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captain-bubble-wrap · 17 hours ago

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HELP ME PLEASE

Your quinn is literally my favorite!!!!!!!!!!! Can you write him and reader!girlfriend on the phone after the stars game? Your sweet/sad quinn is the best!!!!!!!!!

Oh, you're WAY TO KIND TO ME...! 🥹🥹 Let's see what I can do!

All you had texted was, "I love you."

Incoming Call: Quinny

Quinn's broken voice in that post-game interview had killed you. The way he had looked down before answering about how he was feeling, his thoughts on Millsy's trade, and how he was handling the noise of the dressing room as the team's captain -- it was obvious how much it all was affecting him. Unfortunately, you were twenty-two-hundred miles away, and you felt powerless to help him in any form.

"Hey, baby," you said upon answering the call.

Quinn's voice was low, and it was obvious he was beyond exhausted, body and mind, "Do you have a minute?"

"Of course." Your stomach tightened like you were about to receive some bad news. You hadn't heard him sound this way before and given how the day had gone, you knew it wasn't going to be a butterfly-inducing conversation.

"Let me get somewhere a little quieter. I need to hear your voice."

To you, he sounded desperate -- like he was at his breaking point. While you waited for him to walk to wherever he needed to be, you couldn't help but worry about him -- about what had caused him pain during the game, how losing JT and the others was weighing on him, and the stress of the upcoming tournament that was just four games away. You couldn't get the sad look of his face out of your mind. When was the last time he had actually had a good day, that he was happy without nagging stresses?

"Hey Mike, I'm gonna step out for a few minutes," Quinn said, obviously not talking to you. You couldn't hear the other man's reply but it must have been favourable as Quinn would finally start his conversation with you just a few seconds afterwards.

He sighed heavily, "I wish you were here. I-- I feel like everything is out of control and I don't know what to do."

The sound of wind was intertwined with his words. You wondered if he had stepped outside the arena to talk to you, somewhere to speak without listening ears.

"I wish I was there, too," you confessed, a pain growing in your heart. "You're trying to carry too much, baby."

"I have no choice, though."

You knew where he was coming from. The title of Captain meant you wore several hats, and sometimes more than one at a time. You knew he had all of them on at once. This season hadn't been easy, and something had you believing it wasn't going to get any better.

"I know," you mumbled. "I'm sorry."

"It's not your fault," he breathed out, feeling guilty for calling you when he was feeling like he was. "I'm sorry to put this on you. I just don't know what to do. Everyone is looking to me for answers and insight, but I don't have any. I don't know how to fix the team, I'm carrying as much as I can every night. I'm asked about what's going on behind closed doors and the temperature of the room and I'm over it. It's like the media just wants to keep stirring the pot instead of letting us just work it out. Now I'm being asked about if the team rebuilds what that means for my future in Vancouver. I-- I just-- I can't-- handle everything right now." Your heart was breaking hearing him on the brink of tears. His voice was cracking and shaky. "I need you."

"I wish I was there, sweetheart. I'd do anything I could to help you."

"I love you," his voice at a whisper.

"I love you, too, Quinn."

The first whimper made you cover your mouth to keep yourself from doing the same. Quinn rarely cried, at least not when you were around. To hear him finally drop that ultra-reserved demeanour of his was crushing.

"Oh honey, you'll be okay," you tried to reassure him, but they were words without certainty, you knew that. "You're doing the best you can, and you need to realise that you need to put yourself first sometimes. You're pushing yourself too much. It's not on you to solely fix the team, Quinn, though I know you're trying. I've never seen you this way before, and I'm scared it's going to break you."

He was silent on the other end, aside from his muffled cries. You didn't need him to say anything, though hearing his voice would have made you feel better, which made you remember what he had said to you earlier: "I need to hear your voice."

Maybe he just needed you to talk to him.

"One day at a time, baby, please. Be happy where you are, and what you have. You're doing all you can, and I need you to know that it's okay to struggle, but it's also okay to be content with how things are. You know there are things out of your control, and you just have to let them work themselves out sometimes. You'll drive yourself crazy trying to put bandaids on everything. I don't want to lose you down that rabbit hole." You'd pause before adding one more thing, "I just want you to be okay."

Quietly you'd sit there and wait for a sign from him, or whatever it might be. A long moment of silence would follow your words, making you pull the phone away from your ear to make sure the call hadn't dropped.

"I miss you," he choked out, breaking the painful silence between the two of you.

"I miss you more, Quinn. I wish you were here."

"Me, too," he said, sharply inhaling, like he was trying to push those emotions back down and get over it. "Thank you for picking up everything -- the call, the pieces...me. I'd be so lost without you."

You'd shake your head, "You never have to thank me, baby. I just want to help you."

"I appreciate that," he sniffled. "I just wish I knew where to start."

"With yourself, Quinn," you said bluntly. "How are you feeling? I saw you take the stick to the head early."

It took him a few seconds to respond but you didn't mind, "I don't know, honestly. Between my hand and whatever is wrong with my leg, everything hurts. I'm tired. I'm drained. I wish I was home with you."

Everything he said carried so much weight and his emotions were so painfully honestly.

That was just Quinn.

He always spoke from his heart; wearing his heart on his sleeve every waking moment of his life. However this had a different air about it -- a nakedness. He was free to share his deepest fears with you, those raw feelings were bleeding from him with no hindrance. You appreciated that he felt so comfortable to open up like he was, and the fact that he was away from you, as well. Quinn didn't give the hint that he shared stuff like this with the guys on the team -- not like he did with you. You were different. He loved you -- you occupied a special piece of his heart like no on else did. That meant something special to him.

"You'll be home soon, baby. Just a little longer, okay?"

Through Quinn's end of line, someone was calling out to him, "C'mon Quinn-- the boy's are packing up, let's go."

You frowned hearing the empty orders, but you knew Quinn would have to end the call with you and head to the airport. There was always a sense of urgency after their games, especially the away ones.

"Yeah-- I'll be right there," he muttered, his voice dropping off at the end while he pretended to have himself together. "I'll call you when we get back to Vancouver."

"Be careful."

"I will," he paused. "Thanks, babe. For all that you do for me."

"Happy to help, Quinny. I love you."

For the first time, you heard his little giggle, "I love you, too."

#quinn hughes #quinn hughes x reader #quinn hughes imagine #quinn hughes one shot #quinn hughes fic #quinn hughes fanfiction #hockey fanfiction #hockey fic #💌maven's love notes

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shanastoryteller · 2 days ago

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Congrats on finishing See Something Say Something!! I checked the notification of the first AO3 email sent out and you initially planned on five chapters.

Would you say that the ending changed considerably since you started in October? Or has that stayed the same?

thank you!

it stayed the same lol. while my fics getting wildly out of control and becoming way longer than i anticipated is pretty common, i'm pretty much never changing overarching plot when this happens. the story that i become interested in telling is typically the story then i end up telling

almost every story can be made shorter or longer. it's less about what happens and more about how that information is conveyed. things that really tend to affect writing length are perspective and breathing room

the shortest fic i have on ao3 that's not part of a series is You Were (Not) Meant For Me (posted 11 years ago, jesus T_T). the premise is that claudia was a witch who intended trained stiles to be a witch and she arranged his marriage to laura hale, the future hale alpha. this is a traditional pairing as talia's husband was also a witch married to talia in service of the pact. except claudia died before she could train stiles or tell him about the engagement. stiles starts learning magic after scott is turned. derek falls for stiles and feels like he's betraying his sister by loving him, betraying stiles by not being the alpha he deserves and not telling him about the arrangement claudia made, and hates himself the entire time, but not enough to stop himself

that's a 100k fic easy

it's 1,696 words

it's extremely limited perspective (derek's) and it's made up only of limited snapshots of moments with very little context. there's no seeing what's happening, only told, which i think would quickly grow boring if it was longer and if the real point of the story wasn't derek's self hatred and how he fails to deal with it. that's the part of the story that isn't told, really - derek does think explicitly that he hates himself, but we're also seeing it in the way he talks and thinks about himself and the people around him

by contrast we have survival is a talent, which is obviously my longest fic. we're over 500k and we've got quite a bit to go

perspective doesn't just refer to character pov, but audience pov - are you being told a story, or are you experiencing the story? this is also tied into breathing room. there's no wrong way, i've done both and will do both, but one certainly requires more words than the other in my experience

siat is told only through draco and harry's perspective, but it's all happening in real time. the audience is being taken along for this story. the thing is that that things in real life don't all come tumbling one after another, not all questions have immediate answers. when depicting character growth and a plot unfurling, i think it's really important to include breathing room to give the audience time to feel that growth and change. i'm stricter about this with siat than anything else i've written, probably sometimes to its detriment. i want you and the characters to have time to feel the effects of emotional revelations and plot hints. i want you to have the time to question and wonder about things the same way the characters do

one time a friend criticized the good place for including the portion where they were alive again on earth because it wasn't as interesting as being in hell, but i disagree. we needed that breathing room both to live with the effects of character growth of going through hell and to have time for the effects of their actions on the plot to settle before they moved forward again. i stopped watching agents of shield because we weren't given enough breathing room - there was never a chance to see the characters not in crisis, the world was always ending, ect. the alchemyst book series has the first like 3 books taking place over a day and a half. i got tired of it after that. there's no breathing room

a story where i gave up on the concept of breathing room was build your wings on the way down. i liked that fic, but i wanted it finished, and to do it with i think optimal pacing would have made it twice as long as it was. so i said screw it, avalanche time, everything is happening all at once right now. there's very little breathing room there, which i think doesn't work too terribly in part because everything is so urgent and everyone is stressed so not being able to catch you breath sort of fits

See Something Say Something did not need to be 215k, although i'm not at all complaining. i feel very happy with how i told this story. but the basic premise - sam getting his powers early, getting involved in the large hunter world secretly from his family, and dean feeling misplaced and worried about how much sam needs/wants him - could have been told a hundred different ways and all would have pulled it off, so to speak

i considered doing the the entire fic from dean's pov (as a sam girl i love his pov because all he thinks about is sam and he's so insane about it) which would have effectively cut out basically the first five chapters. i thought exploring the slow realization of what's going on purely from dean's pov, with the audience having not insight would have been really interesting, just like what I did in dumb luck or good ghost with dean slowly figuring out that sam didn't die in the crash. another thing is the inclusion of all the side characters which i did to make the world feel rich and real, but we didn't need all these outsider povs to get the basic point across. very rarely is something vital being conveyed by an outsider pov, but it reinforced and adds to the main characters. i also initially didn't have wincest, which obviously added a ton of words. i loved exploring dean's self hatred and fear and sam's obliviousness, but bringing them to a place of ignorance to acceptance to happiness is a lot longer of a journey than just dealing with dean's propriety love as an unhinged co-dependent older brother. again, i'm sticking by all these choices, i made them because i thought it was the best way to the tell the story i was most interesting in telling, but my point is that you didn't need them to tell this particular story

it was also how i told the story. we spend a lot of time wallowing in character's emotions, especially dean's and sam's, but the others as well. part of this fic is convincing you that these two brothers should fuck, actually, and doing that effectively is going to take some time, especially at this point in their lives when things are pretty normal. comparatively, fucking your brother after starting the apocalypse is pretty small potatoes. i wanted you to understand these people, to feel what they were feeling, to not feel that it was inconceivable that jess would be willing to share her boyfriend with his brother, to buy all their relationships with each other in a way that isn't purely based on convenience

part of the reason i wrote dumb luck or good ghost before see something say something was that i felt i needed a firmer grasp on who the characters are before getting into who they were and who they could be - especially john, who i feel is exceptionally difficult to write without over excusing his actions or over villainizing them. the reason john doesn't get a single pov in see something say something is that while he's a motivating and underlying factor in much of the story, the story isn't about him. it's about the effect he has on those around him, and i didn't want to sully the pureness of that effect by introducing his internal dialogue, regardless of how persecutionary or absolving it would be. it's just not about him. it's how he responds to others and how they respond to him in turn

anyway! this is another example of something ending up longer than expected, but yeah. the plot of see something say something didn't change much from posting of the first chapter and my stories rarely do - i have plot points in siat that have been there since i posted the first chapter that are still relevant and happening. "harry and draco just. cut dumbledore's fucking hand off" my beloved

#posting publicly because it got away from me and maybe other people are interested idk T_T #asks #crazygingerwitch

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silentstaresfanficandfanart · 2 days ago

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you know this post seems a lil sad to me, cause when I was stuck in a corn maze I only managed to get out because there was an enthusiastic effort amongst everyone in the corn maze to help one another get through it, pointing the way and offering hints and asking questions When I was in the dmv so miserably early the doors hadn't even opened yet people were bringing over big buckets for others to sit on, and when inside there were so many random acts of kindness between the individuals there and silly little interactions that by the time I finally got my driving test done there was an air of kinship in the air and I only got out so quickly because another person realized she'd gotten something wrong paperwork wise and gave me her place in line

And when I hurt my wrist as a kid everyone kindly held open doors for me at every turn When my mom and I got stranded in the middle of no where thanks to a car issue like 5 different people stopped by our car and asked if we were okay, offered to help, (we were waiting for the repair guys or something like that) and warned us "its a bad area so be careful" and yet not once did anything bad happen at all, every person we saw was kind and worried for our wellbeing...(which while that does make me wonder what on earth they were trying to warn us about it did give me the impression at the time that perhaps they just all had some sort of beef with other, but i was a little kid so I wouldnt really know, it seemed to me like it was in fact a much nicer than average area)

When tragedy strikes don't people rush out to help?

When there's a hurricaine, a fire, a tornado, an earthquake, don't neighbors rush to help and protect one another? don't we try to save each other? don't we express heartache and rage when the first response ISINT to help? Why is it that our first response is rage? grief? heartbreak? when the first response to a bad situation is to take advantage of it or to abandon those suffering, or worse yet, to yank them back down?

Because we are social animals Crabs dont likely understand why they cant get out or even that theyre forcing the other crabs to stay in the bucket when they yank and pull, they just think its a way to pull themselves up, they dont have enough going on to grasp how physics works or to be cruel and want others to suffer with them.

Selfishness does exist, but it's not the rule

it's the exception, and we shout and point when it happens.

Of course we notice, because kindness is the rule

do we know the names of every single individual to ever save another human life? let alone to save thousands? Have we memorized the names of heroes who eradicated disease or created safety guidelines or fought for rights and for goodness in this world? Is it not the names of those we revile that we focus on most

telling our children of their crimes?

Why don't we focus more on every hero? Because theres just too many of them, because being a good decent human being is the norm.

Maybe not perfect, maybe even a pretty messed up human being but with a good heart, goodness knows I know a lot of people who while you might not say "thats a great person" you'd also never call them cruel or evil, just that they could use some help or deserve better lives.

I truly believe humans for the most part are good, and I say this without denying the evil exists. I am vividly, horrifically aware of the darkness in this world, but I refuse to let that define our race because to do so would be to excuse those who chose to do the wrong thing.

I believe humans are above all else, defined by the fact we can chose right or wrong. I dont want those who do evil to be the ones who represent us, in my mind or in anyone elses mind

They are the exception to a kinder rule.

this is just a me ramble though , my opinion thats not more valuable than anyone elses, just one I felt like sharing, because maybe it will bring someone some relief...

I used to feel guilty as a child for being human, for being something as horrible as that, and I know maybe some others did or do too

But remember please like mewtwo once said, its not the circumstances of your birth which defines you, but what you do with the gift of life.

we are not evil we are capable of it.

we are not good

we are capable of it.

and we will do both in our lives.

but I have been pleasantly surprised now that I'm older and know more about the world to see that in fact the world isint just like in history books overflowing with grief and pain, and convinced that since everyone said children were naive and unaware, that it must be worse than I could ever imagine

but in fact the world is full of the mundane, and every day normal people go about their lives and chose to be decent to one another and often do much more kindness than we will ever know.

I'm glad we arent crabs in a bucket

i love you all

people are like "if you put crabs in a bucket they can't escape because they keep pulling each other back in, this is called crab bucket mentality and describes why people don't help each other" and never acknowledge that crabs do not naturally occur in buckets, a human with more power had to put them there

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revelboo · 2 days ago

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I love that image you use of Rodimus for the spicy scenario posts. He just has such a trim waist, thick hips and thighs and gdi now I wanna get HIM sparked.

That panel is on par with Megs’s mobility scooter as my all time favorite IDW panel

Attractive Today Pt 6

Rodimus x Reader

• Head lifting as music begins piping through the ship wide speakers, you just stare at the wall. Is that One Way Or Another by Blondie? Mystified that the giant aliens are listening to 80s pop, you look up when the door to the habsuite opens and Rodimus sticks his head in. Grinning so wide it’s almost frightening. “Is something happening?” Why do they have human music?

