktor had paid enough attention to him to know they had classes together. He wasn’t sure why that made his heart skip a beat.

“It’s fine,” she laughed, shaking her head at Viktor’s bluntness and trying to relieve the obvious guilt rising from Jayce.

“I’m sorry,” the taller student said, a lowly but sincere apology. “Sky. I’ll remember that.”

She beamed, smiling cheerfully from ear to ear at just being able to talk to Jayce. Unfortunately for Viktor, Sky was not immune to the charisma that oozed from the class president.

Viktor looked at Jayce, one of reemerging annoyance, “We have to go.”

“But—” Jayce protested, desperation in his voice, “You didn’t answer my question. Is there, uh…” he stammered, finding it harder to ask with a third-party listening in, “anything I can do to make up for my total shitshow of a favour yesterday? Seriously, I feel like an ass asking a lot from you on a whim.”

Sky perked up, smiling at how she noticed Viktor was ready to pounce if Jayce dared to overstay his welcome. It was one of her favourite qualities of him, the ability to so easily speak his mind and stand up for himself, but she interrupted before he could even utter a word.

She could be selfish for once, couldn’t she?

“You could fill in for our game tonight!” Sky’s voice was full of enthusiasm, excitement palpable.

“Sky.” Viktor snapped at her.

“What? He’s offering a favour,” Sky replied, pushing up her glasses that had slipped down her nose, “Both Mylo and Claggor can’t make it tonight; Powder just told me. It’s going to be a difficult session… we could use the help.” 

She was received by silence as Viktor stared ahead at his locker, begging for this to end and hoping that both of them would get the hint and leave him alone. Sky didn’t let up, though. Neither did Jayce, whose eyes flickered between them eagerly.

“The Duergars kidnapped Miss Fortune,” Sky started on a rant, desperately trying to sway Viktor, “We’re looking at a death wish if we go through with playing tonight without another player. Do you really think a cleric and a warlock can take down the entire Duergar war camp? We’re only level four—”

With a swift motion, Viktor smacked his cane against Sky’s leg, light enough to just interrupt her ramblings.

“Enough. He doesn’t want to play.”

“I’ll play,” Jayce interrupted casually, and he hadn’t expected a look so cruel from Viktor, practically seeing the steam blowing from his ears. Anger simmering below the surface.

“Yes!” Sky beamed as her features lit up, “If you don’t have a character, Viktor has dozens of unused ones, so I’m sure you’ll find someone you like.”

“I don’t want to teach anyone to play. We’ll reschedule.” Viktor doubled down, eyes staring right into Jayce’s. 

“You won’t have to,” Jayce replied confidently. Offering a sweet smile that made Viktor want to reach over and tear it off of his face. “I’ll manage.”

Interest flickered in Viktor’s eyes, intrigued by the confidence Jayce carried so easily. He hardly seemed like the type to pick up a roleplaying game in his spare time, let alone master in, but regardless, this could prove to be a great time to prove how little regard he has for anyone but himself. Maybe a chance to embarrass him right back, a way to show how badly he wanted to get him off his back.

He cocked an eyebrow, “Eight sharp. The address is two-twenty-five Pyke Ave. Don’t be late.”

Jayce perked up, eyes wide like an excited puppy, “Y-Yeah. I won’t be late. See you later, Viktor. Oh, and Sky!”

Without another word, Viktor leaned on his cane and began to walk away while Sky offered Jayce an excited wave before departing with her friend.

Jayce stood alone for a moment, watching the two of them walk away as he smiled to himself. He finally had an advantage. Very few people in his life knew this about him, but before he was the Golden Boy and just a peer among a sea of students in middle school, he dabbled in Dungeons and Dragons. Not quite like others, considering he never played a real game, but he was fond of learning about it. He had convinced his mom to buy him a player’s guidebook—a treasure he read repeatedly but never shared for fear that his friends would make fun of him.

He hoped he wouldn’t embarrass himself in front of Viktor, let alone other experienced players. He wasn’t sure if he could handle any more bruises on his already beaten-up ego.

