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ohtobeleah · 1 year

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Jake and Iris make me feel things I’ve never felt before. The chemistry, the toxicity, the overall dynamic makes me sweat 🥵

I.R.I.S Masterlist

Brrooo, I had so much fun writing this one and I really got carried away because it’s over 5k long. So please enjoy.

Warning: Smut! Female receiving oral. Jake Seresin x Mitchell!reader. Undisclosed age gap.

***~***~***~***~***~***~***~***~***~***~***~***~

“Dad—cool your jets alright I said it’s not what it looks like.” You groaned as you hid your face in the palms of your hands as you kicked off the covers of your bed.

“Iris….” Mav looked at you like he was ready to combust on the spot. The little vein near his temple had risen like it was about to pop. “What are you doing sleeping in Hangman's shirt?”

You had to think fast on your feet with this one, but this wasn’t your first rodeo. Jake, unsurprisingly, wasn’t the first guy you’d fucked around with. What could you say? You had a thing for older guys.

“I got pretty hammered the other night alright, shit happens and I threw up on my shirt, this must’ve just been the one I picked up from the lost and found bin at the Hard Deck.” You lied through your fucking teeth as you got out of bed. Mav just stood there speechless. “Must’ve got thrown in with the washing and just ended up in the pile on the chair.” You gestured to your clean washing pile you had yet to put away. “I got in pretty late last night, but if you’d rather me not keep it, I’ll give it back. You said it belongs to Jake right?”

“No I said it belongs to your Lieutenant Commander, Iris, Lieutenant Commander Seresin—“ Mav corrected you. “He’s Jake to you when he’s over for family events, any other time he’s your superior, address him as such or at least as Hangman.” You just paused, you rolled your eyes as you collected some things for a shower. Underwear, jeans, a normal shirt that wasn’t Jakes.

“Uh, but I quit the program Daddio.” You reminded your dad. “So realistically he’s not my superior, and I can call him Jack Shit if I wanted to.”

“You did not quit, Mitchell’s don’t quit.” Pete replied, he was losing his cool and you could tell, but like father like daughter, so were you. “You don’t get to quit TopGun, you’re the top one percent and of this nation aviators Iris.” Pete thought reminding you of your remarkable skills would sway you into thinking twice about your decision. It didn’t. Not even in the slightest bit.

“They do when the whole system is rigged!” You turned on your heels as you slammed the draw you’d been looking in for a belt. “They do when they’ve been capped dad!”

“What are you talking about?” Pete just played as dumb as he possibly could, but he knew. Oh boy did he know what you were talking about.

“Rooster told me what some of the guys said to the Admirals! He told me what they said they’d do if I was given an ounce of a shot at this—“ You’d have to call Bradley later and tell him to take the L. You couldn’t tell the truth but you couldn’t not confront your dad. You weren’t about to say, ‘Nah l heard what you said when I was under your desk with Jake's dick down my throat—‘ Were you?

“Iris—“

“Why would you not tell me that? My own dad, the reason why I’m fucking stunted in my career! This is it for me dad.” You hissed. “I don’t get to go any further than this because I’ve got Pete fucking Mitchell goddamn DNA—“

“Enough, we’ll talk to Admiral Simpson—“ Pete’s heart ached inside his chest as he looked at you, his daughter, every ounce of him. He hadn’t always been there and hell he’d missed a lot. But he loved you, he loved your mother in some strange amicable way too. Enough that he never missed a child support payment, he even paid more than he was required. He sent birthday and holiday gifts, paid half your schooling fees and paid for your first car. But Pete knew no amount of money equated to time lost. “I agree, this whole thing isn’t fair.” He said softly. “And we’ll figure out a way to fix it.”

“You can maybe but I’m not going shit.” You weren’t in the mood for this. You didn’t want to be told what to do, you weren’t a child and you weren’t in the wrong here. If you wanted to quit on your own terms you were going to. “I’m not the one who thinks so low of myself that I need to stunt others to gain notoriety, that’s fucking Rebound and his ugly ass personality.” You didn’t exactly know who had put in the complaints against you but if someone had held a gun to your head and asked you to take a wild guess, you knew your answer would be pretty accurate. “So if you’ll excuse me, I’m gonna take a shower, make a coffee and enjoy my morning off because I. Fucking. Quit.”