• “You could say that. Brainstorm finally got what he deserved,” he replies, feeling almost buoyant. Feels awful for the poor human stuck with the bot, but he definitely deserves to suffer along with the rest of them, because this is all his fault. Though, if not for Brainstorm, he wouldn’t have met you. Your paths never would have crossed. Sure, his little experiment had caused a lot of pain and suffering for the humans, but he’s selfish enough to be thankful you’d gotten ripped through space and time to him. And he knows exactly how awful that makes him to be glad of it.

• Ah. Robot Satan. You’ve yet to meet the infamous Brainstorm, but you do know that your current predicament being trapped on a space ship hurling through the cosmos is his fault. “He got chucked out an airlock?” You guess and Rodimus’s smile wavers some.

• Oh. Yeah, no. Immediately realizes that you might not find it very funny that another human had just painfully appeared on the ship and is now stuck with Brainstorm. “Are you hungry?” He’s not running away from you as your eyes narrow suspiciously. Just getting an energon cube and a nutrient bar for you. Absolutely not avoiding your eyes. “I know I am.”

• Blowing out a breath, you accept the bar and break a piece off. Trying to decide if you want to let it go or refuse to stop asking for details just to make him squirm. Because he’s clearly uncomfortable. “At some point, you’re going to take me outside this room, right?”

• Startling at the question, he guiltily shrugs. “I mean, yeah. Sure.” It hasn’t really occurred to him that you might want to see the ship, but of course tore curious. You know there are other humans on board, maybe you’re tired of him and miss your own? “I can take you with me on rounds.” Because he’s definitely not leaving you to wander around alone. You’re just too small. Someone might step on you. And suddenly he can’t finish his energon. Because, you’re so helpless. So tiny someone could step on you before they even notice you’re there.

#transformers x reader #rodimus x reader #mtmte rodimus

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seoups · 12 hours ago

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want you back - m. fushiguro

you and megumi's relationship ended terribly. you'd spent the past few months trying to forget him- only to run into him at a party your best friend forced you to go to. cw: angst with a happy ending song: want you back by 5sos a/n: ik i just posted a megumi one but i love this man so here is yet another one

“NO MATTER WHERE I GO, I'M ALWAYS GONNA WANT YOU BACK.”

The first time Megumi saw you after the breakup was at a party. He hadn’t even noticed you until Itadori gasped loudly and pointed with no attempt to hide his shock.

You were standing across the room, talking to some guy, doing the same arm touch you did to him when you first met.

His stomach began to churn.

He couldn’t stand to see it. Couldn’t stand to see you moving on while he was still daydreaming about the memory of you. All he wanted to do was leave and try to forget you- something he’d attempted for the past month since you’d broken up.

“Let’s just go,” Megumi put down his drink. “No way,” Kugisaki insisted, crossing her arms. “You can’t let this breakup take over your life.”

That was when you spotted him too.

Your whole body froze, eyes locking with him across the crowded room. And suddenly, this party- this entire night- became your worst nightmare. Your best friend had insisted on you coming with her to this party and flirting with the guys to at least try and get yourself back out there.

You didn’t want to. This wasn’t something you typically did.

Megumi knew this. That’s why he was just as confused as you were.

Too frustrated and embarrassed by getting spotted by your ex-boyfriend, you spent the rest of the party on the couch and on your phone, pretending you weren’t hyperaware of his presence.

Megumi wouldn’t lie- he spent most of the night watching you. Ignoring every girl that tried to talk to him. Brusing off Kugisaki’s glares at him.

All he could think about was you.

The freckles on your back he’d spent time studying after the first time the two of you spent the night together.

The sound of your laugh that echoed through his brain anytime he dared to smile.

The way that you’d talk his ear off whenever you had the chance.

The way that you’d lean into him, desperate for his touch on hard days.

The way that your face would light up whenever he knocked on your door.

The way that you looked at him like he was the best thing in your life.

The roses on your shirt when you ended things with him.

The way your voice cracked as you told him, “This isn’t working.”

When the haze of the party became too much, you slipped out towards the balcony, craving some fresh air.

The air was cold and crisp, a nice contrast to the heat of the moving bodies at the party. You leaned against the railing, your fingers curling around the cold metal as you thought about you and Megumi’s prior relationship.

But then the door slid open behind you. Before you even turned to look, you knew who it was.

Megumi stepped onto the balcony, his hands shoved into his pockets. He wasn’t sure if he should have even followed you. But he made the plunge.

“Needed air?” he walked up to the railing, standing beside you. You let out a short, humorless laugh, “Clearly not as much as you did.”

A thick silence settled between you. You turned your gaze back to the skyline. But you could feel him watching you- studying you the way he always had.

“You seem different,” he finally said. “You do too.” “I guess we haven’t seen each other in a while, then,” he exhaled through his nose, barely nodding.

You hummed in agreement, watching the city lights twinkle in front of you. The part noice still bled through the glass door behind you. But out here on the balcony, it was quieter. Less suffocating.

But Megumi’s presence filled the space beside you in a way that made it impossible to ignore him.

The two of you hadn’t been alone together since the breakup. You’d made sure of that. It was easier to pretend that he didn’t exist when you weren’t looking straight at him.

But now, you were. And the weight of everything that was unsaid at the end of your breakup pressed against your ribs as if your lungs were going to explode.

Megumi shifted, his elbows resting against the railing as he turned his head slightly, his eyes still stuck on you. It made your throat tighten.

“You were talking to that guy inside,” his voice remained even. You tensed, “Yeah.”

His fingers curled into his palms. The image haunted his brain. The way you laughed at something the guy said. The way you reached out, touching his arm like you used to do to him when you laughed too hard.

“Didn’t think that was your thing,” he said finally. You let out a breath, your grip tightening on the cold railing, “It’s not.”

He knew that. He knew you would never do casual. Whenever you let someone in, you did it with your whole heart.

His jaw clenched, “Then why were yo-“ “Because I thought it’d help,” you snapped, turning towards him with frustration thick in your voice. “Because everyone kept telling me to move on from you. Everyone kept telling me I should put myself back out there as if I wasn’t the one who-“

You stopped yourself, biting down hard on your lip to stop them from moving.

Megumi’s gaze sharpened, “Like you weren’t the one who what?”

You looked away from his eyes for a moment. Megumi let the silence linger, waiting for an answer you weren’t sure you could say out loud.

Then, barely above a whisper, you said, “Like I wasn’t the one who ran away from us.”

Megumi stiffened. There it was. The truth he’d been waiting to hear come out of your mouth for months.

He’d spent months trying to figure out why you’d left. Everything was going perfect. He couldn’t understand why you’d leave.

And now that he was standing right next to you, with the weight of your words settling between you two, all he could think about was the way you used to look at him. Now, all that remained in your eyes is a look of apology and regret.

His throat tightened, “And now?” You inhaled sharply, your breath shaky, “I don’t know.”

But you did. And so did he.

Megumi turned fully toward you, shrinking the space between you by just a few inches. Close enough for you to feel his warmth and to smell the faint traces of cologne left on his hoodie after tonight. Close enough that if you turned your head just a little more, you’d be back in the place you had missed so damn much.

“Then figure it out,” he said quietly, his voice raw and honest.

Because he wasn’t over you. And he wasn’t going to pretend that he was. Not when you were standing right in front of him, looking like you might still want this too.

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gumii-bearr · 5 hours ago

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idea maybes

academic rival/nerd satoru… him acting all high and mighty and then is an utter virgin (but you are tew so you too together are hopeless)

YESSSSSSSS HAHAHAHA

thinking about... ❝ hopeless nerds ❞

featuring... satoru gojo

content warning: MDNI (18+), afab!reader, nerd!virgin!gojo, nerd!virgin!reader, academic rivals, two dorks, gojo is such an asshole, smut, creampie, praise kink, masturbation, inexperienced dorks tryna bang, dare i say crybaby dom gojo, sexual tension, somnophilia, sexually frustrated nerds

author's note: im sorry i haven't posted in a while!!!! my town has flooded and we've lost power a few times and i can't leave my house :,)

── nerd!gojo immediately pissing you off the moment he opens his fucking mouth.

── nerd!gojo who shares a few classes with you and he's always talking over you, has to prove your points wrong even when you back them up with facts and research.

── he does it to make you mad, you know he does. he does it because it's so easy to make you mad and it's fucking cute how your nose scrunches and how you fold your arms over your chest and give him the cold shoulder the rest of the lesson.

── "fuck you, satoru."

── "oh you wish, sweetheart."

── nerd!gojo who purposely sits next to you in class because he knows his presence drives you up the wall.

── he points out holes in your research, steals your pens off your desk, leans on your shoulder and stays there no matter how much to elbow his side, there is no peace with him.

── nerd!gojo who is tied for best grade in the class with none other than you. and fuck it makes him mad, though he would never admit it.

── nerd!gojo who teases you when you're even a single point behind him when you get your grades back.

── nerd!gojo who never hears the end of it when you do better than him on a test or essay.

── nerd!gojo who may find you annoying, but he also finds your competitiveness and smart-ass demeanour fucking hot.

── you're the only person to ever one-up him. give him a run for his place as the smartest guy in class.

── you're single-handedly his motivation to do better in class. not because he wants to, but because he needs to win.

── you're so smug when you win and you're so hot-headed when you don't. he starts to find it fucking confusing when you bicker with him or insult his intelligence and he finds it... hot.

── you could be calling him every colourful name under the sun and he would just stand there and take it with a shit-eating grin plastered across his face and his eyes peeking over his sunglasses and staring at your pretty lips.

── nerd!gojo who is also virgin!gojo, which you would never have guessed with how he holds himself– always so outwardly confident and always has soooo much to say.

── virgin!gojo who has maybe kissed two girls his whole life, forced to hole himself up in his dorm and fist his cock when he's so beyond frustrated.

── virgin!gojo who finds himself starting to think about... you.

── virgin!gojo who thinks about burying his virgin cock inside you, fucking you stupid on his cock since you always seem to have something to say.

── you find it fucking weird when he doesn't shoot back with a sarcastic comment one morning, his eyes unable to meet yours.

── now you know something's wrong because it always makes gojo's day when he sees your face flush and watches you stomp around all angry and annoyed at him.

── virgin!gojo who doesn't know what to do when he's cornered by you in the library, and for the first time, he sees you be genuine toward him.

── "aw, you care about me."

── "you know what? forget it."

── virgin!gojo who knows he needs to just shut his big mouth for once and he finally does– by slamming you against the closest bookshelf and messily kissing you like his life depends on it.

── virgin!gojo who realises he's super out of practice when it comes to kissing... or maybe you're both bad.

── virgin!gojo who panics when he gets you back to his dorm room, clumsy fingers pulling your clothes off while you nervously pull at his.

── it's slow and it's messy and there's very obviously an elephant in the room that neither of you want to address.

── but you finally bite the bullet.

── "i'm a virgin."

── "you telling me no one's ever wanted to fuck that bitchy attitude out of you?"

── "don't piss me off."

── virgin!gojo who admits he too is a virgin.

── the two of you acknowledge that there's been a sexual tension brewing between you two for a while... so maybe you should just fuck it out.

── virgin!gojo who sinks to his knees, throwing your thighs over his shoulders and pressing his curious tongue against your soaked slit.

── no one's ever touched you like that– you're getting riled up just seeing him between your thighs.

── virgin!gojo who is finally fucking quiet and lets you show him when you guide him on how to finger you. you show him where to touch you, how to touch you, where to lick and suck on you.

── and virgin!gojo who listens and he's a fast learner because he wants to please you.

── and when virgin!gojo finally sinks his huge fucking cock inside you. you nearly fucking scream.

── and virgin!gojo who has no idea he's big. no one's ever seen his cock, or felt it. he's had nothing to compare it to–

── "you're so fucking big."

── "oh, yeah? you like it, baby?"

── virgin!gojo who didn't think he'd like dirty talk as much as he does. but he likes how you whine and moan just from his voice, how he can rile you up and have you soaking his dick and the sheets just from telling you what a good girl you are.

── but also virgin!gojo who is a fucking whiner when he's getting close to his high. your virgin cunt is so warm and tight, he's never experienced such fucking bliss.

── he's whining about how good you feel, how he's never felt something so fucking mind-blowing. he just keeps fucking talking cus if he doesn't he's gonna cum.

── and virgin!gojo who fucking cries when he cums because he's on cloud fucking nine. his hips slap erratically, his thrusts are shallow and fast as he approaches his high and his fists curl into the sheets by your head to keep him grounded.

── and you just wrap your arms around his neck, hold him close as he breathes in your intoxicating scent, arms wrapped around you as he keeps his cock buried inside you alongside the ropes of cum he messily spilled inside you.

── and nerd!gojo who keeps his cock buried inside you all night, unable to part from your tight warmth.

── and you don't mind, you just pet his hair and tell him how good he did.

── and of course, nerd!gojo who wakes you up with quiet breathes by your ear, his hips slapping against your plush ass because he can't get enough of you.

── nerd!gojo who makes it his mission to make you cum. obsessed with watching you fall apart on his tongue and his fingers, or on his cock or his thigh.

── really just nerd!gojo who finds out a lot about himself and is no longer virgin!gojo because of you.

author's note: someone bring me a NERD RIGHT NOW

permanent taglist: @exclusiverinaa @starpachinko @kentotism @gumisueme @arcanefeelings @cyslips @sojumamii @naammiii @jvpit3rr @nvvxlaya @2ukika @ashyiiy @jud3thedude @antiblfanon14 @capsule-losing-contact @mrs-okkotsu222 @somethinglikero @raya4643 @julieannah @arasakaa @luciferslover @re-tired-succubus @xastoriaaurax @girlexpensive @sobbingscripter @bakuhoe37 @doechiiyz @evergumi @showtimejoseph @kimkimoruo

#jjk #jjk x reader #jujutsu kaisen #x reader #jjk smut #gojo #gojo satoru #gojo satoru x reader #satoru gojo x reader #satoru gojo x reader smut #satoru gojo x reader headcanon #gojo smut #gojo x reader smut #satoru x reader smut #satoru x reader #jjk gojo smut #jjk gojo #jjk gojo x reader

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dkniade · 2 days ago

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🌌💫🌒

Fan art of @kianamaiart’s characters from I Don’t Want To Be A Magical Girl! (with glasses, ft misc glasses characters & two IDWTBAMG universe fan characters)

I’ve been following this project from the start so it’s been great seeing interactions between the characters and how the fandom is so excited for it. ^^

I tried to draw the cast from memory and, while Miss seems a little different from canon, at least I got the dark hair roots and strands sticking out lol. But details aside they’re all recognizable! Which means they’re lovely designs that are unique from one another✨

Eclipse’s shades are a combination of his usual eye mask and the shades from this artwork, and Hoshi’s glasses are inspired by this one!🌒⭐️

Designs… (I don’t have a name for her yet but) the pigtails girl’s shapes are a combination of curves pointing downwards and curves pointing upwards. The idea ended up being that she’s on Eclipse and Lady DeVoid’s side so (after reading this post by Kiana about how most of the characters had Aika’s design as the springboard and are designed to complement eachother) I wanted her design to complement those two��s, with some influence from Zira. I like that the strands of hair on her forehead and the shape around them mirror both Zira’s hair and DeVoid’s horns haha. Plus, I was trying to figure out how to design her glasses and they ended up being kind of the inverse of Eclipse’s eye mask, which is very nice. Eclipse and DeVoid seem to be associated with sharp curves and circle shapes; maybe her outfit could be a lot fancier…

As for what her role might be in the story… I dunno, if she works with Eclipse and DeVoid, and Eclipse is all ~theatric and grand~ then maybe she could be like… his assistant… or something? Who knows. Or, I say “observer from afar” so perhaps she actually gets along with Zira well and they’d watch on the sidelines while Aika and Eclipse duke it out…?

Eclipse… Moon… Umbra… man what if I just name the pigtails girl Yueshi (月食, lunar eclipse)(for both the moon motif that Zira and Eclipse have, and the darkness motif that Eclipse and DeVoid have haha)

Shooting star and telescope don’t feel quite right, but with the circular shapes and the lunar eclipse, I could kind of see her having some star trail motifs with her sweater…

I guess Umbra would be the same type of elf (? darkness/concept personified?) as Lady DeVoid but I’m not sure haha. We don’t have much information on DeVoid other than the fact that she is darkness itself and that she lost most of her powers which she can’t remember how to use. Banished by a Star Guardian, revenge, recruiting Eclipse to help spread the darkness particles to destroy the Star Guardian… If she has a similar backstory to MLP:FIM’s Princess Luna then does that mean she was originally Aika’s teammate or something? haha

About Umbra’s hair… (Feel free to correct me for any inaccuracies.) I think from the reference photos I was trying to draw box braids but got so focused on also making the braids look like moon phases that I’m not sure if it’d still be box braids in the end? They seem more like cornrows now, at least for the side ones?