Jayce avoided Kino for the remainder of the day, his mind reeling with the possibilities of the upcoming night and wondering how on earth he was going to manage to get on Viktor’s good side in just one session. After a short while of digging through his closet and making a mess out of his room, he pulled out a dusty book hidden deep in a box of trinkets and old treasures he’d meant to give away the previous summer.

The Player’s Handbook, second edition.

He scoured the pages for glimpses of information, some coming back and some lost over the years of trying to forget this interest existed at one point in his life. He flipped through the book until he was satisfied with the fact that he didn’t know as much as he let on and that this was more than likely going to embarrass the ever-living-fuck out of him.

But anything was worth it to get closer to Viktor.

[mattsturnioloz]

I found you again: Pt 2.

Summary: Sequel of ‘Then I lost you’, A year after a devastating break up, Y/n finds herself reuniting with the love of her life, Matt Sturniolo, at a mutual friends birthday party. Will they rekindle their love?

Pairings: Y/n x Matt Sturniolo

Warnings: Crying, arguing, angst, uti, cussing, mentions of anxiety.

A/N: (Yall wanted this so bad so i’m about to work on it, hope you guys enjoy😚 Again, If you haven’t, I recommend reading ‘Then I lost you’ first. There’s 5 parts so you have a little more understanding of why they broke up and the story in general, here’s a link :) ‘Then I lost you’)

I feel dread the rest of the way to the party. I know I shouldn’t be upset but I can’t help it. I can’t just throw away the 5 years we had together.

We get to the party and I realize that I need to loosen up. Chris, Nick and I thank the uber as we walk up to Tara’s door and we don’t bother knocking, I open the door and lead us in, seeing all the people, feeling a little self conscious about my outfit since I don’t usually dress this way. I grab Nicks hand as we walk through the house so that we didn’t lose eachother, Chris close behind.

“Y/n, we HAVE to take pictures in a bit I need some for instagram.” Nick says and Chris nods agreeing with him. “Yea sure, you guys look good.” I reply smiling at them, taking in their outfits. They both say thank you as we continue to walk through the crowded house, greeting some friends and we spot Larri, Quen and Tara talking in the backyard.

We walk up to them and I pounce on Larri and Quen scaring them and they both jump. “Holy fuck bitch you scared me!!” Larri yells, laughing as we hug.

All 6 of us talk for a while and we take pictures but eventually I somehow end up alone. Everyone is doing their own thing and I go inside where people are dancing and taking shots then I turn around when I feel someone grab my shoulder and it’s Jake with Johnnie next to him.

“Hi guys!!” I yell over the music hugging them. “Hey, Happy Birthday! are you gonna take shots with us?” Jake asks with shots in his hands and all of a sudden the attention is on us and the whole party is watching and convincing me to take some. I look in the corner of my eye and I see tara, a shot already in her hand.

I nod and drown down a couple of shots and all of us are having a good time. I’m not drunk but I definitely feel a little buzzed. I grab a drink after and I sit in the corner of the house just observing everyone as they dance.

The front door opens and I watch to see who it could be and my heart drops down to my ass. It’s Matt. With a blonde haired girl following behind him as they hold hands. I feel like throwing up. I clutch my chest before holding my mouth and I run to the bathroom dropping to the floor, puking up all of the alcohol.

I stand up and wipe my mouth, going to door and locking it. I look in the mirror, leaning against the sink. I thought he wasn’t coming?? I can’t go back out. I have to pretend to be drunk or something so I have an excuse to go home. Ew no.. I can’t do that.

I can’t say it’s because I don’t want to see Matt with a new girl, i’ll look like an idiot. But here I am a year later, still fonding over my ex who’s clearly moved on. I have to act like I don’t care. Yea, i’ll do that.

I hear a knock at the door and I fix myself up before opening it. I’m already startled when I see it’s the girl Matt came with, his girlfriend.

There’s an awkward silence between us before she speaks up “Can I- uh..” she says, pointing at the bathroom awkwardly, and that’s when I realize I was just standing there staring like a freak. Fuck. I already messed up.

“Oh! yea. i’m so sorry..” I answer, almost jumping out the way. God that’s embarrassing. I walk away and I sit back in the spot I was at originally. That’s when I spot Matt talking to Nick and Chris.

He looks so different. So good.. He has a new haircut and he grew his beard out. He doesn’t have the middle part anymore. He looks better.