***~***~***~***~***~***~***~***~

“You come to your senses finally?” Bradley asked as he flipped through his lesson plan. “Heard through the scuttlebutt yesterday that you dragged Iris into the Admirals office by her damn ear?” Jake's mind momentarily flashed to the events of last night, when he had you splayed out beneath him moaning his name. As he blinked back the X rated image he remembered he’d woken up alone, in a cold and empty bed he wished you were in.

“She’s flunking on purpose because these guys are intimidated.” Jake looked at his own lesson plan as he lent on the table in the hanger turned makeshift classroom. “Someone had to pull her back in line.”

“And that someone’s you?” Bradley asked, all Jake did was look at him confused. He was your teacher fisher and foremost, what else was he supposed to do? “Huh, you could’ve had me and everyone else fooled.” Bradley shrugged. “Heard you really gave it to the kid.”

“Don’t call her a kid man.” Jake cringed. “God it makes me feel like I’m some kinda perv.”

“You are a perv! You’re fucking Mavs daughter!” Bradley hissed. “On multiple occasions it seems? Jake, Have you actually stopped to think for a moment what will happen when he actually finds out? Because it’s gonna come out eventually and I’m gonna be so fucking far gone when it does man you won’t see the ass end of me.”

“He’s not gonna find out, we’re keeping it casual.” Jake just shrugged it off, he couldn’t keep thinking about the what ifs when he was with you in the moment. He wanted to enjoy the time he had with you. Sneaking around, being discreet, if he kept thinking about your dad every time he was with you he was gonna form an unwanted association and Jake couldn’t have that. He’d almost lost you once and he wasn’t ready to give you up yet. “Casual and consensual Rooster, she might be Mavs daughter but she’s still an adult.”

“Oi!” Just as Rooster and Hangman were about to start preparing their whiteboard, Mav was walking into the hangar with broad shoulders and a stirn glare. “Tweedle dee and dumbass!”

“Who’s who?” Rooster asked through a laugh as he wrote up his status on the whiteboard, earning himself a smack in the back of the head. “Ow! The fuck Mav—?”

“Thanks for telling Iris about the complaints some of her classmates made, Rooster.” Maverick just deadpanned Bradley, the guy had a few inches on Mav but he didn’t care. “She’s pissed off now and you of all people know how she gets when she’s pissed off!” It was true, Bradley Bradshaw was literally the closest thing you had to a brother, which meant when you were both a little younger, you in your teens and Bradley in his twenties— fought like cats and dogs.

“What are you even talking about?” Rooster asked as he looked at Jake who just kept writing on the board, he looked all kinds of guilty. “I—“ Rooster paused, what had you and Jake been up to that meant you had to lie and say that Rooster told you? He hadn’t checked his phone all morning but he regretted it now. “Did, yeah I did do that, sorry—she cornered me when I pulled a point or two when she was doing Hard Deck pull ups.” Jake let out a breath he didn’t know he was holding as Bradshaw took the blame, he owed him—big time.

“Well because she knows, apparently she quit the program.” Jake's heart sank from his chest into his ass. No you didn’t? You would’ve mentioned that last night. “I've gotta go talk to Cyclone about it now—this whole thing is a giant mess.”

“Iris could probably still have this thing if she applied herself.” Jake hadn’t taken his eyes off of what he was writing. “She could fly circles around those losers with her eyes closed and hands tied behind her back.” Jake kinda wished he’d just said this to you yesterday instead of dragging you through the mud. The longer he thought about it, perhaps words of encouragement could have prevented you from taking an overly critical approach. “She’s a smart girl, but she’s your daughter, which means she’s just a stubborn as you so—“

Pete just fished the T-shirt he’d stuffed into the back of his jean pocket out and threw it Hangman's way. Jake caught it on his shoulder. He looked rather confused at the white material that cascaded down his shoulder.

“She is smart, but she’s got her mothers rage.” Mav sighed. “Or stupidity, I’m not sure, but she damn near gave me a heart attack this morning when I went into her room and saw her sleeping in that shit.” Jake took the shirt from his shoulder to investigate, he could feel the heat sweeping across his face as he realised that you must have accidentally picked up his prized Hangman shirt after he’d discarded it last night. You know, before he fucked the shit out of you. “Wanna tell me why my daughter was sleeping in your shirt? Jacob?”

“I uh—“ Jake was panicking, Mav could tell. He was onto whatever was going on here he just couldn’t tell what exactly it was or to what extent it had gone. Did he believe your little lost and found story? No. Not in the slightest bit. “I couldn’t tell you man I haven’t seen this thing for a while.” Jake chuckled out, rubbing the back of his head as he thumbed at the cotton fabric. “Thought I’d lost it? How’d Iris end up with it?”