Here are some earlier versions of the OCs! and more rambling about designs

Well, initially I scribbled down Yueshi so I could experiment with values because I was thinking about how light-coloured pants draw the eye too much if the outfit or the top half of the character is darker. (Half way through she ended up looking like a IDWTBAMG character so I tried to match the proportions with Aika’s turnaround.) But I suppose if there’s enough contrast for the upper half (and IDWTBAMG’s stark black design style gives a lot of contrast) then it works out better. I think the combination of making Yueshi’s hair and the top half of her sweater black and the circle shape white worked out okay. Initially she had large round eyes so I tried giving her round glasses too but since she ended up being a fan character in the universe, it was too similar to Aika and Zira.

Umbra’s design kind of popped into my mind today so I tried to scribble it down and experimented with hairstyles. But green and purple are already associated with Zira, and that shade of lavender is more like Eclipse so I guess I’ll fiddle around with her colour scheme more. Maybe there’s not enough of the signature black there, and both could use some more details to match the level of details in the canon designs… (If Yueshi works under DeVoid then she’d probably get a fancy outfit too.) Then again, Umbra is more like Miss in terms of detail so it seems she’d be a background/supporting character or something…🤔

(I can’t seem to escape the puffy sleeves/cone shape silhouette🤔 Gotta diversify. Also, not sure if it’s ‘cause of the project’s style or if I just really love circles in character design haha)

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dolphin-diaries · 2 days ago

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Detrans/Uncis (Part 2)

Originally published on Dolphin Diaries.

My first steps on a detransition journey were underscored by a peculiar mantra: “but I’m not detransitioning though.” I don’t feel like a man, so I’m not a trans man, but I’m still taking hormones, so I’m not detransitioning. I’m getting laser, but I’m not doing anything to my voice—hold on, actually I am. I’m lowering my dose of testosterone, actually, but I’m still taking it, and it’s not like I’m a woman. Only I want to be gendered by strangers as a woman, but that’s different. Actually I’d hate to have any further changes from T, so I’m not taking it at all—but I’m still not detransitioning though. Actually, could you speak of me as she? And her, too? No detrans though.

At a certain point it started to approach total absurdity. My friends and loved ones, well-versed in the queer gender soup, said nothing of it, but I am myself strongly averse to repression, denial, and self-deceit. So I was the first to say I was wrong. The first to say, “I am, though.” And at no point, from the beginning to the end of my epistemic conga, have I encountered any meaningful pushback from my close circles. No implications of betrayal, no cold shoulders, no silence when I walk in the room.

So why the mantra, then? Why was I so averse to the idea?

A large part of that was the politicisation of detransition; how indelibly it is associated with the Right—I said as much in my first essay. On a personal level, though, it was trivial to realise I wasn’t doing a grift. I was confident I hadn’t been brainwashed into anything. I’ve never had any meaningful contact or affiliation with any sort of gender-conservative person or movement.

And I did encounter pro-trans detransitioners. Some of them sniped back at the right-wing ones, some merely told their stories independently. Regardless, they—just like me—did not receive great or meaningful pushback from their trans friends, nor even strangers. They weren’t always understood or necessarily celebrated, but they were taken at their word, believed, and more or less respected as much as any gender deviant. Before I had any thoughts to detransition myself, I had seen detrans people beyond the pale of the rhetoric multiple times, and…

And I hated them. They made my skin crawl. I was never rude or condescending, and as those encounters were online-only, it was trivial to maintain respect and civility. I also realised I had no real cause to hate them. They’d done nothing wrong, nothing wrong at all. It was easy enough to say that in principle, when they talked in the abstract, but when they spoke of their bodies, their lives, the flesh and blood of it all, I felt such visceral revulsion as I might’ve never felt before.

Or have I? Have I known this already, this knee-jerk lip curl, this morbid disgust with another’s aberrant sex? This idea in my mind, spreading like cancer, that these people were wrong? That they’ve violated something inviolable? And how civility and compassion chiselled this violent core into arrogant pity towards an untouchable other?

No, I have known this. And not such a long time ago.

The Body Horror

When I first came out as trans to my university class—cis-majority if not totality, naturally—the perverse fascination with my body was hard to escape. They were mostly polite, of course. My university was very ‘decadent Westian’ (pardon the quasi-inside joke). We were hip with it. Nevertheless—

“It’s okay for you, of course, but if my future children—”

“You mean to say you date women? How do you—”

“You mean to say you date men??”

“I wasn’t looking at you like that in the bathroom—I mean—uh—”

You don’t need to say it outright. Sometimes you don’t need to say a thing at all. I see it. I know.

That’s to say nothing of the doctors’ dehumanising dissection and the conservatives flashing the least flattering post-operative pictures like they’re gore. As a transsexual, you don’t even need dysphoria; you will be informed of your physical monstrosity in great detail and in every possible manner, from the subtlest glance to the bloody megaphone.

You learn to see transsexual bodies this way very young and not voluntarily, but I was not just any random person. I transitioned aeons ago, and I did not find the flesh of my fellow transsexuals a subject of psychosexual fascination anymore. We were just people. I’d learned that.

I thought I did, anyway.

That’s the thing about the biases that systemic oppression seeds and wields. They are, in my experience, nothing less than psychosocial cancers. Leave one cell alive, and they will surely regrow. Maybe into a new shape, maybe into something old, but they will never die left alone.

Although I’d mentally graduated to gender abolition and genderfuckery-as-political-stance, to activism, to gender constructivism and to queering everything, especially feminism, I’d first come to see transsexuality through the lens of the DSM. Not my fault or anything—that’s what was available to me. Transsexual transition, then, was first presented to me as a linear transformation, a path from A to B, at the end of which laid gender nirvana. Or, like, happiness and fulfilment, I suppose. White-people Buddhism was fashionable at that time, so please excuse my French.

So genderfuckery was all well and good, but you know, done respectably. For me, that was performing picture-perfect transsexuality, just a little spiced-up. So long as I still appeared cis. Anything that marked me as ‘clocky’ was unseemly; although I no longer needed to see any doctors about it, I’d been trained to sniff out such features and weed them out for the sake of gaining medical access. But that’s not the only way ‘respectable gender’ is ensured in queer circles. I’ve also observed it to be an absence of transsexuality. That is, gender is to be fucked with in words and pronouns and haircuts and porn—but to transition about it would be kind of gauche, don’t you think? A little gender-conformist?

Different outcome, but for the purposes of this discussion, same principle: it is disgust with transition. Visible transition, obvious transition; transition at all. My case was not altogether different from ideological non-transitioners; it was just modified to accommodate for some alteration of sex.

After nearly a decade of virilising HRT, my detransition wasn’t simply a matter of changing my name and putting on lipstick. That would just make strangers say ‘yas gurl.’ No, if I wanted to live as a woman beyond my immediate social circle, I needed to make more invasive changes. More than that, I wanted those changes. I didn’t merely wish to say I’m a woman—I wanted to look in the mirror and believe it.

The first truth a detransitioner learns is this: to detransition, you must transition again.

Again?!

Oh, it’s not the same as your first time ‘round, sure. Not just because of the difference in desired sex; if you’ve never had your gonads removed and have no prior issues with hormone production, you can simply cease to take HRT and stop depending on the vagaries of medical supplies. Doctors will, generally, be a little more understanding of your desire to change sex. Often, from their perspective, you’re not changing it; you’re fixing it. So if you were allowed to take the so-called ‘cross-sex’ hormones, you’ll probably be allowed the ‘same-sex’ ones. Conversely, because no such thing as a ‘detransition procedure’ usually exists, it’s a dice roll if any surgery will be covered by the state, your insurance, or anything. Yes, you’re ‘fixing’ your sex—but the fact you’ve ‘damaged’ it at all renders you a bit of an unreliable witness to your own mind. A little bit crazy, you could say. Isn’t it all quite literally your own fault?

However, the day-to-day mundanities of detransition would be highly recognisable to any trans person. Indeed, I got all the ideas on how to relieve my gender dysphoria from my transfem friends. I learned of laser hair removal from them, and they advised me on voice training. Some of the professionals that serviced me had no idea I was detrans—how would they? Kind of an odd thing to randomly bring up while getting your beard fried.

‘Detrans woman’ is not a legible social category (nor any other kind of detrans person). People know what these words mean—at least, if they’re up on the latest gender lingo—but they don’t truly know what that looks like. Maybe they imagine a particular grifter when you say ‘detrans,’ maybe it’s just a void—but it’s never you. No one will ever assume that’s what you are.

So how does a detrans woman move through the world? She passes, of course. She is either assumed to be a cis woman, having worked to file off any signs of testosterone’s magic touch, or she stands out with those features. If she transitioned after adolescence, she might have a leg up on passing, but should a stranger’s transvestigation radar starts beeping, they will surely scan her for other hints. Sometimes they’ll find what was never there, and sometimes they’ll decree a feature that occurs in all women, cis and trans, a sure sign of inborn manhood. I’ve always had a visible Adam’s apple, for instance, but it didn’t use to be proof I was born a man. Now, though, take that and a bad voice day, and I don’t have a leg to stand on.

And if someone decides I don’t belong in a women’s bathroom, do you think it’ll help if I cry I was born to piss here?

Here’s the second truth a detransitioners learns: it doesn’t matter how many times you transition, to what end or for what reason. If you do it at all, you will never be cis again. It’s the real red pill—the one the Wachowski sisters intended, not what the chuds on the internet made of it. Your body, your social and legal history, your continuity of self—it is different now. Not the way it’s supposed to be. Changing sex at all was never meant to be.

Regime and Treachery

Um-actuallying people who think I’m a trans woman will not help me under most circumstances. It won’t help with a strange man in an alley, and it won’t help with an employer that discovers my last manager knew me under a male name. In one case nothing but a good run will help, and in the other—come on now, they won’t think any better of me.

It will not make me cis, and it doesn’t help—under most circumstances.

Detrans women aren’t the only ones which may be assumed for trans women. Cis women that never touched a drop of testosterone get transvestigated too—not nearly as frequently, but it happens all the same, and regularly. The case of Imane Khelif is one that probably jumps to mind first these days, but she is perhaps in the minority of women that never responded to such accusations by loudly proclaiming she is completely and utterly unlike those filthy transsexuals—she is a real woman!

Detrans women have the whole transsexuality thing in common with trans women, of course. But they aren’t quite the only ones—intersex women that were assigned female at birth are also often assumed to be transsexual. They are also subject to severe medical violence and neglect. Some require exogenous hormones to stay healthy. Some wish to take ownership of their body via voluntary sex alteration, for a change. It is rather transsexual-like, all in all.

But yet you will not search long to find similar underbus-throwing. The AFAB intersex woman is not like that trans woman—she deserves gender-affirmative treatment. She’s a real woman. The birth certificate said so.

And so too the detrans woman, despite all her history, despite the indelible mark of transsexuality, looks at the dangling carrot of Real Womanhood—and like a dog, jumps.

She will never be allowed the full extent of it. It is irreversible damage, after all. That’s important. The detrans woman that betrays her sisters—her class, even—must forever cry about the wounds transition left on her, must never heal from them. And trust me, the cis aren’t nice about it behind her back. The detrans woman is promised a shred of cis-ness, of real-ness—but only so long as she divorces herself from all things transsexual. Loudly, repeatedly. The moment she stops, she will be reminded: she too is transsexual. She has seen sex/gender for what it is; her body is evidence. She has eaten of the tree of knowledge. It’s only at the regime’s great mercy that she can peek into Eden—but god forbid, never enter.

Because what would happen if the ‘damage’ wasn’t irreversible? If society allowed the detrans woman to be a woman wholly and totally—its woman, real woman? Why, it would mean sex can be changed without repercussion. It would mean you could leave gender.

It wouldn’t quite mean that trans women are women and trans men are men—it would only allow that your birth sex can be ‘returned to.’ But if even that much was permitted, it would make transition no longer a threat. You could do it and come back just fine, see? What’s there to fear? Why not just try it? And if you can just try it, just leave and come back as you please—how can you force people to obey gender?

It would mean I could opt out of womanhood any time. Of the mandate of reproduction, of subordination, of sexual and domestic servitude—of the constant fight to break free of those things. I could opt out even if I didn’t like being a man. I’d always have one foot back in the door, if I pleased. And that’s the thing about the patriarchy: women must never be allowed to leave. Or to desist, or to fail. For that they must be punished. Want fewer lashes? Kick the weaker bitch out the door.

Cis-ness is a regime. A status quo. To define it merely by the relationship to birth-assigned sex is erroneous—intersexness reveals this, but if you’re the kind of person who thinks the intersex are some sort of rare and bizarre exception (they’re not), perisex detransitioners must surely hammer the nail home. To be cis is not merely to self-identify as the sex on your birth certificate; who’s even looking at those? It is to live in accordance with your biological destiny, and every social law that entails. This destiny is assigned at birth, yes, but it does not end there: it follows you all the way.

Cis-ness is not an identity—it is a reward for doing as you’re told.

The Freedom of Sex

It is obvious, then, why detrans medical care is a pain to get even though you’re complying with your birth sex assignment. That is the true engineer of detrans misery, of dysphoria and resentment. To come to dislike the features you’ve acquired during transition is one thing—but to be prevented from changing them? To be looked at like a lunatic? To not know what to do, because information about de/transition and how it works is so understudied and obscured?

If transition was easy, known, free—more people would detransition, certainly. But that wouldn’t mean much. Because they’d be people like anyone else. Their bodies—transsexual bodies—would be just the same, just as worthy. They would be real.

The implications are even greater than that. Freedom of sex, as Andrea Long Chu puts it, means a freedom to change anything about your sex, in any way, for any reason, without restriction. Not the A->B path I was first taught under the illusion of two wholly distinct, non-intersecting sexes—rather, the tweaking of individual aspects. It is to really examine how sex works and take it apart on your person. It is what some trans people already do, with microdosing and what you might call small acts of detransition. If you don’t like the beard after T, why not zap it off? If you want to be on oestrogen but don’t like the breasts—double mastectomy works just the same regardless of initial sex. The idea of customisable, ‘nonbinary’ transition is one that’s gained prominence in recent years, even as attacks on all transition have exponentially increased.

Linear transition was written in an attempt to enforce a kind of gender austerity. Only those that really need it can get it, and so there must be competition, a hierarchy of haves and have-nots. There must be doctors that will prescribe you wrong dosages based on irrelevant research and leave you to wonder why you feel so off. You must not pick and choose the changes you want, because your sex is not for you to decide—it is to be granted to you, justified via a constant defense of self-identification. For the crime of violating sex/gender, your autonomy is branded as harebrained desire until proven otherwise. You’re not allowed to simply want something; you have to need it, hence the attempts to naturalise and essentialise transsexuality—you have to be real, you have to be born with it.

Above all you must be kept in the dark and hurting, so that any time someone suggests anything as ‘frivolous’ as the freedom to have their body as they wish, you snipe back: Shut up, vapid idiot! You’re going to hurt yourself in your stupidity! I’m not like you—I’m the one who’s really hurting!

To look at de/transition from the perspective of liberation is to ask: why? What’s the austerity for? We have the hormones, the surgeries, almost all the treatments we want, and the science isn’t calling it quits tomorrow last I checked. What horrible thing are we preventing by stopping people from doing to their sex whatsoever they wish? Are we running out of gender juice?

But of course, I already told you why. A smarter woman than me has also written extensively why. It is because sex and gender come with a fine print, a set of prescripts, which must be enforced. Irreversible damage to fertile wombs must not be allowed. The pedestal of Man must not be tarnished.

Freedom of sex, then, is the patriarchy’s anathema.

Detransition is part of freedom of sex. To accept acts of detransition as neutral is to allow that changes wrought by transition—just like naturally developed sexual characteristics—can be changed at will. Even disliked. To be free is to embrace the possibility of discontent, too; to allow oneself to do something you may regret later, and to be free to go back. To accept that nothing is final. Finality is one of the ways transition is made more difficult than it needs to be: you must be sure, must be happy with what you get—or else, it is argued, you never had a real need for it anyway.

That is plainly not true. I know that from my own example.

Transition served me well way back when. I do not know of an extant, realistic alternative that could’ve helped me as effectively. I was happy with my transition for years, and suicidally discontent before then. So who cares if transitioning proved in the end an imperfect permanent solution for me? Why must transition be held to perfection and permanence before it is allowed? It worked and it saved my life—who are you to tell me I shouldn’t have done it? And who are you to hold me hostage to it?