He takes off his sweater revealing his arm covered in scattered tattoos and I melt. He has way more than what he had when we were together. I stop staring and look away when I see that his gaze meets mine, his eyes widening in shock when he spots me and I try to act like I didn’t see him. I feel my heart starting to beat out of my chest.

I look to my left and see his girlfriend coming out of the bathroom, making her way over to him before kissing him. I feel like i’m gonna throw up again as I feel a pit forming in my stomach. I make an almost disgusted face but quickly wipe it off. I can’t hate just because i’m jealous.

I look to my right and I see Nick and Chris walking over to me, Chris speaking first. “Nick wants to take shots, but he’s scared.” He says leaning down to my ear since the music was loud. “Why are you scared?” I chuckle, looking over at Nick when he starts speaking. “See, we’ve been 21 for months and I haven’t drank because i’m scared im gonna wake up in a ditch with an agonizing hangover.” he adds, as the 3 of us chuckle.

“I’ll get drunk if you do.” I say to Nick and Chris looks between us back and forth with his jaw dropped while chuckling. “I’m down.” Nick replies, nonchalantly shrugging his shoulders. I’m not stupid. I know I only said that to get Matt and the fact that he has a girlfriend off my mind.

I stand up and we go to the kitchen, brushing past Matt and his girlfriend and I fill up 2 shot glasses for Nick and I when Chris nudges me holding a shot glass. “You too?” I say raising my brows at him and he nods giggling like he’s excited.

I look over at Matt and his girlfriend who are watching us. “You guys want one?” I ask them, specifically making eye contact with Matt. I have to act like I don’t care, right?

“No i’m oka-“ His girlfriend replies but getting cut off by him. “I’ll take one.” He replies with a slight smile at me and I smile back, nodding and filling up a shot glass for him.

I hand it to him before the 4 of us cheers as his girlfriend watches us. Matt only took 1 shot because he’s driving, but Nick, Chris and I keep taking some to the point where I don’t know how many we drank.

15 minutes later the 3 of us are drunk leaning against each other while laughing and messing around. “L-let’s go to the couch..” Nick slurs, laughing as he talks. When we try to walk Chris falls splat on the ground and just lays there instead of getting up, making Nick and I tumble to the ground from laughing so hard. “Nick- Nick I can’t get uppp!” I say cackling pushing on his head trying to get up, Nick still laughing hysterically.

I look over at Chris and he’s still on his stomach in the same position he fell in, giggling to himself, his face squished against the cold wood floors. “Get up you freak!” I yell at Chris, still unable to control myself and I see Matt walking over to help him up. “Alright buddy, let’s get you guys home.” He says to Chris. He takes Chris first while Nick and I are sitting up, slumped against eachother on the wall.

Matt comes back and takes Nick before coming back for me. His girlfriend already waiting in the car with Chris and Nick. “Alright it’s your turn..” He says scooping me up bridal style, putting my arm around his neck. “Me too??..” I slur, my eyes barely open. “What? You thought i’d leave you there? you can’t possibly think that low of me.” He says, chuckling. I smile at him and my hand finds the back of his head and I start playing with his hair.

He looks at my face and smiles at me sweetly, making eye contact with me and I couldn’t help but cup his face and glide my finger across his cheek. I missed his face, the feeling of his touch, his smile, the way he looked at me with his beautiful blue eyes.

He takes my hand from his face holding it in his. “You can’t do that y/n.. I’m with Nancy.” He says, his smile fading. Right. I’m an idiot. “Sorry..” I slur, embarrassed. I know I can’t be selfish though, he’s in a relationship and I need to respect that. It’s not fair to her.

He still smiles at me again as he opens the back door of his car, putting me next to Chris before buckling me in and shutting the door. He gets into the passenger seat and his girlfriend kisses his cheek, getting touchy which pisses me off but again.. I can’t be mad.

I lay my head on Chris’s shoulder, feeling tired. I look over and Nick and Chris are already out like a light, so I close my eyes. We haven’t even moved yet. I feel Matt look back at me a couple of seconds before I start to hear lips smacking. There’s no way they’re fucking making out right now.