“She said she thinks she got it out of the Lost and Found box at the Hard Deck?”

“That checks—“ Rooster mumbled as Jake sent him a look. “Honest, she was a mess a few nights ago. She’s lucky I didn’t kick her out of the Bronco when she threatened to spew her guts up on my dash.” It was all fabricated. Bradley didn’t know why he was jumping to Jake’s defense when the evidence was literally in the palm of his hands. But today was not the day to be down an instructor—so if anything Bradley took it upon himself to make sure Jake Seresin could live to breathe another breath for his own selfish reasons. “What, you think they’re fucking or something Mav?”

At that moment Jake forgot how to breathe when Pete Mitchell starred directly into Jake's soul. Just waiting for him to crack.

“I haven’t figured that out yet, but if they are? Just know it doesn’t bode well in your favour, Hangman—“

“I would never touch your daughter Mav, it’s Iris.” Jake cringed like you were beneath him, like it was an insult to his character that he’d stoop so low. That’s he’d be that dumb. “She’s basically a kid—“ Bradley couldn’t believe what he was hearing, blowing air into his cheeks as he turned back to hide his face against the whiteboard as Mav continued eyeing off Jake. “You know I wouldn’t, and the fake I haven’t seen this shirt in weeks just adds up. Iris got it outta the lost and found, thanks for returning it.”

As Jake spoke complete and utter lies, all he could hear was your soft moans and delicate whimpers. He could feel your nails dragging into the muscles that littered the expanse of his back and after last night? The track marks you’d left began to throb with anxiety.

“Yeah—“ Mav sighed, tapping Jake on the arm a few times. “Yeah I guess you’re right, sorry, I shouldn’t have jumped to conclusions.”

“No hard feelings.” Jake just replied, he just wanted this conversation to be over so he couldn’t put his foot in it any further.

The second Pete turned his back Jake went weak in the knees. Bradley’s eyes widened with endless questions and queries. But he settled on just one.

“What exactly were you and Iris doing that she had to throw me under the bus like that?” Jake didn’t respond right away, he was still trying to process the fake he was rock fucking solid. The idea of Mav threatening him for being any way shape or form involved with you had him going feral.

Jake liked it, and he thought maybe, just maybe, he even loved you.

“You want the truth?”

“Probably not—“ Immediately, Bradley regretted asking. “Nope, I actually don’t want to be any more of an accomplice than I already am.” Jake just grinned like a Cheshire Cat. Looking Bradley up and down before he spilled the very R rated and inappropriate beans.

“She was under Mavs desk, with my dick in h—“ Bradley couldn’t let Jake finish before he was covering his ears like a child.

“Oh my god! No shut up, I can’t know that!” He shoved his fingers in his ears and looked away. He couldn’t think of you like that, his little sister. He knew Jake was a goner, a deadman walking but Rooster was too. An accomplice to Jake's own stupidity. “No la la la la— I can’t fucking hear you!”

“You asked!!” Jake laughed to himself. “You asked what we were doing!”

***~***~***~***~***~***~*

Later that same day, Jake was heading to your place during his lunch hour. It was only a five minute drive from base on a good day. He should have known better than to rock up unannounced, but the line between appropriate and inappropriate behaviour was becoming far too blurry to really focus his moral compass.

“Iris?” Jake knocked damn well knowing you weren’t going to answer—if Mav had been right about anything it was that when you were in a foul mood you were sour. Jake’s presence probably wasn’t going to make your mood any less aggravated. “Iris open up!”

To Jake’s surprise, you answered. You couldn’t have reefed the door open any harder if you tried as Jake stood there taking in the sight of you. Clad in nothing but a little black bikini and Prada Milano sunglasses. Looking over them up at Jake as you tilted your gaze to look above where they sat on the bridge of your nose.

“Can I help you?”

“The fuck does Mav mean you quit the TopGun program? Are you mentally deficient or something!?” Jake pushed past you in the doorway, barreling in as his rage consumed him. “God you’ve done a lot of dumb shit recently Iris but quitting TopGun? That’s career suicide—“ You didn’t answer, you simply stood there, raising an eyebrow as you pushed your glasses up the bridge of your nose.