What if, even now, I enjoy that I’ve been constructed rather than simply born?

Not So Fast

Now that’s a nice thought, isn’t it? I can feel the gender nirvana coming on already.

Unfortunately, it can’t be that simple. To dream of a world you want, you must first contend with the world you already live in.

There’s a particular aspect that’s been largely absent from my essays so far: forced detransition and conversion therapy. In part, that’s because I argue from the perspective of a willing detransitioner with no shadow of a right-wing past or influence; a viewpoint which is lacking in the public conscience. Plenty of trans writers and thinkers already staunchly argue against forced detransition. They omit the detrans by virtue of either irrelevance or ignorance or both. When voluntary detransition is mentioned, people tend to merely point out there’s not that many of us. In actuality there’s very little statistical research to give definitive numbers, but it’s certainly true we are the minority of transitioners, and the absence of statistical evidence only further confirms: the Right are pulling numbers out of thin air.

Except, saying that is missing the point. The Right never cared about numbers. Or facts. Or logic. Their argument is that willing detransition ought to be the nail in the coffin for transition. If you retort that, um actually, there’s only half as many willing detransitioners, you still concede we exist and are a contradiction to you. That is enough to prove the Right’s point. I, therefore, wish to argue we are not a contradiction to trans rights or existence, but in fact on a continuum with both. That by virtue of our needs and lived realities, we are trans. Differently trans, but trans nonetheless. Some (trans and detrans) may not enjoy that assertion for a number of reasons, but the empirical fact is that we are irrevocably cast out of cis-ness, and we are in need of support structures that are near-identical to those of trans people. If by every function we are trans, then it’s under that name that we should be understood, because it is the only thing that makes sense and yields results.

But.

Detransition is not a neutral act in practice, even if it has the potential to be. Just like transition isn’t. Both are politicised, and the nature of detransition’s politicisation diverges from that of transition quite sharply.

In the current political climate, as trans people are being denied medical care and the anti-trans rhetoric pollutes every information space, this cannot be avoided or denied. Transition is reviled, and detransition is said to be the cure and is wielded as a punishment. Detransition-as-sex-freedom cannot be understood without also grappling with the other two kinds of detransition I distinguish based on motive and emergent needs: forced and coerced.

Forced detransition is the simplest to define. It is detransition that occurs when circumstances necessitate it as the only possible course of action, or it is altogether done unto the transitioner without any pretense of choice. The starkest example is, say, the new law in Florida which forcibly detransitions the incarcerated. But it needn’t be so wholly dystopian to qualify as ‘forced.’ Detransitions due to family or peer pressure, poverty, lack of access, or social isolation are all forced in nature, even if in the most technical sense you made the ‘choice’ to undergo it. If you wish you were still transitioning, it is forced.

Coerced detransition is a grayer area. It is motivated by an individual’s choice—not a lack of one or a pseudo-choice, as above—under circumstances in which transition is possible, but highly discouraged. You will naturally recognise conversion therapy as an extreme example, but it needn’t be so blatant. Often it isn’t.

Say, for instance, your closest circle of friends regards transition as a frivolous neoliberal excess. Or, let’s say, your cis boyfriend is perfectly happy you’re a man now, he swears, but—well, he’s not gay, you know? Just for you. It’s different with you. Except he still treats you the same way he did before your transition—but that’s a good thing, right? Good thing he still wants you at all? He would probably prefer a girlfriend, and he’s never dated men—actually, is this whole thing really that important to you? Aren’t you rushing into things? Do you really know what you want? You don’t mind if he slips up on pronouns when you’re not in the room, do you?

Or maybe your general practitioner keeps insisting any time anything is wrong with you, that it’s the hormones’ fault. The classic ‘trans broken arm’ syndrome. And when something actually might be wrong with the hormones, the solution is always to just stop HRT altogether. And the surgeries—they’re just so dangerous; look at how horrifying post-op pictures are! It’s just biology, just facts, which don’t care about your feelings (but remember: it’s only a fact if it makes you feel worse.)

In other words, the decision to go through coerced detransition is made in a state of reduced agency, often caused by social pressure and/or misinformation about transition. Nothing is explicitly preventing you from doing as you will to your sex—and so it is precisely your will which must be subverted and undermined.

Notice that I make no claim whether detransition is right or wrong for the person in question. Perhaps they would’ve arrived at this decision another way, perhaps not. The point is, they are led to believe detransition is simply more sensible, healthier, better. It is the superior choice—so of course, they make it. In the end, coerced detransition is not truly dissimilar from the forced kind. What merits it separate consideration is that it’s designed to make you relinquish your own judgement, and your very own sense of self. Under such conditions, even if you would’ve ultimately detransitioned regardless, your relationship to your sex/gender is made maladaptive, and your independence as an individual is maliciously compromised.

The needs of coercively and forcibly detransitioned people are closely aligned. The forcibly detransitioned, naturally, require that the circumstance which necessitated their detransition is removed, and that their retransition is facilitated and supported. The coercively detransitioned may or may not require the same thing—some detrans people do, in fact, discover they genuinely desire detransition in less-than-ideal circumstances—but what they certainly need is a pathway to recovery from conversion. They are to be given their agency back, as well as access to accurate information about transition and transitioners, so that they are free to make the choice to retransition or to keep detransitioning as they see fit.

Both cases run counter to detransition-as-sex-freedom, to voluntary detransition—which is to say, a choice made due to a shift in self-perception, under circumstances in which continued transition is unhindered. The needs of a voluntary detransitioner are also starkly different, and most resemble that of a transitioner. A voluntary detransitioner requires a facilitated pathway to sex modification and gender recognition, from hormones to surgeries to legal procedure. It is the same thing for which trans people fight; it need only be recognised that voluntary detransitioners are part of that fight.

Grouping voluntary and involuntary detransitioners under the same umbrella makes little sense. We may superficially share some experiences, but such an equation falls apart from the perspective of rights and needs; it obfuscates motive, absolves abusers and systemic injustice, and it smooths over radical differences in our stories and perspectives. It draws a false equivalence that either condemns voluntary detransition or celebrates forced and coerced detransition, thus making it impossible to either embrace or reject detransition in good conscience. Thus no progress can be made.

In other words, conflation of voluntary and involuntary detransition only works from the cis perspective—from the perspective of the regime, which observes its deviants and wishes them gone, and rejects understanding them on principle. From either the trans or the detrans perspective, it is nonsense.

Except…

How do you know, though? How do you know? How do you know, when everything from your very cradle is telling you trans people are aberrant for existing, and when trans life is so hard? The coercively detransitioned wholeheartedly claim total autonomy; they are not really lying; from a strictly liberal-minded perspective, they are not wrong. How exactly can continued transition be ‘unhindered’ when society is engineered to always make it difficult?

How do you really know it’s your choice and your choice alone?

We all realise the answer: you don’t. You can’t. Not with complete certainty. There’s no such thing as a pure, unadulterated, individual choice, and there’s very rarely such a thing as an unhindered transition.

We live in a world that reviles transsexuality, that denies and despises the mutability of sex and stamps out any proof that gender is smoke and mirrors. The regime of cisheterosexism seeps through every layer of society and through every aspect of life. Purely voluntary detransition is, in the strictest sense, impossible. Sex/gender is a regime, and no act under it is free; all are forced to exist and be legible within its framework, or else be totally exiled. To exist socially is to exist under sex/gender.

This is not whatsoever unique to detransition. Or detrans people, or trans people. Cis women, for instance, must grapple with what it means to be a woman when Woman is defined as subordinate to Man—even as most do not transition about it. So, too, do men grapple with what their gender means when Manhood is defined and enforced via violence towards women, other men, and the gender-deviant. Even the cissexual must contend with the demands placed on their bodies—almost all transsexual treatments originate in cissexual healthcare. There is no exit from this struggle, because patriarchal sex/gender is constructed to be all-encompassing and mutually exclusive. Woman is everything Man isn’t, and vice versa; never the twain shall meet, and no stone will they leave unturned. No matter what you do, it will be sexed, it will be gendered, and though the conclusion will shift from occasion to occasion, in any particular instance it will allow for no ambiguity. Even when someone yells at you on the street, “Are you a chick or a dude?!”—that is not ‘ambiguity.’ It’s just a longer version of a slur.

Similarly, this is not the first (nor the last) time when sex/gender alteration has been contorted and weaponised against transsexuality—that is, sex-mutability’s most blatant, most acute manifestation. The Cass Review has notably cited the existence of non-transitioning nonbinary individuals as ‘proof’ transition must be curtailed:

“Secondly, medication is binary, but the fastest growing group identifying under the trans umbrella is non-binary, and we know even less about the outcomes for this group. Some of you will also become more fluid in your gender identity as you grow older. We do not know the ‘sweet spot’ when someone becomes settled in their sense of self, nor which people are most likely to benefit from medical transition. When making life-changing decisions, what is the correct balance between keeping options as flexible and open as possible as you move into adulthood, and responding to how you feel right now?”

Doubtless, the Gender Criticals wish the nonbinary non-transitioner to be as non-existent as their more deviant sibling. But while a greater deviant still exists, those that happen to be more acceptable, more assimilate-able, are called upon to do the one thing they’re good for:

Kick the weaker bitch out.

Such too is the final fate of detransitioners under the patriarchal regime. They are to be the knife in the back of their siblings, and when those are gone, they will find their own backs perforated.

So far I have provided eloquent arguments towards clear and singular conclusions—at least, I hope you’ve found me eloquent and clear. Today, on this matter, I offer no such thing. I have nothing to offer but this: so long as transition is reviled, so long as the transsexual are persecuted in any manner at all, there is no freedom of sex and there is no neutrality. Insofar as this pertains to detransition: so long as the transsexual are persecuted, hated, and forced into obscurity, we are likewise bound to their persecution, hatred, and abandonment. So long as that holds, voluntary detransition can never be free.

What Now?

I know. I’m a killjoy. It’s a fate all serious anarchists and college dropouts must contend with: if we’re really sincere about what we think, the mood will be thoroughly murdered.

The fight is clear. The fight is needed. And, the fight is hard. But there is life to be lived in the meanwhile, and it’s worth living even if we don’t see a victory during our time. Total certainty may be impossible and foolish to seek—but you have to make choices anyway. Doing nothing is merely choosing passivity and inertia; you face the consequences either way.

So I ask again: how do you know?

If you’re someone contemplating detransition, here’s the second best thing I can offer: have the courage, the self-insight, and the compassion to face yourself and be honest. Have the intelligence and the disobedience to measure what you’ve been told about transition and transsexuality against the things you have seen and experienced. Have the audacity to be wrong, to make mistakes as many times as you need. Have the pride to ask for better things than you are offered. Have the humility to not think yourself exceptional. Above all, never relinquish the responsibility over your life and your choices to anyone or anything else. No, no one else knows any better. No, there is no easier way.

The first best thing I can offer—to anyone, detrans or not—is to tell you how I knew. In the end I speak from my own experiences, and so it’s only fitting that the message I broadcast is incomplete without a degree of testimony.

Oh, it is to my chagrin, believe me—well, kind of. For all that I love attention and getting told I write oh so powerfully well, a part of me also detests personality pieces. I’m just one woman; I don’t mean much; I shouldn’t mean much. But you must’ve wondered, right? Especially if you don’t recognise yourself in me. I’ve spoken briefly about aspects of my de/transition, and let’s say you took all that for granted, but you must’ve wondered: how did I get here in the first place? How did it feel? How does it feel? Really, truly, how? And why?

I don’t like personality pieces because I think they mine for compassion. That can be a catalyst for a great many things, but just as often I’ve had people treat me with total nicety and then vote for a politician that would kill me, or exile a child that used to be me. Compassion is common, human, and incredibly cheap.

It is also required for kinship. For comparison, for legibility. And one of the issues that plagues detransitioners is illegibility. Silence. A lack of reference by which to see yourself. Community is best known by example.

So an example I shall provide. Next time.

Recommended Reading

On the freedom of sex: Andrea Long Chu, The Right To Change Sex.

On the nature of sex/gender hierarchy within the patriarchy: Talia Bhatt, Understanding Transmisogyny, Part 1.

On the mechanisms of gender-conservatism among women: Andrea Dworkin, Right-Wing Women.

#transfeminism #detrans #detransition #material feminism #sex is a social construct

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wwooyology · 1 day ago

Text

── 𝄞 𝙉𝙤𝙬 𝙋𝙡𝙖𝙮𝙞𝙣𝙜 : 𝘾𝙤𝙪𝙧𝙩𝙚𝙨𝙮 𝘾𝙖𝙡𝙡 | 𝙋.𝙎𝙃

[𝘼𝙍𝙏𝙄𝙎𝙏𝙎] : seonghwa x fem!reader [𝙒𝘾] : 5.1k

[𝙎𝙊𝙉𝙂 𝘾𝙍𝙀𝘿𝙄𝙏𝙎] : singer!seonghwa, guitarist!reader, smut

[𝙇𝙔𝙍𝙄𝘾𝙎] : you were a tease; everyone in the band knew that and just turned a blind eye to it. but when you start making more advances towards seonghwa, he can't help but grow confused and frustrated, so during a huge afterparty that was thrown for your biggest concert, he's ready to figure out what your true feelings are.

[𝙈𝘼𝙏𝙀𝙍𝙄𝘼𝙇𝙎] : MINORS DO NOT INTERACT!!!, cussing, kissing, messy makeout, oral (m. receiving), teasing, slight choking, hwa is just a lil mean, unprotected sex, rough sex, dom!seonghwa x sub!reader, slight clit play, multiple orgasms, hwa is very vocal, overstimulation, petnames (doll, sweetheart, baby...), biting/marking, big dick!seonghwa, deepthroating, slight face fucking, a bit of breath play, slight size kink, bulge kink, dirty talk, dumbification, cum eating, its just realllll messy (like really nasty), slight manhandling, lmk if I missed anything!!

[𝙉𝙊𝙏𝙀𝙎] : decided to go ahead and post this a day early 🙂‍↔️ alsooooo long story short I kinda got carried away with this hehe 😅 I just started typing and next thing I knew I was already at more words than the joong part 😭 but either way I hope y'all enjoy my nastiness 🙂‍↕️

─

[𝙎𝙋𝙀𝘾𝙄𝘼𝙇 𝙍𝙀𝙌𝙐𝙀𝙎𝙏] : 𝙖𝙣𝙤𝙣𝙮𝙢𝙤𝙪𝙨 𝙞𝙩 𝙨𝙚𝙚𝙢𝙨 𝙮𝙤𝙪'𝙫𝙚 𝙧𝙚𝙦𝙪𝙚𝙨𝙩𝙚𝙙 [𝙃𝙄! 𝙄𝙁 𝙔𝙊𝙐’𝙍𝙀 𝙎𝙏𝙄𝙇𝙇 𝙏𝘼𝙆𝙄𝙉𝙂 𝙋𝙍𝙊𝙈𝙋𝙏𝙎 𝘾𝘼𝙉 𝙄 𝘼𝙎𝙆 𝙁𝙊𝙍 𝙎𝙀𝙊𝙉𝙂𝙃𝙒𝘼 𝙒𝙄𝙏𝙃 𝙏𝙃𝙀𝙎𝙀 🙈 𝟏𝟐, 𝟏𝟖 & 𝟐𝟕] ─ 𝙩𝙝𝙤𝙨𝙚 𝙨𝙚𝙡𝙚𝙘𝙩𝙞𝙤𝙣𝙨 𝙖𝙧𝙚 : [𝙄 𝙒𝘼𝙉𝙏 𝙏𝙊 𝙎𝙀𝙀 𝙃𝙊𝙒 𝙋𝙍𝙀𝙏𝙏𝙔 𝙔𝙊𝙐 𝙇𝙊𝙊𝙆 𝙒𝙄𝙏𝙃 𝙔𝙊𝙐𝙍 𝙇𝙄𝙋𝙎 𝘼𝙍𝙊𝙐𝙉𝘿 𝙈𝙔 𝘿𝙄𝘾𝙆.], [𝙊𝙋𝙀𝙉 𝙔𝙊𝙐𝙍 𝙈𝙊𝙐𝙏𝙃.] 𝙖𝙣𝙙 [𝙄'𝙈 𝙂𝙊𝙉𝙉𝘼 𝙁𝙄𝙇𝙇 𝙔𝙊𝙐 𝙐𝙋 𝙎𝙊 𝙈𝙐𝘾𝙃 𝙏𝙃𝘼𝙏 𝙔𝙊𝙐'𝙇𝙇 𝘽𝙀 𝘿𝙍𝙄𝙋𝙋𝙄𝙉𝙂 𝙁𝙊𝙍 𝘿𝘼𝙔𝙎.] ─ 𝙞𝙨 𝙩𝙝𝙞𝙨 𝙘𝙤𝙧𝙧𝙚𝙘𝙩?