I open my eyes and lift my head from Chris’s shoulder to see them macking on each others mouths, I even saw tongue. I feel my body get hot and I feel like I can’t breathe. He doesn’t even have the decency to not do that in front of me. Even if he thinks i’m asleep, I still feel so disgusted and disrespected.

“Are you kidding me right now?!” I yell and I see them both get startled before looking at me in shock. I unbuckle my seatbelt grabbing my small purse and I open the car door stumbling out going back towards the party.

I fall on the grass since i’m still really drunk but I get back up and stumble towards the front door. I hear the car door opening and closing, matt’s voice following behind it. “Y/N!!”

He catches up to me and he grabs my arms. “Y/n, i’m sorry okay? We shouldn’t have done that, I didn’t thin-” he says, panicked before I interrupt him, shoving him away from me.

“Don’t touch me!! what the hell is wrong with you!!” I yell and I feel my nails digging into the palm of my hand from clenching my fists so hard. I could see the anger flush over his face when I shoved him, he grabs my forearms and holds them together firmly.

“Don’t fucking shove me! It’s not my fault you haven’t moved on!” He yells, still gripping my arms. I try to get out his grip but I fail. “I said don’t touch me.” I repeat, sternly. “I don’t care if you’re in a relationship, but you had to do that with me right behind you? I feel so disrespec-“ I add but I get cut off by him.

“You feel disrespected or insecure and jealous?” He snaps, in the same stern tone. Wow. “You’re an asshole!” I shove him again finally managing to get out his grip. “Why? because i’m right?!” He yells, after he stumbles back from the push. “Fuck you.” I slur, since i’m still very much drunk, my eyes watering. I see how my words weigh on him, but I don’t care at the moment.

I take in the night air, barely knowing why this is happening, the tears rolling down my cheeks making the cold air sting my face. He just stands there taking a deep breath obviously conflicted. This is the worst birthday ever. I should’ve stayed home.

1,951 words.

A/N: (this chapter is so long but I was so invested LMAO😭 Let me know what you guys think, it always helps me🙂)

Taglist: @watercolorskyy @chrissfleshlight @realuvrrr @stonermattsgf @pvssychicken @venusbabysblog @kayla-hearts4sturniolo @endereies @imwetforyourmom @starzinasblog @urfavstromboli @sturniqloo @star-yawnznn @h3arts4harry @asherrisrandom @tsturniolo4 @urmom69lol @luzsturniolo @victoriasturniolo @ncm9696 @valkatriee @sturnslut1 @annielolz @sturnlover4eva @luzsturniolo @slxtarchive @anyaa2s @sturnzpro

[illicitghoul]

you’re instagram if you were in the BAU (p2)

prt 2 that nobody asked for 🥱 (this is so fun)

part 1 (linked below)

————————————————————————————

yourusername

liked by jen.jj45 and 46 others

yourusername JJ LOVE CLUB (i am also in jj love club but they all voted me to take the photo 💔)

pennycia and you did a great job 👩‍❤️‍💋‍👩

yourusername i love you pen 💌

pennycia I LOVE YOU MOST Y/N

derek.m0rg4n @spencer.re1d i love you

spencer.re1d Stop lying for social media clout

derek.m0rg4n fuck you AND your fuck ass haircut

prentiss.em LMFAO

prentiss.em we are such cuties some ppl wish they were us 🥱

yourusername @prentiss.em real asf

yourusername

liked by elliegreenaway & others

yourusername me and spence were conjoined jellyfish in another life

spencer.re1d Can we be anglerfish

yourusername no? wtf is wrong with you

spencer.re1d 🥱🥱🥱🥱BORING

r0ssi81 that is a very interesting photo

yourusername YOU KNOW HOW TO COMMENT?