“If those guys, Krod and P:E and fucking Rebound are the Navy’s top one percent than I send my hopes and prayers to their families—“ You explained as you walked your way out towards the back deck. “They’ll be burying the bastards sooner rather than later and I for one, will be there to say they should’ve worked a little harder for their titles instead of manipulating the system in their favour.”

Jake hated to see you leave, but he loved to watch you walk away, your bikini bottoms left very little to his imagination.

“Now if you’ll excuse me Hangman, I was enjoying the sun and a nice glass of scotch before you rudely showed up at my dads house unannounced.” You turned, sinking a hand on your popped hip. “So unless you have someone interesting to say I’d shut the hell up and leave before dear old daddy comes home and finds you here, tainting his only daughter’s innocence.” Jake went to speak, he wanted to laugh and call your bluff and tell you how fucking stupid you were being. But you cut him off as he held his tongue and clenched his jaw. “And yeah—I can tell you to shut the hell up because you aren’t my superior anymore, stings knowing you’re the one who pushed me over the goddamn edge by dragging my ass into Admiral Simpson's office for that write up huh?”

“Oh don’t act like me doing my job had anything to do with the fact you were looking for an excuse to give up!” Jake shouted as he followed you out onto the back porch. “By the sounds of things you’d already made up your mind before I even decided you’d crossed the line between brat and insubordination.” You let Jake finish his rant before you looked at him with sinful eyes. Eyeing him up and down. Was there anything he didn’t look good in?

“What are you even doing here?” You asked through a sigh as you sat back down on the lounge chair you’d been posted up in the sun on before Jake arrived. Enjoying your day off. “Because I know you didn’t just come here to berate me for my decision to quit—you could’ve done that when I came to collect my stuff, you didn’t need to make a personal house call.” Despite wanting to pull you up by the hair on your head and drag you back to base himself, Jake just continued to undress you with his eyes as he undid the zip on his flight suit. Standing in your direct sunlight as he did so just to piss you off. “Jake, don’t be a pest fucking move your old ass—“

As Jake’s cock twitched against the fabric of his boxer briefs, undressing the very little clothing that covered you, he hatched a plan—a rather simple plan to have you biting your tongue and dragging your ass back to TopGun.

“I actually came to talk about last night.” He admitted, shimmying the arms off his body as he tied them around his waist. “I wanted to ask if you really meant what you said, about wanting more.”

“I don’t want shit from you if you’re gonna come in here ranting and raving about my problems and how I choose to deal with them.” You mumbled, pretending that you weren’t interested as Jake sank to his knees before you on the sun lounge. “But, if you must know, I wouldn’t technically be opposed to the idea of this being more than just sex, because unfortunately I’m hot for teacher.” You smirked as Jake grinned ear to ear at you as he sauntered up and hovered over you. Taking your lips hostage in a slow and sensual kiss that had you forgetting how to breathe for a second before he pulled away.

“I came here on my lunch break you know—“ You pretended to care, looking around as if you were trying to spot something. “What?”

“I didn’t see you bring anything with you?” You winked as you winded your legs. Looking up at Jake as he hovered over you. “You might just have to go hungry there, teach.” Jake caught your intentions as he lowered himself down between your legs. His dangerously dark, lust filled eyes never left yours as he did so. Dropping lower and lower till he was at eyeline with your just barely clothes cunt.

“I think I’ve got a pretty delectable meal right in front of me darlin—“ Jake purred as he spread your legs a little wider, drinking in the sight of your core nearly hanging out of those little black bikini bottoms. “And I’m absolutely ravished.” You snapped your knees together just as Jake slowly made his way forward, just scraping the tip of his nose as you giggled wildly.

“Too bad, it’s gonna cost ya.” You taunted, biting on your bottom lip as you eyed Jake off and spread your legs apart before him again, watching with awe as the crimson hume that crept across Jake's cheeks grew brighter and brighter with every passing second. “Walking Propaganda Poster Boys who pray on women half their age from conservative Texan families pay extra too.” Jake was speechless as you dragged him through the mud, the sad thing was it turned him on.

Perhaps Bradley was right from the get go—Jake Seresin had a thing for degradation.

“What’s a dining experience at the Iris Inn gonna cost me?” Jake growled as he slowly dragged the tip of his index finger up your calf and to your inner thigh. “Name your price—“ You hissed when Jake took the little string that kept your bottoms tied together and snapped it back against your hip.