[𝙔𝙀𝙎] 𝙤𝙧 [𝙉𝙊]

𝙋𝙚𝙧𝙛𝙚𝙘𝙩! 𝙒𝙤𝙪𝙡𝙙 𝙮𝙤𝙪 𝙡𝙞𝙠𝙚 𝙩𝙤 𝙥𝙡𝙖𝙮 𝙣𝙤𝙬 𝙤𝙧 𝙨𝙠𝙞𝙥 𝙖𝙣𝙙 𝙨𝙖𝙫𝙚 𝙛𝙤𝙧 𝙡𝙖𝙩𝙚𝙧?

[𝙋𝙇𝘼𝙔] 𝙤𝙧 [𝙎𝙆𝙄𝙋]

─

𝙄𝙛 𝙮𝙤𝙪 𝙬𝙤𝙪𝙡𝙙 𝙡𝙞𝙠𝙚 𝙩𝙤 𝙧𝙚𝙩𝙪𝙧𝙣 𝙩𝙤 𝙩𝙝𝙚 𝙥𝙡𝙖𝙮𝙡𝙞𝙨𝙩 𝙝𝙤𝙢𝙚, 𝙨𝙞𝙢𝙥𝙡𝙮 𝙥𝙧𝙚𝙨𝙨 𝙩𝙝𝙚 [𝙍𝙀𝙏𝙐𝙍𝙉] 𝙗𝙪𝙩𝙩𝙤𝙣!

[𝙍𝙀𝙏𝙐𝙍𝙉]

“You’re such a good singer Hwa, maybe you could give me private lessons.” You had spoken those very words to the dark-haired male after practice one day, ending your sentence with a wink before strutting out of Yunho’s garage.

Seonghwa knew you were a tease, hell everyone knew that you were a tease, but there was something about the innuendo comments you would make and the lingering touch you would leave on his body that was driving him damn near mad.

This had been going on for weeks, and he was growing more and more frustrated trying to figure out if you were just being your normal teasing self or if there were more to your words and touches.

“Is it just me, or has she been worse here lately?” Yunho commented as he spun his drumsticks around his nimble fingers.

“Definitely not just you, bro,” San added in as he walked over to the fridge to grab out a can of beer, asking if either of them wanted one. “Not just that, but she’s been targeting Hwa. I fear his head might explode at this point.” San teased the older male, bumping his shoulder playfully before passing Yunho a cold can.

“I can tell if she’s just being herself or if she’s being for real.” Hwa groaned, stepping away from the mic stand and running his fingers through his hair. His heart was racing, and he could feel all of his blood rushing south as he recalled the way you had pressed yourself against his arm. “Fuck me, I’m gonna head out.”

“Alright, be safe, Hwa.” Yunho bid the male goodbye while San continued to talk about whatever.

Stepping out into the cool night air, Seonghwa tried to calm his nerves and relieve the growing tension in his pants. However, hearing footsteps, his eyes shot open only to find you a few feet away, a dead cigarette bud in between your fingers. Seeing him, you gave him a smile before walking over and leaning on the hood of San’s BMW. You had your arms situated underneath your chest just enough to make your cleavage pop out of the top of your shirt. Seonghwa bit down on his tongue hard enough that he was sure he’d draw blood.

“Leaving so soon, Hwa?” Your bottom lip jutted out in a pout, and Seonghwa had to tear his gaze away from you; there was no way that you weren’t doing this on purpose. Noticing his reaction, you couldn’t help but notice the smirk that spread across your lips. Your eyes then flickered down to where his hands were failing miserably at hiding his growing boner. Pushing yourself off the car, you walked around the hood before stopping just a few feet away from the male and catching his attention. “Get some rest, Hwa; you look like you might need it.” There was an underlying tone in your voice that he couldn’t quite make out, but when he saw your eyes flicker down, he could feel his face grow warm in embarrassment.

He opened his mouth to try to defend himself, but not a single word left his tongue, utterly lost on an excuse. However, you just winked at him once more, that same sly grin on your lips, before walking around him, leaving him standing out in the cold.

“Fucking hell.” He cursed to himself before fixing his pants and walking over to his car. Tearing the door open, he got inside with a huff before placing the key in the ignition, bringing the car to life.

He didn’t move, though, his mind preoccupied with thoughts of you and how you just couldn’t keep your mouth shut. Groaning, he peeled out of Yunho’s driveway and practically sped all the way back home.

Those same thoughts plugged his mind as he fucked his fist while hunched over in his bed. Wondering what you would sound like once he had his cock buried deep in your cunt or how good your little mouth would feel around his length. He came so much that night he was sure that you were going to the death of him, and he knew he needed to figure out whether or not you were joking around or being for real for his own sanity.

–

This same behavior only got worse as the weeks went on to the point that Seonghwa wished that the ground would just swallow him whole. However, he finally reached his breaking point whenever you were all at an ice cream parlor after practice one day, and you had quite literally licked ice cream off of the corner of his lips.

Yunho and San watched from the other side of the table in astonishment, not actually believing what they had just witnessed. You, however, just continued with the night like it was just any other normal night.

“Okay, what the fuck was that?” Yunho asked as soon as you excused yourself to go to the bathroom.

“Did she seriously just lick that ice cream off of your face?” San asked, completely bewildered and Seonghwa was at a loss for words, his heart racing under his ribs.

“Are we sure she’s just being her normal teasing self? Because that sure as hell didn’t look like it!” Yunho exclaimed, glancing between Seonghwa and San, one of which looked like his head was about to explode while the other ate his ice cream in shock.

The table fell silent for a few moments before San made a sudden ‘aha’ sound, looking over at Seonghwa with wide eyes.

“Isn’t there a huge afterparty next weekend? After our show?” He asked and Yunho perked up, recalling exactly what event San was talking about.

“Oh yeah! Maybe you can talk to her and figure out what the hell is going on.” Yunho suggested and secretly hoped that y’all would fuck because the poor man was so strung up with sexual frustration is was driving the other two insane.

“You’re right, god she’s gonna drive me to an early grave.” Seonghwa groaned, running his hands down his face before combing his hair back out of his face.

“Who’s gonna drive who to an early grave?” The sudden sound of your voice caused all three of the boys to jump, looking over at you as if they had just been caught stealing from the cookie jar.

“Oh, uh, Hwa was just talking about his sister getting on his nerves again.” San chuckled nervously, hoping that you would buy it, but there was a slight twitch in the corner of your lips as you fought off a smirk that told him you didn’t believe a word of it.

“Oh, well, hopefully, she won’t drive you to your grave yet; that’d be no fun.” You pouted, and Seonghwa swallowed thickly, only to have that catch in his throat when you leaned into the booth. His whole body went rigid as you reached to the floor to grab your bag that had ‘fallen’ before leaning up just enough to peek over the top of the table. “My roommate called; she’s having a boy emergency, so I’ve gotta dip. Don’t have too much fun without me now.” Your tone was your normal teasing tone, but when your hand was not so discreetly brushed over Seonghwa’s lap, he felt his heart stop in his chest.

Then, standing straight, you sent them all a wink before turning and strutting out of the parlor, leaving all three of the boys stunned. Seonghwa felt like his lungs were about to combust from how long he had been holding his breath, not breathing in until Yunho kicked his leg, telling him that his lips were starting to turn blue.

Inhaling deeply, he felt his lungs burn, and he prayed that he would be able to make it through this next week of rehearsals without losing his head completely. Then, hopefully, he’d be able to figure out what the hell your deal was at the party.

–

As if the gods had answered his prayers, you hadn’t been on the same bullshit that whole week, mainly focused on making sure you played all of the right notes on your guitar. Not once had you made any dirty remark or even touched the man, which he wasn’t sure what was worse at this point after getting used to your hands on him at least once during practice.

“Have they told us what time we’re gonna be on yet?” You asked, looking over at Yunho as you placed your guitar back in its case. The taller male just shook his head, saying that they hadn’t received that email yet, which in turn caused you to grumble. “Useless dickwads.” You stepped off to the side with your phone in your hand to call the venue and figure out the time.

Seonghwa’s eyes trailed after your form, watching as annoyance contorted on your face when the call was put on hold. If there was one thing that you always got serious about, it was your guys' shows; you were like a built-in manager, and the boys knew with you around, they wouldn’t have to worry about some sketch ass venue screwing you over.

“If I didn’t know any better, you’ve got heart eyes for our residential minx.” San teased the older male, bumping his shoulder as he held his bass by the neck.

Seonghwa looked over at the younger male with a cocked eyebrow; he was sure that he felt that he was just sexually frustrated, and you were the main one feeding into it. After fucking it out, he was certain that everything would just go back to normal.

Brushing San off, he just went back to reviewing the lyrics before y’all would practice one final time that night. Then the next day was your show and the night that Seonghwa was finally going to the bottom of your little antics.

And finally, that time rolled around.

You had just finished your show about an hour ago before splitting apart to go get ready for the after-party. However, the guys, of course, showed up before you, meeting one another at the entrance. Yunho looked around the hall, searching for you just in case they had missed you, but you were nowhere to be seen.

“Is y/n not here yet?” San asked, following behind Yunho and looking around the hall, but just like the older male, he found nothing.

“You keep looking; you might just find some hidden treasure.” You teased as you walked up to the trio, your lips pulling into a playful grin when they turned to look at you. All three pairs of eyes grew wide as they took in your attire as you did a small spin, “how do I look?” You asked, fixing the short skirt just a bit, not that it did too much.

Your dress was a deep cherry red with a black corset that hugged your curves perfectly; the sleeves only covered about your mid-bicep and down, leaving your shoulders completely bare.

“You look…” Seonghwa trailed on, words dying on his tongue as you turned to look at him, causing Yunho to jab his elbow into the dark-haired male’s side.

“You look amazing, y/n.” San complemented, causing you to smile brightly, bag clutched tightly in your hands.

“Thank you, Sannie.” You then turned and looked out into the crowd, a bright gleam in your eyes, noticing almost all of the people there, “you guys ready to mingle? Might be our chance to hit it big.” You gave them a determined smile before stepping towards Seonghwa, whose jaw tightened the closer you got.

“We’ll go find the drinks and you guys go talk to the famous people,” Yunho spoke hurriedly before shoving San along the way despite his protests.

Tilting your head, you watched as they walked off before turning back to Seonghwa, “must be thirsty, but what did you think, Hwa? Is it too much?” You asked the male, holding your arms up slightly, causing the ends of your dress to creep up.

“You look beautiful, but don’t you think it’s maybe too… short?” He asked almost cautiously, and you just looked up at him with doe eyes before looking down at yourself.

“Is it?” You asked, looking back up at him through your eyelashes, a teasing undertone in your voice. However, he didn’t get a chance to respond before you grabbed his arm, wrapping yourself around the limb and walking further into the large banquet hall.

Further into the night, it seemed like you were just trying to push Seonghwa’s buttons; those once lingering touches turned into an intentional caress, and almost everything you said to him held a deeper meaning.

“Hwa is an amazing singer, knows just all of the right notes to hit.” You told a man that he had seen numerous times on television.

He was trying his best to keep up with you in conversations but was also fighting for his life every time that you would step back, knowing full well that he was right behind you, brushing your body over his, but more specifically, your ass kept hitting his crotch making it impossible to keep all of the blood from rushing south.

“Y/n.” His tone was one of warning as you pressed yourself back against him once again, his hands, this time, finding your hips to keep you in place. Your body shuddered as you felt his warm breath fan over the shell of your ear when he bent down, “Stop teasing, or I will not hesitate to drag you out of here.” He growled, finally having enough of your teasing, his muscles tense from trying to stop from popping a boner.

“But I’m not even doing anything, Hwa; why are you being mean?” You pouted, looking up at him with faux doe eyes, but he could see the mischievous gleam in those same eyes.

“That’s it.” In the next moment he had his hand wrapped around your wrist and was pulling you towards the doors of the banquet hall, not caring for the stares that the two of you were receiving.

Seonghwa didn’t say a word as he dragged you down the hall, and you couldn’t help but feel a surge of excitement rush through your body. You had finally managed to make him snap, but you knew you could push his buttons just a little bit more.

“Hwa, where are we going? The party is that way.” You pointed over your shoulder but the taller male didn't say a word as he stopped in front of a hotel room and dug into his pocket before pulling out a keycard.

Heat flushed over your body as you watched him open the door in anticipation, and as soon as the door was open, he roughly pulled you into the room. Slamming the door shut behind you, he pushed you back against it, trapping you.

“Hwa–”

“Shut up.” He hissed before smashing his lips into yours, stealing all of the air out of your lungs. His hands gripped at your hips, pulling your body flush against his as your arms wrapped around his neck.

Seonghwa could’ve sworn that he was gonna go insane the moment a whimper fell from your lips when he bit down on your bottom lip. The sound went straight to his dick, which was straining hard against his pants.

You gasped when his hand on your lower back pulled you closer, causing you to feel him against your lower abdomen. He was bigger than you, that much you knew, but you never realized just how much bigger he was until this moment.

“Hwa.” You breathed out as his lips trialed from your lipstick-smeared lips to your jaw before finding a purchase on your neck. Your hands tugged at his suit jacket as the heat of the moment was starting to become overbearing.

It took no time for the both of you to make your way further into the hotel room; Seonghwa shrugged out of his shoes and suit jacket before letting you undo the buttons of his button-up. However, before he could take it off, you pushed him down on the edge of the bed.

You then stepped back, kicking off your heels before reaching behind you to grab the zipper of your dress. Seonghwa watched you with borderline predatory eyes as you pulled it down slowly, the sound almost overbearing and his patience starting to wear thin.

As soon as the zipper was done, you pulled your arms out of the sleeves before letting the dress drop to the ground, the fabric pooling at your feet. You stood there in nothing but your underwear seeing as you weren’t wearing a bra.

“Fuck.” Seonghwa cursed, palming himself through his slacks as he took in your body and you couldn’t help but almost feel shy under his intense gaze. His eyes then flickered back up to your face when he realized that he could finally live out the fantasy he had been thinking of almost every night. “C’mere doll.”

Your body automatically obeyed his command, stepping out of your dress and moving towards him. When you stopped in front of him, his hands found your hips, squeezing the soft flesh before letting his hand trail up your stomach and up between your breasts until he found your throat. A small gasp fell from your lips when he pulled you forward, and your knees buckled, causing you to drop to the ground in front of him.

“Much better,” He spoke softly, but the dark gleam in his eyes left a chill running down your spine. He let up on your neck before cupping your jaw, thumb brushing over your lips. “Now, I want to see how pretty you look with your lips around my dick. You can do that for me, can’t you, sweetheart?”

A borderline sadistic chuckle fell from his lips when you nodded, opening your mouth just enough for his thumb to slip inside. He pressed down on your tongue as you closed your lips around his digit, the sight was something beyond his imagination, but god, did it make him hard as a fucking rock.

He bit back a groan when you whined as he took his thumb from your lips a ring of red lipstick left behind on his skin. You pouted up at him but then your eyes flickered down to the obvious tent in his slack and you could feel your mouth start to water.

Rising up on your knees, you reached for his belt, quickly undoing the buckle despite the shakiness of your hands. Seonghwa just watched in amusement as you frantically tried to undo his slacks as quickly as possible. Once the button was undone and the zipper pulled down, he raised his hips, allowing you to wrap your fingers around the waistband of his slacks and boxers before pulling them down.

A cute little gasp fell from your swollen lips when his cock sprung free, almost hitting your cheek. Your eyes went wide as you took in his size, he was in every way bigger than any other man you had been with and a small seed of doubt started to grow in your head.

Noticing the conflict in your eyes, Seonghwa quickly kicked his pants and boxer off before reaching forward to place a gentle hand on top of your head. Looking up at him, you felt your core quiver at the endearing yet dominant expression on his face.

“You can take it, can’t you, doll? Hmm?” He hummed, petting your head softly, and you felt your heart flutter, and you instantly started to nod despite the uncertainty that settled in the pit of your stomach. You weren’t sure you’d be able to take him fully, but you’d sure as hell try. “Good girl. Now…” He moved his hand from your head down to your jaw once more, thumb pressing against your lips. “Open your mouth.”

Complying, you relaxed your jaw and parted your lips, sticking your tongue out just a bit, and Seonghwa gritted his teeth at your dazed eyes. Grabbing himself at the base, he slapped the head of his cock against your tongue before laying it on the wet muscle, letting you wrap your lips around him.