r0ssi81 you’re pushing it girl genius

yourusername you’re pushing something…

r0ssi81 when i find out how to block someone you are gone y/n

prentiss.em this is quite cute y/l/n 😭

yourusername you’re quite cute 🤫

prentiss.em send me toe pictures 😂😂😂😂

yourusername NO EMILY!!!!!!!!! (ill email them)

yourusername

liked by spencer.re1d and 51 others

yourusername my cute glowing girlfriend (idk who that random man is 🤷‍♀️ kinda scary)

prentiss.em yeah that is really weird 🥱 anyway i love u wifey mwah mwah

yourusername ugh ily lets go frolic in a field or smth

spencer.re1d Yeah that is really scary - be careful guys

spencer.re1d OH MY I LOOK LIKE A GHOST 😁😁

jen.jj45 it’s like i can still hear his voice…

yourusername :( i miss his cute smile

prentiss.em 🎉

spencer.re1d @prentiss.em You aren’t funny

pennycia 😭😭😭😭

prentiss.em ok comedy police spencer reid????

jen.jj45 shes like an angel !!!!!!

prentiss.em I LOVE YOU JENNIFER 🙁🙁

yourusername

liked by aaron.hotchner and 37 others

yourusername i said serve and they devoured

spencer.re1d Slay !

prentiss.em y/n meant to say i devoured and you kind of chewed…

spencer.re1d Can you stop harassing me?

prentiss.em i kiss your girlfriend on days that end in y

yourusername TRUTH 👩‍❤️‍💋‍👩

pennycia what cuties!!! seeing their smiles makes me so happy!!!!!!

spencer.re1d You’re my best friend

derek.m0rg4n everytime you speak it breaks my heart

jen.jj45 HAHAAH WHAT

pennycia CRYING

yourusername

liked by elliegreenaway and 43 others

yourusername my bag broke before i left spences 🙁

spencer.re1d Sigh…. the theory for a broken bag means you have to stay where it broke 🤷‍♂️ i dont know i just heard that

derek.m0rg4n my bag broke in your heart… why won’t you let me stay

yourusername you ate with that one derek

yourusername broke bag mountain

elliegreenaway @yourusername LMFAO

pennycia i’ll fix it for you!!! come over girlie!!!

yourusername omw!!!!!

yourusername

liked by derek.m0rg4n and 49 others

yourusername day out with my four wives

pen : fanny pack with snacks and a book

jj : losing her mind (too warm)

em : complaining 🥱

me : having a good time :)

aaron.hotchner I hope you all worn sunscreen

yourusername yes 🫡

prentiss.em 🥱

pennycia i had a great day!!! (i read 3 pages)

jen.jj45 i am LOSING it the HEAT i am gonna COMBUST

derek.m0rg4n @spencer.re1d @aaron.hotchner @r0ssi81 could be us

r0ssi81 I am busy for the foreseeable future

dreak.m0rgan @spencer.re1d @aaron.hotcher

at least rossi replied…

[plant-ago]

An Open Letter to Dan and Phil

Dear beloved nerds,

This was originally going to be an (even longer) actual letter that I was going to give to you at the tour, but my nonprofit-employed ass can’t afford a meet and greet, so we’re doing this instead. I promise it’s not just trauma dumping— mostly, it’s about saying thank you and trying to cultivate some hope for all of us.

I’ve been a big fan since around 2014, when I was a mentally ill neurotic deeply repressed loner egg (average phannie, let's be honest). Now I’m a whole adult who got therapy and HRT and has joined the legions of transmascs with the Dan Howell haircut! What a legacy.

I’m making jokes because the thing I actually want to talk about, and the reason I decided to make this an open letter, is kind of serious. But in light of the election, I feel like I need to share this, both with you and with all the other queers in this little corner of the internet.

Here’s the gist: I’m a paralegal at a non-profit organization that works to help queer migrants get asylum. Mostly what I do is sit them down in our nasty sterile office and try to be kind, and help them get through telling me all the most terrible things that have happened to them, and then turn around and pare it all down into legalese that is digestible to the government to make the case they should get asylum.

It’s a horrible job, really, and one that shouldn’t have to exist. Some parts are plainly wonderful, like meeting so many queer people from all walks of life. But it’s also heartrending and difficult, and burnout is always looming. My horrible banal work is often literally a matter of life and death for the client, and I’m fighting a broken system for a chance at giving them the happiness and safety is owed to them by international law and, really, by any decent human standard, should never have been in question.