“Ah—“

“Words Iris, use that bratty mouth of yours and tell me what it’s gonna cost.” Jake looked at you with lust filled eyes that had never been darker, keeping his trail to your core right on schedule as his fingers grazed the fabric that clothed your core. “I ain’t got all day Iris.”

“Your entire career, deadman.” You softly gasped as the pad of Jake's thumb danced softly over the fabric of your bikini bottoms, making your sensitive bundle of nerves ignite. “Ohhh—maybe even that won’t cover it.”

“Guess we’ll have to find out won’t we?” Jake asked as he pulled back the fabric of your bikini to reveal your soaked pussy. “Huh, you really get off on the idea of me going straight to hell for all this don’t you?”

“I touch myself to the thought of it every night.” You admitted as a wicked smile crept across your face. Jake chuckled to himself, he was a goner. “Touch myself thinking about all the ways I’ll ruin your life and I cum so hard when I remember you want me to.”

“Fucking hell Iris you’d make the strongest of men weak.” Jake sighed as he crept closer and dragged you forward to his face, sinking his teeth into your inner thigh as you unfit the sides of your bikini. “You’re poison—“

“And yet you keep coming back for more—“ You would always beat Jake at his own game, he knew his fate and accepted it. He kissed up your inner thigh slowly before finally landing right where you wanted him, where you needed him. Against your core in a feaverish moment of sudden ecstasy. “Oh fuck—!” Jake kissed and sucked against your glistening core, drinking in the taste of your nectar.

He’s been right, oh how you were a delectable meal and such a cuisine that was surely exclusive to the most exclusive restaurants. You were soft and sweet and all things in between as Jake looked up at you as he flicked his tongue against your clit. Reveling in the jolts of electricity he knew washed through your body whenever he flicked up.

“Jake—“ You sighed out as you let all your thoughts go. “Fuck baby feels so good.” You told him as you reached back to untie your bikini top, Jake watched through dark hooded eyes as he made you his lunch. His heart danced inside his chest at the sight before him, you peeled off your black bikini top to expose yourself fully in the backyard of your dads house. You knew what you were doing to him and Jake fucking loved it. “Eat my pussy Jake, just like that—“

“You taste so fucking sweet Iris, so sinful.” Jake growled as he pulled away, reaching up to coax two of his digits into your mouth. He paused at your bottom lip, deciding that to ask you to open would give you far too much power and if Jake knew anything about you it was that you had a power complex. So as Jake gripped at your chin and looked at you with stirn eyes—he told you what to do.

“Open.” And do it you did, without hesitation. Welcoming the two chosen digits into your mouth as you hummed and swirled your tongue around and gripped at your own tits. “Fuck Iris—“ Jake was about three point five seconds from ruining his flight suit. He had a Hop after lunch. “Good girl.” Jake praised you as he pulled his dripping digits from your mouth and slowly and ever so carefully, guided them past your dripping lips into your core. Stretching you to a nice full feeling as you arched your back and squeezed your tits all for Jake to watch as he got you off.

“Ohh, Ohh fuck Hangman—-“ Jake had never really been a fan of the calllsign Bradley gave him all those years ago. It was more of a personal attack on him and their once strained friendship than a nod to his personality, his professionalism. But as it dripped from your mouth like a siren song, Jake found a new reason to love it. “Jake fuck—feels so good, oh god.”

You sounded like every sin Jake had ever had. Vocalised into a reality playing out before him as he ducked his head back down to suck a pressure out of this world against your sensitive bundle of nerves, coaxing his fingers up against your velvet walls to create a feeling so pure and intense it had you singing out his name into the heavens above. Surely neither of you would be granted access after this. You’d both be sent straight to hell.

“Ahhhh fuck yes! Yes Jake!” You moaned out as you rolled your hips to grind against Jake's face as he lapped away at your cunt. His chin glistening with your arousal as he worked to finger fuck you. Drinking up all that you could give him.

“So fucking pretty aren’t you Iris.” Jake mumbled against your core as he buried his fingers to the hilt. “So pretty and gorgeous and fucking irritating—“ Jake moved to mark your inner thighs with love bites and bruises that would linger on your supple skin for days to come. “I’ll make you a deal.”

“Fuck off—“ You knew what was coming as Jake slowly moved back to your core, soft kitten like licks against your clit nearly had you breaking as you whimpered and whined and arched your spine. “Jake, I’m close! So fucking close.” It was the smirk that gave it away, the devilish, oh so endearing shit eating grin Jake sent you as he pumped his fingers inside you, hitting just the right spot to send you hurtling towards the edge of insanity. “JAKE! Oh Christ! Aauugghh—“ You were so close it hurt. “Please, please I wanna cum for you daddy.”