“Fuckkk.” He let out a low groan as you took more of him into your mouth; it took all of his willpower to not bust right then and there from how fucking phenomenal your mouth felt. It was nothing like he could have ever imagined.

Your tongue swirled around his tip before lowering your head once more, taking as much of him in your mouth as you could. Tears stung in your eyes when he hit the back of your throat, causing you to gag lightly. The heavenly moan that fell from the dark-haired male’s lips left you squirming in your spot. Your panties were soaked at this point.

Seonghwa looked down at you with hooded eyes as you pulled back to breathe, tongue pressing right along the underneath of his heavy cock. Biting his lip, he sat up just a bit as you took him fully in your mouth once more, but still not quite all of the way.

“C’mon doll, you can do better than that.” He breathed out, grabbing your hair and pulling it out of your face so he could see you clearly. His other hand brushed along your jaw, dark eyes trained on where your lips were wrapped around him. “Relax your jaw… there ya go, good girl.” He cooed, and you whined around him as he pushed your head down more until he completely invaded your throat, and your nose brushed against his pelvic bone. Tears blurred your vision before flowing down your cheeks from the lack of oxygen.

“Fucking hell, your mouth feels so damn good.” He groaned, holding your head in place, relishing in the way your throat contracted around him and the cute little tears that fell from your eyes as you looked up at him. After a few moments, he finally let up his grip before allowing you to pull up, but not fully off.

The sound and vibrations of your muffled moans and whines only spurred him on as he helped you take his length once more.

“Gonna cum in this pretty little mouth of yours.” He growled, sheathing himself fully in your mouth once more before his dick twitched against your tongue. “Fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck!” He moaned out as you grabbed his balls, giving them a gentle squeeze, and he came, painting the back of your throat white.

His hold finally relented, and you pulled off with a wet ‘pop,’ sputtering as you tried your best to swallow all of his cum, but there was just too much. Some of it coated your lips and chin, dripping down onto your breast, and Seonghwa thought he could cum once more just from the sight alone, his dick already growing hard once more.

“Holy hell.” He groaned, reaching out to wipe some of the cum and saliva cocktail on your chin off before shoving it back into your awaiting mouth. He watched with dark eyes as you sucked it off of his digit, and once it was all off, he pulled you up.

Your hands fell on his shoulders as you straddled his lap, lips instantly finding his in a messy kiss. His hands gripped your hips as he groaned at the taste of himself on your tongue. Fuck, it was hot, too hot, and he felt like he was about to combust.

“Hwa.” You whined as his lips trailed down your neck, licking up the stray drops of his own cum off of your chest before kissing you with full force. His tongue indeed your mouth, tasting every last inch of you he could reach.

He groaned into your mouth when your hips rolled against his in desperate need of some relief from your growing need. His hands landed on your ass, helping you grind against him, swallowing all of your little mewls and whines.

“God, you look so fucking beautiful like this.” He groaned, his senses going into overdrive as you leaned down, lips latching onto the skin of his neck. His whole body shuddered as you bit down on the junction of his neck before lapping at the wound.

“Need you, Hwa, please.” You moaned, fingers digging into his skin when his thumb pressed down on your clothed clit. The need was starting to become overbearing, leaving your brain hazy as you begged him to fuck you.

“Do you need my cock doll?” He cooed as you buried your face in his neck, but you mewled out a ‘yes,’ causing him to chuckle. He stopped your movements, eliciting another muffled whine from your lips, but you were quickly silenced when he moved your panties to the side, not even bothering to take them off.

He lifted your hips with ease before using his free hand to pull your head out of his neck, “I wanna see your face when you sink down on my cock, sweetheart.”

You looked at him with hooded eyes before reaching down to line his aching cock with your entrance before slowly sinking down. Your jaw fell slack as he slowly filled your tight cunt. The stretch almost burned if it wasn’t for your slick.

“Hwa! Oh my god! You’re so big!” You cried out as you continued to take him into your needy cunt. Your words only stroked the man’s ego as he smirked at you. He didn’t even have you fully seated on him and you were already starting to lose yourself, it was quite the sight.

“C’mon baby, you’re almost there.” He cooed, brushing your hair out of your face as your eyes rolled back when you fully sank down on his cock. “There ya go, such a good little thing.” His words went straight to your pussy, causing you to clench around him, a pathetic moan falling from your lips.

“So f-full.” You choked out, legs quivering on either side of his hips. He felt like he was in your womb, and he might as well be as his tip pushed against your cervix, threatening to break through.

Seonghwa smirked, pulling your face to his and latching his lips onto yours in a mess kiss that was more teeth than anything else. His hand then fell to your hip, slowly rocking you against him, and your whole body fell forward from the overwhelming pleasure. No matter how little he moved he was still hitting all of the right places to have you seeing stars.

Looking down, he caught sight of something that had his cock twitching in your walls; there at the bottom of your tummy was a prominent bulge. He cussed to himself as he watched it move as he rolled your hips, soaking in all of the cute little noises that you were making.

“H-Hwa!” You choked out when he lifted your hips before letting you drop back down, his eyes still on the bulge.

“Fuck. Look, sweetheart.” He grabbed the back of your neck, pulling you out of his neck before making you look down. Your walls clenched around his length as you took in what he was showing you, your hand reaching down to press against it only to make the both of you moan.

“You’re so deep, Hwa.” You croaked out, looking up at him with hazy eyes, tears still flowing down your flushed cheeks, and he felt his sanity snap.

“Hold on, doll,” He instructed, and you looked at him in confusion until he lifted your hips until they were hovering over him and thrust up into you sharply.

A series of broken and loud moans fall from your lips as he sets a brutal pace, fucking up into your cunt like his life depended on it. Your eyes rolled back as your body slumped forward, all of your muscles feeling as if they were jelly.

“F-Fuck! Hwa, s-slow down!” You cried out, your mind short-circuiting from how quickly your orgasm was creeping up on you. It felt as if your entire being was on the verge of combusting.

“I’m sorry baby, I can’t; you just feel too good.” He moaned, wrapping his arm around your body. Your body felt like heaven wrapped around him, and he felt as if he was going insane. His lips latched onto the skin of your neck as he felt you shudder against him, a loud moan ripping from your throat as your orgasm hit you like a tidal wave.

“That’s it, baby, let go. Let it all go.” He talked you through it as his hips kept their relentless pace, easily throwing your body into a state of overstimulation. Choked sobs fell from your lips as your nails raked down his back, the pleasure driving you to the brink of insanity. The edges of your vision turned white when you felt another orgasm building rapidly. “I’m gonna fill you up so much that you’ll be dripping for days.” He groaned right in your ear, and you didn’t even get the chance to even warn him before your high came crashing down once again, your whole body trembling as Seonghwa pulled your body flush against his, cumming deep in your walls.

Your ears started to ring as you completely lay against Seonghwa. All of the bones in your body were rendered useless. Seonghwa’s hands smoothed over your sides, comforting you until you fully came down from your high.

“Hwa…” Your voice was hoarse as you spoke, causing him to turn his head, finding you staring up at him. “I think I love you.” You told him bluntly causing him to let out a short laugh, hands stopping at your hips.

“Right, try telling me that again when you’re not stuffed full of my cock.” He shook his head, jaw tight as annoyance started to creep into his mind.

Blinking slowly, you lift your body and reach forward, cupping his face in your hands and making him look at you. He felt his breath catch in his throat at the sincerity and admiration that gleamed in your eyes.

“I’m serious, Hwa; why else do you think I was trying so hard to get your attention?” You spoke softly, scared that he might tell you to fuck off, but much to your relief, he leaned forward, connecting his forehead with yours.

“I love you too, doll, even when you drive me absolutely insane.” He omitted, causing you to laugh softly before leaning forward to capture his lips in a gentle kiss. His hands held you close as the both of you savored the moment, even if it led to a very long night and you losing your walking privileges the next day.

@wwooyology | Do not steal, plagiarise, translate, or repost any of my work

𝖉𝖎𝖘𝖈𝖑𝖆𝖎𝖒𝖊𝖗 : ᴛʜɪꜱ ɪꜱ ɴᴏ ᴡᴀʏ ᴀ ᴛʀᴜᴇ ʀᴇᴘʀᴇꜱᴇɴᴛᴀᴛɪᴏɴ ᴏꜰ ᴀɴʏ ᴏꜰ ᴛʜᴇ ᴍᴇᴍʙᴇʀꜱ. ᴛʜɪꜱ ɪꜱ ᴘᴜʀᴇʟʏ ꜰɪᴄᴛɪᴏɴ ᴀɴᴅ ꜰᴏʀ ᴛʜᴇ ᴇɴᴊᴏʏᴍᴇɴᴛ ᴏꜰ ᴛʜᴇ ʀᴇᴀᴅᴇʀ ᴀɴᴅ ɴᴏᴛ ᴛᴏ ʙᴇ ᴛᴀᴋᴇɴ ꜱᴇʀɪᴏᴜꜱʟʏ.

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keylimepie · 20 hours ago

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You know, I've thought about this a lot over the years. I started participating in fandom 25 years ago, and I do remember during the LiveJournal (LJ) and forums eras that I rarely if ever heard a fanfic writer complaining about engagement and each chapter was full of comments. Then around 2010 tumblr happened and everyone migrated from LJ to tumblr. Suddenly fanfiction writers were complaining about a lack of engagement. I think this is largely because we became so centralized and lost all sense of community. It used to be you had to sign up for a website with a forum dedicated to a very specific pairing, or you had to join a livejournal community that was very specific to your interest. And the membership might reach a little under 2k. Most of these communities were locked too, so you didn't have to worry about what you said being publicly visible to folks outside your community. You knew who you were speaking to and who could see what you were saying.

Tumblr, tiktok, and twitter are more like shouting into the void and hoping someone in the crowds of 100k people take notice of you, and that task is way easier with a pretty photo or a video than with a fic. You don't know who is going to see what you're saying, and I think most of us have either experienced or witnessed someone receiving dog-piled backlash because one person misconstrued what the OP said. So basically, not only are you struggling to get attention in a massive crowd from people with incredibly short attention spans who have no idea who you are, but if you do manage to get someone's attention they may be too scared to say anything publicly. Hell they may be too scared to DM the author because they don't know the author either and I have seen authors tear apart DMs publicly because they misconstrued something that was said and now the author's fanbase is dog-piling that person. You ever notice how so many asks to authors are anon? People are scared, and it is so much safer to just like or kudo something than put yourself out there in front of a potential firing squad.

Also just want to point out, that a lot of asks people send to creators never get addressed, either because tumblr ate it, or the creator decided to ignore it, or the creator's inbox was overflowing. And after awhile people stop sending asks to not only that creator, but other creators as well because they've been receiving negative reinforcement that their engagement is undesired.

I think I saw another one of these posts floating around where it turned out people were gushing about fics in discords but not commenting on AO3 or the author's tumblr. And this kind of makes sense to me. Discords are a lot like the forums and LJ communities of old, where it is a much smaller group and you tend to know most of the people there and you feel more comfortable speaking up.

I just don't think huge centralized hubs are of the benefit to creators. It is fine to post stuff to tumblr or AO3 or wherever, but that isn't enough. If you want engagement you need to build up or join a community and cross-post there. If you're just flinging your work into the void and expecting engagement, then it just isn't going to work. Sure people will find it, but they wont feel comfortable enough to say anything where they have no control over who sees it. 20 years ago, we didn't have tumblr or twitter or even AO3, you had to find or start a community if you wanted to share your work. We had to make our own spaces not rely on corporate spaces, and I think that is what the difference is. You need to create a space where people feel safe to engage, and tumblr has NEVER been that. Tumblr has been terrible from day 1 for engagement, just toxic and mindless so often.

TLDR: No one is engaging because the sense of community is completely gone and been stripped away over the last 15 years. I cannot stress enough for the younger folk how much fandom these days is just not what fandom was. It has been 13 years since I last felt a sense of community in any of my fandoms, and it sucks. I can't help but think we need to decentralize again and create little pocket communities in order to return fandom to what it is meant to be.

You know what’s really disturbing to me? The culture that seems to have sprung up around fanfiction. Writers spend weeks and months working on a story – I think my record is six months on A Place For Us To Dream. And so many times readers expect to just be given a chapter even if they don’t give anything to the writer in return.

I’m going to date myself a bit here, but I’ve been reading/writing fanfiction for ten years. And when I first started it was a wonderful community. There was an unspoken rule – if you read/enjoyed it, you review it. You take thirty seconds to tell an author who probably spent anywhere from three days to a week writing that chapter you just enjoyed to tell them you enjoyed it. Even if it was as simple as “Great chapter, can’t wait to see what happens next!”

Writers spend so much time on stories, and then they post it because they have this thing that they’ve invested so many hours into and they want to share it with the world. They know how they feel about the story, and they want to know how other people feel, what other people think.

And when you read it and don’t review, you know what message you’re sending that author? That they’re not worth your time, or you didn’t enjoy their story. So why should they keep posting it? Yeah they might continue working on it in their own time, for their own enjoyment, but you might never see another chapter again because you couldn’t be bothered to take thirty seconds out of your day to tell them how you feel.

I’ve written stories in eight different fandoms, ranging from very small to very big (I’ll openly admit I wrote Twilight fanfiction once. Once. It was an Alice/Jasper story and haters can hate all they want but I’m still proud of it). I took a break for a few years because I fell out of fandoms during college, and when I came back apparently it’d become the norm to just greedily consume writing without telling writers how you feel. And that is one of the saddest things in the world to me because fanfiction is where I really started getting serious about writing. It’s how I’ve honed by skills and become the writer I am today. And that was largely in part because of all the support I got when I was an itty-bitty thirteen-year-old writing crappy W.I.T.C.H. fanfiction.

Everyone keeps saying “reviews don’t matter, you should just write for yourself.” Well, you’re wrong. Reviews make or break fanfiction. Reviews tell writers whether it’s worth their time to continue posting that story online or whether they should keep it on their hard drives and never share it with the world.

Kill the attitude that reviews don’t matter. Start telling writers you like their stories. And if you don’t, if you all just continue to be invisible readers? Don’t be surprised when that writer disappears.

#just my two cents on the issue #after seeing so many tumblrs shut down over ridiculous drama over the years it is hard to want to do anything off anon #I still sometimes get hate because I reblogged something 14 years go and said 'people didn't know this?' with genuine interest #and someone reblogged my reply deciding I was being condescending and tried to chase me off tumblr for it #doesn't matter if I delete my reblog because its been reblogged by other people and I have genuinely 0 control over who sees it #people so far from my chosen communities have complete control over it and that is a shitty feeling #it is why I rarely post on tumblr anymore and if I do it is usually on anon #one of the communities I'm in right now is having drama because the creators deleted their art/story but someone is reposting it all #before tumblr if you deleted your shit from the community it was just gone but now they live on in reblogs #and it is easy to just swipe stuff and repost it against the creator's consent #i genuinely think tumblr has been a huge mistake

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theodorenmyth · 1 day ago

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omg i need a part two of people you know (i loved the angst so much aaaa) where she kinda like moves on and gets two new guy friends and kinda “replaces” theo and mattheo and they only realize like oh shit we want her back after she’s already gone and super close doing all the things they used to do with her new friends PLEASEE

People you know. II

Pairings ; Mattheo R. X GN/reader x Theodore N.

Summary; Mattheo and Theodore realize too late that you’ve moved on without them. When they try to reclaim their place in your life, you remind them they were the ones who left first. As you walk away for good, they’re left with the painful truth—they lost you, and you’re never coming back.

A/N ; HSNSJSJSJ 2 POSTS IN A DAY TAHTS INSANE, enjoy luvse :3

Warnings ; angst, possesiveness, regret

Word count ; 900+

They didn’t think it would ever come to this.

Mattheo and Theodore had convinced themselves that no matter how much damage had been done, no matter how deep the wounds had cut, you would always find your way back to them. You always had before.

But not this time.

This time, you had replaced them.

It wasn’t obvious at first. In fact, they barely noticed your absence, too wrapped up in their own lives to realize that you had stopped waiting for them. That you had stopped looking at them like they hung the stars. That you had stopped caring.

Then one day, they saw you sitting at the Slytherin table with them—Casper Rosier and Elias Avery.

At first, Theo had dismissed it as coincidence. Maybe you were just talking to them for a moment, just passing time before coming back. But then it became routine. You were always with them, always laughing, always giving them the attention that used to belong to Mattheo and Theo.

And it fucking burned.

It burned when Mattheo saw Casper casually slinging an arm around your shoulders in the halls, whispering something in your ear that made you roll your eyes and shove him playfully.

It burned when Theo saw Elias stealing bites of your food at lunch, his smirk widening when you halfheartedly swatted at him.