The thing is—and this is reason to hope—queer people really do exist everywhere, no matter how much repression and violence we face. In a tiny village in Colombia, there's a kid who’s all spit and vinegar, dresses like a boy and plays football and fights anyone who says that they can’t, who grows up wiry and gets black eyes because men still can’t handle getting their asses handed to them on the soccer field by a dyke. This client texts me at my work number sometimes to ask if I’ve eaten that day, because they wanted to check in on me. He asked me to call him by a boy’s name, recently. I don’t know that he’s told anyone else. I open every message I send him with "Hola, James."

Then there’s the sweet, babyfaced college freshman who got death threats when he was outed to his classmates back home, and whose parents kicked him out when he refused to marry a girl to protect the family's reputation, leaving him alone in a foreign country. He was couch surfing and just trying not to miss class so he could keep his student status and he was so conscientious I wanted to cry— he’s eighteen, guys. Eighteen. I’ll get him his papers or so help me fucking God I will kill for him. You know? You know. After that meeting I had to sit at my desk with my notebook and fill an entire blank page with the phrase “he’s just a kid,” over and over again, until I felt like I could breathe.

On a Friday morning recently I get up and open my laptop to interpret on a call with a soft-spoken older trans woman who's sat in the bleak phone room of the ICE detention facility because her immigration judge didn’t believe that she was really transgender. “An odor of mendacity pervades everything the respondent says,” the judge wrote in her ruling, where she determined the client wasn't "credible." To this day I’m still floored that she straight up ripped off Tennessee Williams—new frontiers in bigotry, truly. She didn’t even cite. In our meeting now, the client quietly tells us how hard it was when she came out but how happy she was the first time she wore makeup, and she'd rather stay in detention here for indeterminate years as proceedings spiral on than go back to Guatemala, where they'll kill her—boys, if I ever get within spitting distance of this fuckass judge, it is on SIGHT. Absolutely fucking ON SIGHT. For legal purposes, that was a JOKE.

So I finish the call and get up to get a snack. It’s only ten am but feel tired already because I’m angry, which is not unusual but also not something I want to hold onto, because it doesn't help anything. So I make some toast and look at my phone— two texts, which I ignore, a spam email, and, wouldn't you know it, a YouTube notification from Dan and Phil games! Jarring! That’s just sort of how life is though, isn’t it? Deathly serious and lighthearted in the same breath.

But regardless, seeing the notification makes me feel warm, so I have my toast and watch a little video of you two playing Roblox or dress up or whatever it is you do on that channel these days. I have a good giggle and I finish my toast and go back to my desk. It’s a crucial part of my diet really— the giggles, not the toast. I’m not angry anymore. I’ll be angry again, but for now my cortisol levels are manageable and I can put my head back into emails or whatever the fuck. Do you ever think about how plants make food for free out of sunlight but we sit around writing emails all day? And that’s if we’re lucky. Capitalism is hell.

Anyway, there is a point I am trying to make, and it’s not really about the banal horrors of neoliberal nation-state or capitalism or even homophobia. It’s to say thank you for coming back to make silly videos together, because I love them, and you never fail to make me happy. And yeah, maybe something about the story of that scared eighteen-year-old kid at the front of my mind makes it particularly sweet to watch you two goofing off and being openly queer. It reminds me why I’m doing what I’m doing, and it gives me the strength to send another fucking email because sometimes doing “important work that I value and believe in deeply” means having to send another fucking email. And sometimes I’ll rewatch your older videos, and then come back to the more recent ones, and my heart bruises, because you remind me what I’m fighting for and why. It’s nothing grandiose, it’s just— for queer people to get to have the ability to grow into themselves and be outrageous and silly and make mistakes and to love and be loved for who they are. To have the safety and support and security that no one should ever go without. That’s all.

So I am being dead serious when I say thank you for making top-tier light entertainment, and for coming back to a job that wasn’t always kind to you, and that it does actually matter. All this talk about terrible influences and legacies has made me think that sometimes you doubt whether you do good in the world, so let me be clear: you really, really do. I kind of get the sense that in order to accept sincerity Dan needs to be beat over the head with it, so if that’s the case, consider yourself coerced, you dickhead. You matter to me, and especially in times like these, I think I speak for all of us when I say that the joy you share is a precious and treasured gift. So please accept my gratitude in return.

All my love,

Jules

(I removed or changed all identifying information in this letter to protect privacy, but the stories are real).