You saw the look in Jake's eye when you called him that. He hated that he loved it. He’d never been a ‘daddy’ guy. But with you? It felt right in the worst kind of im fucking your daughter way.

“Say you’ll come back to TopGun and I’ll make you cum Iris.” Jake mumbled as he sucked against your cunt. Curling his fingers up inside you in a come hither motion. “I promise baby, say you’ll come back and ruin those fuckers and I’ll make you cum so hard you’ll forget everything but my name.”

“You're a bastard!” Jake raised a hand to grip at your throat, applying just enough pressure on the sides of your neck to have your head spinning as you gasped and tried to hold onto whatever sanity, whatever control you had as your orgasm barreled towards you. “You—you fucking bastard.”

“Is that a yes?” Jake grinned as he lapped away at your throbbing bundle of nerves. “Say it Iris.” He growled as the tips of his fingers hit just the right spot with enough force to send you flying towards the sun. You couldn’t hold it even if you wanted to, which you didn’t.

“Ahhhh yes! Yes alright, alright you son of a bitch I’ll come back! just make me—“ You didn’t even need to finish your sentence and Jake was sucking against your clit so perfectly it had you arriving at your very dirty destination. “Ahh—oh god ahhhhh FUCK!”

Jake, in all his years had never heard such a beautiful sound. You always managed to surprise him every time you came. Everytime your body trembled at his touch, everytime your jaw hung slack as your eyes rolled and beautiful whimpers and moans and sighs of relief escaped in their droves. Releasing your neck from his hold just as your pushy fluttered around his now soaked digits.

“Oh my god you’re such an ass Seresin.” You sighed as Jake lapped the last of your sweet sweet nectar from your dripping cunt up all for himself before he rose up to take your lips hostage with yours.

“I gotta get going, thanks for lunch.” He mumbled as you enjoyed tasting yourself of his tongue. “I’ll see you later though when you come to reclaim your throne Mitchell.” You just rolled your eyes as Jake dropped his head, taking each of your nipples in his mouth one at a time before he pulled up and away. “Seeya soon—“

“What if you don't?” You called out, watching as Jake left you on the outdoor lounge chair to soak up the rest of the midday sun. Jake didn’t even look back over his shoulder to address you but you knew good and well he was smirking as you flipped him off.

“I will.”

***~***~***~***~***~***~***~***~

“What’cha have for lunch Hangman?” Mav asked as he caught Jake in his peripheral vision. “You weren’t in the Rec room?”

“Nah I ate out today—“ Jake smirked, god he was going to hell. The only Heaven he’d be sent to, was when he’s alone with you.

Later that same afternoon about an hour or so after Jake had left, you sauntered on into the hanger you knew your dad would be in. Doing whatever it was that he did between his lessons. Low and behold Jake Seresin had been right.

“Hi honey.” Pete beamed, Bradley stood beside Maverick with a curious smirk on his face. Stupid mustache, hiding his upper lip. “I see you changed your mind?” Jake stood leaning against one of the empty desks. His arms nearly bulging out of black T adorning his stupidity perfect body.

“Yeah well—“ You sighed as you took your aviators off and placed them into the neck of your shirt. You were just in a pair of jeans and a black T-shirt. Nothing fancy. Nothing too extreme for your meeting with Admiral Simpson. “You can either chock it up to downright stupidity—“ You paused, tucking your hands into the back pockets of your jeans as you watched Jake wink at you from behind your fathers shoulder. “Or post nut clarity.”

“IRIS!!” Pete scolded you as Bradley’s jaw hit the ground in second hand embarrassment as Jake's face turned a bright shade of crimson.

“My god, she’s your fucking daughter—“ Rooster sighed as he tried to scrub the last five seconds from his memory bank.

***~***~***~***~***~***~***~***~***~***~***~***~

#iris // jake seresin #jake seresin x reader #jake seresin smut #jake seresin x f!reader #jake hangman imagine #jake hangman x reader #jake seresin x y/n #jake hangman seresin x reader #jake hangman seresin #jake seresin imagine #jake seresin x you #jake seresin fic #jake hangman x y/n #jake seresin fanfiction

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tiktaalic · 3 months

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Popstar never stop never stopping dash simulator, requested. specifically and explicitly. by @brucespringsteendotcom, to be clear this post would not exist, if not for brucespringsteendotcom. thank you. love from len. and also han

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If anything happens to Maximus I’m killing myself fr

maximost Follow

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We know with definitive proof. That Conner has touched another man’s dick

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Things Conner has signed:

•penis

•no pussy?

owenstits Follow

Fellas. Is it gay to touch another man’s dick with your ex boyfriend in the room?