But the worst was when Mattheo saw you sitting beneath the tree in the courtyard—the one you had claimed with Theo years ago—Casper lounging beside you, flipping through a book as you leaned into his side like it was the most natural thing in the world.

It made Mattheo feel fucking sick.

And yet, they said nothing.

They kept waiting for you to turn back. To realize what you were doing. To miss them.

But you didn’t.

──── ୨୧ ──────── ୨୧ ────

Days passed. Then weeks. And you didn’t spare them a glance.

Even Pansy had noticed.

"You know, you two look pathetic," she remarked one evening in the common room, watching as Mattheo and Theo silently stared across the room where you were curled up in an armchair, listening intently as Casper spoke animatedly beside you.

Mattheo’s jaw twitched. "Shut the fuck up, Pansy."

She snorted, sipping her wine. "You two let them go. What did you expect to happen?"

"We didn’t let them go," Theo muttered, though his voice lacked conviction.

Pansy gave him a pitying look. "Yes, you did. And now they’ve found people who actually value them."

Neither of them responded. They just sat there, watching you slip further and further away.

But the breaking point came one evening at the Three Broomsticks.

Theo and Mattheo had been sitting at the far end of the pub, nursing their drinks in silence, when your laugh rang out from across the room.

Mattheo turned, and the moment he saw you—saw you sitting at the bar between Casper and Elias, laughing freely, your head tipped back slightly—something in him snapped.

He didn’t think. He just moved.

In an instant, he was at your table, hands braced against the wood as he loomed over you. "Alright," he said, voice low and sharp. "I think it’s time we talk."

You blinked up at him, your brows raising in something like amusement. "Talk? Now you want to talk?"

Casper leaned back, unimpressed. "Problem, Riddle?"

Mattheo barely spared him a glance, his eyes fixed solely on you. "What the fuck is this?" He gestured vaguely between you, Casper, and Elias. "You’re really just—what? Pretending we never existed?"

Theo was right behind him now, his eyes dark with something unreadable.

You tilted your head, studying them with a detached curiosity. "I don’t know, Mattheo. You tell me. Isn’t that what you two did first?"

Theo exhaled sharply. "We fucked up. We know that. But this? This is—"

"Me moving on?" you interrupted, voice sharp. "Yeah. It is."

Mattheo scoffed. "So that’s it? You’re just done with us?"

You smiled, but it wasn’t kind. It was tired. "I don’t owe you anything, Mattheo. I cried over you. I grieved you. And then I got tired."

Silence fell.

Elias smirked slightly. "Tough break, huh?"

Mattheo clenched his fists. "Stay the fuck out of this, Avery."

Casper chuckled under his breath. "Merlin, no wonder they don’t hang out with you anymore."

Theo stiffened beside him, but before things could escalate, you sighed. "You don’t get to be mad," you said evenly. "You don’t get to storm in here like you were the ones left behind. You chose to betray me."

Mattheo’s jaw tightened. "It wasn’t like that—"

"But it was," you cut him off. "You left me. And I got tired of waiting for you to come back. So, yeah, I moved on."

Your words hit like a knife to the gut.

They had never thought—never even considered—that you might actually move on without them. That you wouldn’t be sitting around, waiting for them to come back.

That realization struck harder than any curse ever could.

You stood up, your eyes meeting theirs with something final. "Go back to your perfect lives. And leave me alone."

And just like that, you were gone.

Mattheo and Theo stood there, frozen, their world tilting on its axis.

For so long, they had been convinced that no matter what, you would always be there. That you would always be theirs.

But now, as they watched you disappear with Casper and Elias at your side, laughing like they had never broken you, one thing became painfully, gut-wrenchingly clear.

They had lost you.

And this time, you weren’t coming back.

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mayahawkesfirstwife · 20 hours ago

Text

New Roommate

★ ☆ ★ ☆ ★ ☆ ★ ☆ ★ ☆ ★ ☆ ★ ☆ ★ ☆ ★ ☆ ★ ☆

Pairings: G!p Sub! Kang No-eul x Fem! Reader

Summary: You are No-eul’s new roommate and you find out that she’s different from other girls.

Warnings: Smut, blowjob, loss of virginity, unprotected sex (she pulls out!), praise kink, fluff at end, etc.

Author Note: Lowk only posting this bc I ACTUALLY finished it and I love the ending it’s so cute. This is lowk long asf omgg!! :0 Sorry if theres any mistakes!!

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You finally finished moving boxes into your room, you sat on your knees on the cold wood floor as you dug into the big box in front of you.

No-eul knew her new roommate was moving in today, she was expecting a weirdo but she opened the door and was literally met with a girl wearing a white tank top and the smallest shorts she’s ever seen while you were practically bent over a box.

She shut the door behind her and you turn to face her, face lighting up. “Hi! You must be Kang No-eul!”

She was already in love. Your face was even more beautiful than she could have ever imagined.

You stood up, “I’m Y/n.” You stick your hand out and she shakes it, “Nice to meet you…”

“Sorry about the mess, I’m trying to put my things up as soon as I can so it won’t be in the way for long.” You said, but you notice that her eyes are in fact not on your face as you spoke to her.

But your tits that poked through your white tank top. Maybe you should have worn a bra.

To avoid her gaze on them, you turn around and kept putting your things up.

“It’s fine.” She finally replies, sitting down on her bed.

She sat back and watched you like a weirdo.

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She’d continue to do that weird watching as you do anything at all.

You noticed her gaze darken when you’d do certain things like rub lotion on your legs before bed, sucking a popsicle, change, or even lay on your stomach.

Maybe she’s just a pervert, you were weirded out at first but the more you’d talk to her, she’d continue to barely talk but you kind of loved how mysterious she was.

Soon you’d start to tease her purposely and she’d just shift in her spot, pulling on her jeans as if she had a literal boner.

One time you seen a bulge in her pants, she quickly put her pillow over it and it confused you, maybe it was just her jeans or something in her pocket?

You’d grow needy and horny for your roommate. You knew she felt the same way and you just wanted to be fucked by her at this point.

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Today you walked into your dorm and seen her hand under her cover, hand moving up and down as her head in leaned back against the frame. She was touching herself.

You clear your throat and she gasps, moving a pillow over her crotch that was already covered by the blanket.

“Shit, I thought you had class.”

“It got cancelled.” You lock the door and walk over to her, her bangs were stuck to her forehead and she was panting.

“Want some help?” You bit your lip. She looks away, face turning red.

“No thanks.”

You sigh, “So, what’s your problem then? You stare at me all the time like you want to tear my clothes off. But when I come onto you, now you don’t want me?”

“It’s not that…I promise. I’m just…not what you think, okay? I’m…different.” She said, it was the most she’s ever told you about herself.

“Different how? No-eul, I don’t care. Just tell me. Is something wrong?” You ask, rubbing her leg.

She flinches back, “It’s weird. You’re going to get grossed out if I tell you.”

“Well, show me, then.” You said, she sighs.

“Fine, don’t blame me when you run away.” She moves her pillow off her crotch area and pushes the blanket down.

She had a penis!

Not only that…it was fucking long and thick. Who the fuck could she fit that shit inside of?

“Wow.”

It was hard and the tip was red and sticky, leaking of pre-cum.

“I know, it’s gross and weird. I’m the weird girl with a penis.” She sighs.

“A fucking huge one.” You crawl into the bed.

“I wonder if it’d fit inside of me…what do you think? Hmm?”

Her face is shocked and she is blushing, she grows even harder.

“W-What?”

“Should we try?” You peck her lips and she whines.

You two start to make out, she was a great kisser. You pull back, “Have you ever done this?”

She looks down, “I mean…I kissed a couple of girls and one girl…jerked me off...but that’s it.”

“You never been sucked off before?” You hum, crawling down her lap. “N-No…”

“Can I be the first?”

“P-Please…yes.”

“You’re so fucking hot, No-eul…” You hum, wrapping your hand around the base and pumping it, licking your lips.

She groans, gripping your arm. “I-I…please! Put it inside your mouth, please?”

“Needy baby, I will, okay?“ You suck the tip and she moans.

“I-I…just…yeah, just like that! O-Oh my!”

She grips your hair as you take her cock in your mouth, bopping your head up and down.

You look up at her, she whimpers as you hold eye contact with her as your lips are wrapped around her dick.

She groans loudly when the tip of her cock hits the back of your throat.

“F-Fuck! You’re really…huh! good at that!”

You gag once when your nose touches her lower stomach, you breathe through your nose and don’t stop sucking her dick as well as possible.

If it was her first time getting a blow job, you needed it to be fucking fantastic.

“I’m about to…fuck! I’m about to cum!”

Her mouth opens wide into an O shape, she gasps. “Fuck, fuck! Do I…Do I do it in your mouth?” She whined.

You nod against her, flattening your tongue on her cock while your head bopped up and down.

She groans, her hands tug on your hair as she came down into your mouth.

You hum into her, you swallow the warm liquid and pull yourself off her cock with a pop.

You gasp for air and breathe heavily, coughing and wiping your mouth with your arm.

“Fuck, you’re huge. My throat hurts.” You sit up on her lap as she looks up at you.

“That was…amazing. Thank you.” She pants, her hands grab your hips.

“Of course…” You blush, fiddling with your hands.

“Do you…want to do more?” You ask, she nods quickly.

“D-Do you?” She asks, you smile and nodded your head. “I do…”

You stood up from her lap and undid your shorts button and pulled them down and then you pull your pink panties down and she moves the blankets away.

You get back on her lap basically straddling her lower stomach, you pull your shirt off over your head and she stares down at your boobs through your pink bra.

She pulls the strap down, shyly as she looks up at your face as you smile and unclasp it with one hand.

You lean closer, letting it slip off and you toss it aside. You grab her hand and place her palm over your tit.

“Play with them, mmhm.” You nod, she shakily grabs the other boob and squeezes them.

She pulls her hands away and starts to suck on your nipples. “Fuck, No-eul…”

She looks up at you while her lips are wrapped around your nipple, she grips the other one.

“So good with your tongue…gonna have to show me what else it does later.” You giggle.

She nods eagerly, you moan when she pushed her hips back against her cock that rested on her stomach.

You rock back on it, your clit rubs against it and she pulls back from your nipple.

“Can I…put it inside? Please?” She asks, hands grabbing your hips.

“Yes, put it in, baby.”

She moans softly at the name and you lift your hips and look down, watching as she lines her cock up with your entrance.

She pushed the tip inside and glanced up at you as you hiss.

“S’warm…” You hum, she pushed about four inches in and you squeeze her shoulders.

“H-Hold on.”

“You alright? Is it bad? Should I stop?” She asks, you shush her. “Shh, it’s okay. Just give me a minute, mhm?”

She nods, you try your best to get used to her size, her cock was thick. Not only was it thick but it was about seven inches long.

“You can put the rest in now, it’s okay, baby.” You nod, she moans.

She pushed the rest into your tight pussy and she groans as you squeeze around her.

“H-Holy fuck! You’re really tight.” She says, looking up at you while you bit down on your lip, trying to get used to her size.

“You okay, Y/n?” She asks, you nod with a frown. “I’m fine, it’s okay.” You pull a few inches out and slowly slide back down.

“Oh, fuck! You’re fucking huge, you’re stretching me out.” You whimper, squeezing your eyes shut as you continue to slowly pull most of her out before sliding back down.

She lays her head back, gripping your hips tightly. Your slow pace was driving her fucking insane.

She hissed when you take her whole cock down your pussy only to lift it back out and slowly slide down.

She digs her nails into your hips, “Just…please! Can you s-speed up? It’s driving me crazy.” She pants.

“Fuck, i’m so sorry…I just never been with someone so big…” You frown, pushing a piece of hair behind your ear.

“Baby, can you? Can you please just do it for me? I can take it. I just can’t do it myself yet.” You pant.

She swiftly flips you over to lie on your back, you moan when she pushed your legs open wider and holding them in the air.

She slowly thrusts into you, before she slowly sped up. Your moans and whines increase loudly.

“It’s so fucking good!” She moans loudly as you start to rub your clit.

“You fuck me so good…don’t you fucking stop!” You groan loudly.

She moans, gripping your hips while she buries her head in your neck.

“Is it okay? You sure?” She asks for reassurance.

You grab her hand, placing it on your lower stomach. Her eyebrows furrow.

“Do you feel that?” You moaned.

“Feel what? Oh…” No-eul looks down at your fucked out state.

You were taking her so fucking deep that it bulged through your stomach when she’d thrust hard.

“You’re in my tummy, No-eul. You’re so fucking huge!” You moan, she notices your rubbing on your clit, “C-Can I?”

You nod, pulling your fingers away and she used her right thumb to rub on your clit.

“Oh, yeah! That’s so good! You’re so good to me!” You whimper, head falling back against the pillow.

“You take me so well, oh f-fuck! It’s like you were made for me…” She whimpers.

“Y-Yeah? I was made for you, my pussy is all yours! I love to take your huge dick.” You moan, gripping the bed sheets tightly.

“F-Fuck! I’m so close, are you?” She moans and you nod repeatedly.

“I’m about to cum!” You whine.

“Cum around me, please!” She moans, you do just that, cumming around her cock.

She continues to fuck into you until she groans loudly, pulling her cock out to shoot her load onto your stomach and tits.

Fuck, even her pull out game was perfect. She was so perfect.

You both pant, she looks up at you all fucked out, hair messy, breathing heavily as your eyes are shut.

“I’m sorry, let me clean you up.” She grabs a pair of boxers and puts them on before going into the restroom and getting a towel and wetting it with warm water.

She comes back and wipes your stomach clean, you look up at her in awe, “Thank you.” You smile.

“Yeah, of course…” She blushes, you rub her face. “You’re not how I thought you’d be, No-eul…”

She shrugs, “Neither are you…” She replies, you chuckle.

“I really like you.” She admits, you peck her lips. “I like you too.”

“So…that means I can be your girlfriend?”

You giggle, “I would love that.” You said, she nods with a smile on her face.

You peck her lips again and move to sit up, your legs shaking. You sigh, “Could you get me something to wear? If I stood up I would fall over.” You chuckle.

“Oh, yeah, of course!” She grabs a T-shirt of hers from her drawer and hands it to you.

“Uh, you want some of my boxers to wear? Or like I could…get your underwear.” She seemed too nervous.

“Boxers are fine.” You chuckle, she hands you some and you put them on.

“Would you look at that? I think they are super cute!” You say, she nods.

“My clothes look really cute on you.” She says, you lay back on her bed, making room for her.

“Can we cuddle?” You ask, she nods, wrapping her arm around you and pulling you closer.

You pull the blanket over y’all and cuddle into her chest.

“Goodnight…” You hum.

“Goodnight, beautiful.” She whispers and you blush into her chest and shut your eyes, drifting to sleep fast while she held you.

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#wlw #squid game kang no eul #kang no eul smut #kang no eul x reader #kang no eul #squid game no eul #no eul #no eul x reader #guard 011 #guard 11 #squid game smut #squid game

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ghostgirl-22 · 2 days ago

Note

so i actually need pt 2 to the older patrick younger art fic right NOW.. jk but it was amazing

Y’all. Y’ALL. I heard you. And though I don’t really love writing sequels… I’ll do anything for you honestly <33

Original.

It’s a mess and way too long which is prbly to be expected by now. Idk. Sometimes you just have to get out of your head and post 😭

18+ NSFW

CW: AGE GAP 10-11 years, power dynamics, teacher/student vibes, first time vibes, AND mild daddy!kink whoopsie! How did that happen? Obviously if any of these things make you uncomfortable don’t read. I don’t take it personally. I’ll explain myself a bit. Art in my imagination here didn’t get constantly shown up by Patrick and because Patrick wasn’t there Art got the attention Patrick got for his skills so he’s a little more arrogant (still a little insecure because that’s his core) and still messy. Patrick had the Tashi injury which makes him a little less arrogant (brought down a notch but still overcompensates and actively self sabotages because that’s his core) and still messy.

——

Art is still keyed up the next morning. His roommate, Devon, is bragging about hooking up with a senior. Art is trying to pay attention but all he can think about is how he got on his knees and gave messy head to Patrick, Coach Zweig, his 31 year old ridiculously hot tennis coach. And how Patrick practically promised to fuck him if he was a really good boy all week. He’s sitting on his hands trying not to go crazy.

“What did you get up to?” Devon finally asks him. Picking up his towel and getting ready to shower.

“Can you keep a secret?” Art asks.

That makes him sit back down. “Yeah of course.”

Art tells him about Patrick, most of it anyway, watching his eyes widen. He’s not on the tennis team but he’s heard enough about Coach Zweig from Art that he can’t help giggling.

“You’re fucking joking.”