[ciwzing]

༉ 𝗚𝗼𝘀𝘀𝗶𝗽 𝗕𝗼𝘆𝗳𝗿𝗶𝗲𝗻𝗱𝘀

🎀 incld: satoru, sukuna, choso, & geto

🎀 gn! reader

🎀 ‟there's no better quality time than gossiping with your boyfriend ”

𝗚𝗼𝗷𝗼 𝗦𝗮𝘁𝗼𝗿𝘂

biggest gossiper

literally has a time of your guys day specifically for where you guys just sit on your guys bed cozy, wrapped in each other's arms to talk shit or spill some tea about other people.

has a code name on everyone he and you guys don't like

“ain't that dora over there”

“yeah that's them, that wack ass haircut really stands out from the crowd"

will always make an eye contact with you whenever you guys hear or see something ridiculous, trying to hide his snickers with a cough

“baby, did i see that correctly”

“definitely, saw that shit clear as day”

AND you know you're gonna hear about it once you guys are home.

if he ever enter your home with a loud thud and a call of your name always followed with a giddy giggle YK THAT HE BOUTTA SPIT SOME SHIT🤭

“Baby!! you never guessed what just happened!”

ALWAYS gives you the best reaction to your gossip, never failing to let out the most exaggerated gasp ever

prob has those senses if you have gossip to spill, if Spiderman has spider sense, he has a bitch’s sense and it never fails him.

𝗞𝗮𝗺𝗼 𝗖𝗵𝗼𝘀𝗼

didn't really grasp how gossiping works the first time tbh ╥﹏╥

“didn't we hate this person? why did you just talk to them then?”

baby it's called playing nice

type of bf that if you hate someone, he gotta be their hater too

GIVES THE MOST FUNNIEST YET CUTEST REACTION EVER

“Baby guess what, remember the girl that I told you about yesterday that's been soft launching her man?”

“Yeah?”

“Her man is actually her COUSIN!”

“∑(; °Д°)”

every time you keep dropping bomb after bomb his expression just became more concerning

“oh my god, baby are they okay? (;° ロ°)”

“its fine, we hate this person”

“oh, fuck them then”

“yeah fuck them!”

(｀∀´) (⋋‿⋌ )

learns some of the most juiciest gossips BUT ALWAYS FAILS TO ASK FOR DETAILS

“That one clingy couple in our class just broke up suddenly, and they look they hated each other's guts”

“WHAT, WHY?!”

“I don't know I never asked”

𝗦𝘂𝗸𝘂𝗻𝗮 𝗥𝘆𝗼𝗺𝗲𝗻

you don't how he does it, but whenever you have some anger or tea to spill, he's ready every fucking time.

“who we gonna hate today, pretty?”

LOVES gossiping, not because he cares about other people, but because he loves talking shit about them

has the most creative insults tbh

you sometimes have to pause to take in what he had just said

doesn't remember all the ppl you shit talk about, you have to remind him with the stupid names he calls them

“Remember the guy that I told you about last week?”

“Baby, you have to be more specific about that”

“Omfg, the one you compared with megamind!”

“oh that motherfucker, yeah i remember him, all that forehead and can't think for shit, that's crazy”

probably the type of person that purposely points at the person you just talked about to tease you.

𝗚𝗲𝘁𝗼 𝗦𝘂𝗴𝘂𝗿𝘂

a secret gossiper tbh

ALWAYS has something interesting going on with his gossips, you could never guess just what shit he's about to say next

drops the most gasping bombshell like it's your random Tuesday

“oh yeah, one of our professors just got fired since he allegedly had an affair with one of his students”

the type of person that's quiet but he knows all of the shits about so many people, like How'd you get this information sir? (°△°|||)

ppl trust him too much that they spill so many things in front of this man, but they don't know you're the first person he goes running back to talk about it.

“they said I can't tell this to anyone…but you know that girl-”

gives the biggest stank eye when the person y'all hate walks past him AND HE AIN'T TRYNNA HIDE IT

Can and will shit talk about the person right in front their fcking face.

"Heard you talking shit about me?"

"Want me to tell you again? you might missed some details"

likes and reblogs are appreciated<33