“I’m not, I swear.”

“Holy shit. And I thought I was doing something with that senior. Wow. This would only happen to you.”

Art isn’t sure what he means by that but he’s suddenly asking a million questions. Art tells him some things, embellishing and withholding various details. The closest Art ever came to actually fucking a boy was when he used to sneak in Devon’s bed whenever he got horny at night. They were so close to fucking when Art made him stop. so he made Art promise to stop leading him on. And now they’re proper roommates with boundaries and everything. Though sometimes Art thinks if he asked for it Devon would still fuck him.

Devon thinks it’s hot, the whole Patrick thing. Thinks Patrick wants to make Art his kept boy. “Well I mean… he’s old and everyone says he’s loaded, right? He can give you whatever you want.” Devon says.

“Please, he wouldn’t even give me his phone number.” Art says dismissively. “And I don’t need to be kept I just need his dick.”

Devon chews his bottom lip looking Art over and Art wonders if he crossed a boundary. He’s so fucking messy with them.

“Lucky him,” Devon says dryly, rolling his eyes. “But maybe you should milk it. You’re young and beautiful and blonde and he’s your coach so it’s like.. it’s kind of illicit. He could get you a nice place off campus… be your sugar daddy. Girls do it all the time.”

“I think he’d kill me if I ever called him that,” Art laughs, making up his mind to definitely call him that at some point.

Devon agrees to come out with him next weekend but he still has to wait the whole fucking week. It feels like torture.

They have practice everyday and a game on Friday. Which means Patrick’s in those short shorts running them around the court every single day. Art can’t keep his mind off of him. Just wants his attention so bad, everyday he’s doing everything he can just to get Patrick to look in his direction. But Patrick’s got an epic poker face. He’s so fucking cool and calm and collected. So good at acting like nothing happened. Like everything is the same and they never did what they did.

There's one difference. Instead of having the assistant coach do it… he’ll bring Art to the side and personally correct him when he thinks Art could play better. Show him how to position himself, swing the racket, follow through. Big hands, rough hands, gripping Art's waist to turn his body, his wrist to direct his swing. The same hands that effortlessly lifted off his lap the other night.

“Can’t be all talk and no action sweetheart,” Patrick says lightly, as he’s standing behind him. God. It’s actually stupid how sexy he is. Art’s never thought this much about being penetrated, ever. He makes sure to arch his back just a little more than he usually does. Patrick presses a hand to the small of his back.

Art fingers the grip of his racket. “I don’t think I was all talk.”

Patrick chuckles, low and soft. “Stop it. Focus. Bring that energy here,” he says, “all that confidence right here and no one will rattle you.”

“Like this?” Art demonstrates. He makes a mess of it just so that Patrick will touch him again. It takes a minute before Patrick catches on.

“I think you get it,” he says dryly.

“Please show me one more time. I just wanna be a good boy for you,” Art says lightly. It makes Patrick swallow… his gaze falls helplessly over Arts body and then he looks away smirking.

“Are you having fun?” He says, leaning in close, eyes all crinkly with amusement.

Art wants to kiss him. “Mmhm,” he hums, pressing his lips together. “Though sometimes it still feels like my mouth is so full of you I could just… choke.”

“Yeah… right…” Patrick rolls his eyes, still smiling and then he takes a deep breath and drags his hand over his beard. “Hm…What’s today?”

“Wednesday,” Art says.

“And my plans for the weekend are still up in the air,” he says, patting Art on the shoulder as he takes his racket and turns to face the team. “Five laps around the court, everybody, let’s gooo!” He says loudly, blowing his whistle. “Fucking hustle!”

There’s an audible groan and the sounds of rackets dropping as everyone stops what they’re doing and starts running. “Go join them. And if you keep it up it’ll be sprints next.” Patrick says softly.

Art grins, as much as he hates running and he’s sure his teammates will assume he’s responsible for this bit of conditioning, it was still totally fucking worth it.

He probably should’ve focused more but he wins on Friday in spite of himself. Tennis is such a mental game and while he’s generally confident and loves the attention that comes with playing as number one on the center stage, he’s not consistent. That’s what Patrick always says at least. There are opponents that leave him feeling less sure of himself and then he tends to get in his head imagining he’s somehow inadequate or deficient.

One of those players is a French recruit from UCLA, Jensen Bordeaux. Art starts out strong. Crushes it in the first set. But when Bordeaux fights back in the second and he falls apart a little. It’s a bad habit. He wins another game but it’s not enough. He ends up nearly going into a third set.

“Remember what I said,” Patrick takes him to the side between points. “Stop acting like you can’t finish him off. You can have whatever you want right?”

Art gazes at him and bites his lip. “Mmhm.” He nods.

“Good. You know what you want. Just take it. Okay?”

“Yeah okay,” Art says breathlessly.

“Good boy,” Patrick says, rubbing his shoulders, a little smirk on his lips. “Try not to… you know… choke.”

Art feels heated from the inside out. He goes back on the court except he’s not thinking about the game. Instead he’s so anxious for the promise of tomorrow night that all this begins to feel like a mere obstacle to that. He makes easy work of it, winning the tiebreaker and shifting it so that Stanford goes home the winning team.

Everyone on the team goes out to a frat party to celebrate and Art is so drunk and horny by the end of the night. He stumbles into his dorm at 1 am, falls drunkenly into bed and starts touching himself. Fingers in his mouth imagining it’s the heavy weight and thickness of Patrick’s cock. Imagining Patrick’s large hands in his hair, imagining the soft, easily amused tone of his voice as he murmurs. “Good boy.” Makes him come so fast and hard he passes out.

He’s a mess in the morning. In more ways than one. They don’t have practice after game days so he sleeps off his hangover and the day flies by. He takes a long hot shower before he gets ready to go. Anxiety and anticipation competing for space in his brain and body. Devon loans him clothes that are so much tighter than anything he wears regularly. “Trust me, he’s gonna be all over you in this.”

They get there at the same time as last week but Patrick doesn’t come right away. Art’s waiting and waiting and waiting for Patrick to show up at the gay bar. Devon is at a table, a new boy on his lap and they’re making out. Art is half tipsy, swinging his legs on a barstool while this guy from the baseball team stands between his thighs asking him everything about tennis like it’s the most interesting thing in the world. And that’s when Patrick finally arrives. He spots Art across the bar and smirks. Art gets up right away, making excuses to the now frowning baseball player about seeing him around on campus.

“That was fast,” Patrick smirks, as Art sidles up next to him.

“Well I didn’t know you’d take so long to come,” Art says, moving closer. “Is that an old person thing?”

”Mm, you…” Patrick chuckles, tapping his credit card on the bar. He’s got such a great smile. God. Art is so far gone. This is tragic.

“Can you buy me a drink?” Art asks in his ear.

“No fucking way,” Patrick says, amused.

“Seriously?”

“Seriously, how many drinks have you had tonight?”

Art holds up 3 fingers.

“Is that how many fingers I’m gonna have to put in before I can… nevermind…” Patrick says.

Art grins. Warmth spreading throughout his body. “It’s really big,” Art whispers. “Maybe you need four?”

“God…” Patrick laughs, incredulous. “I shouldn’t even fucking be here.” He sighs, as the bartender approaches them. He orders a whiskey and because it’s two for one he gives in and lets Art pick something. He orders rum and coke.

Art feels giddy as he sips on it.

“So used to getting whatever you ask for,” Patrick says, looking him over, teasing a finger into one of his belt loops. “Twenty years old. God. You make me fucking crazy.” He whispers in Art’s ear.

Art can’t help grinning.

Patrick makes him wait while he talks to people his own age. Acting all wholesome. “Oh he’s just one of my players, I’m gonna make sure he gets home safe.” He even gives Art the key so he can wait in his jeep. Art’s hard as soon as he gets in it. Listens to music too loud and ponders touching himself.

He’s kissing on Patrick right away when he finally gets in the car. He’s been so eager all week. “Mm…” Patrick pulls back, tangling his fingers into Art’s hair. “Fuck… gimme a minute to get you home, okay?” he says and he turns on the engine and puts the music back at a sensible volume.

“Is it far?” Art asks.

Patrick huffs a laugh. “Take a deep breath.”

It doesn't help. Everything smells like him. Art puts a hand on Patrick’s thigh, his skin is so heated. He remembers how warm Patrick’s cock felt in his mouth and then his mouth starts watering.

“Is Tashi there?” Art sighs.

“What do you fucking think?”

Art leans close, just breathing him in. Resting his head on Patrick’s shoulder. ”She’s so pretty.” He hums.

“I know.”

“You’re so pretty.”

Patrick chuckles, a low vibration Art can feel from his throat that makes him shiver. “And you're so tipsy. And so fucking young.”

“But you like it.” Art says softly, rubbing Patrick’s thigh. Skin so warm he’s like a furnace. Already hard enough that Art can feel it.

”And I know I’m gonna regret it.”

Their house is actually huge. On the nicer side of Palo Alto. It’s one of the ones with a pool and a tennis court and a crazy nice view of the city. Art doesn’t know any of this until later because as soon as they're inside he’s trying to get his tongue in Patrick’s mouth. Patrick walks him back towards the living room where there’s a huge leather sofa. Art climbs onto his lap as soon as he sits down. Patrick is touching him everywhere, fingers tangled into his hair. Hands under his shirt, rubbing him, teasing him. Art is just trying his best to feel him, lick into his mouth and taste him. All while grinding against his prominent bulge. Grabbing at his zipper trying to get it out.

“Can you fuck me?” Art begs against his lips.

“Fuck,” Patrick breathes against his lips, he’s gripping Art’s waist tightly. Slowing him down. He sighs like he’s trying to pull himself together. “Mmkay. God. Stand up a minute. I need to get a condom and some lube.”

Art gets up reluctantly, nervous energy making him bounce on his toes like he’s waiting on a serve. Patrick smirks, “Relax… I’ll be back in a minute.” He pats Art’s shoulder as he gets up and disappears into another room. It doesn’t matter whether Art sits or stands, he’s anxious. He looks around the lavish room, fancy furniture, paintings that look expensive. Massive kitchen like the kind you see in movies. Patrick comes back and he’s all loose, t-shirt wrinkled, hair messy, eyes soft. He’s probably done this a million times. He’s got a condom between his fingers which he hands to Art.

“You wanna put it on me?”

”Mmhm,” Art says. He’s also carrying a little bottle of lube. Art’s trying to rip the packet open but his hands are all shaky. Especially when Patrick lifts his t-shirt off, he’s so solid, strong biceps, chest hair that gets darker condensed down the line of his stomach to where his jeans are unbuttoned. Art wants to lick it.

“Okay,” Patrick settles on the sofa, kicking off his shoes. “Give me that, you pretty little virgin and take those clothes off.”

Art hands him the condom a little embarrassed, and starts undoing his jeans. Kicks off his shoes and peels off his shirt so he’s only in boxers. Patrick bites open the packet and eases his jeans down and his cock out. Art takes shallow breaths watching him roll the condom on. It’s so big the condom is a magnum size and it fits snug. He’s heard horror stories about first times, even read a few on Reddit and he’s starting to feel a little panicked.

”Look at you.” Patrick says softly, eyes dragging slowly down Arts body. He pulls Art onto his thighs, god he has thick muscular thighs, Art can’t help wiggling. Patrick’s got him close so their cocks line up, and his palm is covered in lube and he’s gripping them both at the same time. It feels so fucking good Art thinks he might come too fast. He’s moaning, eyes squeezed shut when Patrick stops. Art opens his eyes to see Patrick wetting his fingers with more lube and slips a thick calloused finger back along Art’s entrance. Art feels himself seizing up as Patrick presses slowly inside.

“Take deep breaths,” Patrick whispers. Advice Art tries to follow but it just feels so crazy. He eases another finger in and Art tenses even more.

“Mm if your so fucking tight, I can’t fuck you sweetheart.”

“Does it hurt?” Art whispers.

Patrick takes a breath. “Yeah a little at first… but I think I can make it feel a little…uh better…”

Art shivers, his body suddenly overrun by pleasure as Patrick’s teasing his fingertips deep inside him. Art can hear himself moaning voice suddenly pitched so high he barely recognizes it. “Please… please… “he begs. “Please fuck me… fuck me… fuck me daddy.” Art gasps, losing himself as he’s riding the sensation.

“Fuck… what did you call me?” Patrick whispers.

Art bites his lip, his body heating up immediately with embarrassment. “Mm sorry. I didn’t… I didn’t mean to… I meant like sugar…” He says softly as Patrick slowly pulls his fingertips out. Art is breathless. Patrick doesn’t look mad but his expression has gone heady.

“Fuck… I can be daddy if you need it,” Patrick breathes. “Come…sit on daddy’s dick. Holy shit. What are you doing to me?”

Art swallows, his stomach doing flip flops for the way Patrick says it. He sits up on his knees, he can feel Patrick lining up. It actually feels like a lot. Like way too much. Impossible to take. He’s got his eyes squeezed shut and watering feeling the insane stretch as he sinks so fucking slowly down on it.

“Oh god,” he keeps whispering over and over like a prayer.

“Fuck,” Patrick breathes. His hands gripping Art’s waist.

He’s anxious moving slowly, gripping tightly, it’s too much, he’s too full. And Patrick starts to adjust him while gently rubbing his tummy. “Relax… lets try this angle,” Patrick whispers. Fucking into him in a way that he starts hitting that pleasure spot deep inside with even more intensity. “Good… good boy…that’s right…breathe… breathe… keep breathing… fuck…” Patrick coaches. And then slowly as it happens Art is moaning, bouncing on his lap just to feel it hit over and over and over and over again.

“I wanna… mmm I like it so much. wanna do it all the time,” Art moans nonsensically as he’s riding, not sure what’s happening, just that he’s seeing stars. “I wanna fuck you all the time. All the fucking time. wanna fuck you at school… during practice. In your bed. Wanna be your boy toy. Play with your big dick. Fuck me, oh fuck… fuck me daddy, daddy please. It feels so fucking good.”

“Jesus,” Patrick groans he barely grips Art’s cock and he’s coming loudly, spurts of it covering Patrick’s chest and his own. He can feel Patrick still pressing up into him, it suddenly feels like way too much. Every movement making him shake with how sensitive it feels and then Patrick stills, swearing over and over, gripping Art’s body tight and burying himself deep. Low gravelly sounds against Art’s ear.

”Fuck,” Patrick gasps, breathlessly. “Oh… god. You’re so… fuck I’m so screwed.”

“Mm,” Art collapses against his chest, running his fingers down Patricks soft chest hair all painted with his jizz. His knees are all sweaty and sticking to the leather but he doesn’t really care. He just wants to be close. Patrick is gently rubbing his lower back and it feels amazing. Art can feel him softening and slowly slipping out of him, he thinks he might fall asleep like this.

“You okay?” Patrick asks.

”Mmhm,” Art says.

“You sure?”

”Yeah. Can we do it again?”

“God,” Patrick laughs. “I need at least five minutes and I need you to get up cause I gotta piss.”

“No,” Art whines, unhappy about anything that means he won��t be warmed by Patrick's body heat even for a second. He wraps his arms around Patrick’s shoulders.

Patrick chuckles. “I can’t go anywhere?”

“No,” Art says. “You’re my pillow.”

“Guess I fucked your virgin ass good,” Patrick says.

“For an old guy,” Art says softly, smiling against Patrick’s throat.

“For your daddy, you little freak…” Patrick says gently, squeezing his ass. “Come on, get up or we’re gonna have a bigger mess to clean up.”

Art groans and unwraps his arms. “Can I come?”

“To piss?” Patrick raises his eyebrows.

“Yeah,” Art nods.

Patrick smirks and rolls his eyes before gently curling his fingers into Arts hair. “Yeah sure, come on.”

Art kisses him and he sighs into Arts mouth. “I need a fucking cigarette too.”

“Can I stay over?” Art asks against his lips.

“Mm…” he ponders and sighs. “Fuck it I don’t know why I bother pretending to set boundaries with you…” he says, helping Art to his shaky feet. “Tashi will be home tomorrow afternoon. So you know… better not sleep too late.”

Art grins at him. “Does she know about me?”

“Does she know that after I finally got a good job as a tennis coach at my old school that I’m this close to losing it because I can’t help fucking my barely legal 20 year old star player? No actually. She doesn’t know.” He says dryly.

Art laughs. “I wouldn’t tell. But I mean imagine if I slept with you both. I’d learn so much about tennis.“

Patrick snorts, “This kinda talk is gonna make me take you home tonight actually…”

“Mm too late. You let me call you daddy,” Art grins. “You’re never getting rid of me.”

#challengers fic #challengers smut #art donaldson smut #patrick zweig smut #artrick smut

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