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I wish conner4real would be turn apart by wolves

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GUY WHO DIDNT KNOW THERED BE BALLOONSSSSSS

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this is the most staged proposal I’ve ever seen omfg people will really believe anything

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He’s not gay.

hope this helps :-)

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He tucks. Which could mean nothing

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Smoking the shit that had Conner fucking bin Laden

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Nobody ask me what my top artist is on bonkohub .

#some of us have real problems. Some of our top songs are finest girl (bin laden song)

connersreputation Follow

Ok if he dates Taylor next then we KNOW he’s 100% gay. Gay4real even.

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You stan a flop artist and no one bats an eye. You stan a flop artist’s public relations specialist and her leather jacket collection and everyone loses their minds…………

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god im doing apartment tours right now and I found one that’s Perfect but I opened the fridge and fucking conner4real started blasting

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Everyone who said conner4real was too much of a centrist to take a stance on political issues how’s it feel to be so wrong

#IM NOT GAY BUT IF I WAS I’D FIGHT FOR EQUAL RIGHTS! # i <3 heterosexual women

#pop star never stop never stopping #etxt

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junkyardromeo · 1 month

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how many tapes do you own? and which are your favorites?

so this ask has been sitting for a hot minute bc i keep forgetting to count them. but i counted today and i have around 100! my mom actually found 3 new ones for me in an antique mall today, and even though i won't have them until friday, i already know they're gonna be some of my favs. i'll make you a list of my top 10 (ok it turned into 11 sue me):

young man's blues - rock city angels (this band is so very special to me. this is the only tape i've ever ordered online)

law of the order - shark island (found this one new, still shrink wrapped from 1989, in a record store bin for $5)

back to mystery city - hanoi rocks (gift from ryan @lonelyplanetfag and one of my coolest tapes imo)

hooked - great white (from my mom, but i have it on CD too)

fair warning - van halen (this one is particularly special bc it's a hand me down from my dad—the last tape he (ostensibly) had left after all of his were stolen in 1988. it was in the center console of his truck when the box of tapes he kept in the passenger seat was stolen. i have the CD too, which i stole was gifted from my mom)

faster pussycat - faster pussycat (one of my favorite albums of all time, have it on CD too)

keel - keel (when i bought this, the album wasn't on spotify and i was so fucking excited to find it)

dokken - under lock and key (gift from ryan, my favorite dokken album)

gnr lies - guns n' roses (oddly, my only gnr tape. also a gift from ryan.)

back in black - ac/dc (this belonged to my dad in high school. i found it, worn out to the point that most of the lettering on the tape itself is gone, without a case on my grandparents' basement floor. the only way i even knew what it was and didn't toss it was that i vaguely recognized some very faint words that i thought said "hells bells." i didn't have a player at the time, so i took it home and kept it. when i got my boombox, it was the first tape i played, and it was, in fact, back in black. it plays perfectly. my dad remembers losing it his junior year and never saw it again until last summer. needless to say he let me keep it!)

overall, i have some really cool shit and hope to acquire more. i also have a steelheart cassette single, but it didn't make the top 11. and, i have a shitload of classic country too, and classic rock shit like lynyrd skynyrd and traffic. i also have a tape from a current shoegaze band that one of my friends from radio gave me. i can take pics of my whole collection for you if you wanna see!

#im so sorry this took so long i am mr king procrastinator #AND im sorry its so long jfc i dont even write this much for school but this is a whole ass essay #cyrus

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anthonysstupiddailyblog · 2 years

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Anthony’s Stupid Daily Blog (137): Thu 28th Jul 2022

Spent the day with Luna as my sister had a training seminar to go to. It's been a while since Luna and I had a playdate just the two of us. I should volunteer to look after her more often because there will come a day when she becomes too cool to play games with her stupid uncle. First off we went to the park which was a god damn nightmare because I decided to take Lucy with us as well and this meant having to keep an eye on both of them. On the way up the hill to the park Lucy stopped to take a shit (For new readers Lucy is my dog, she's not one of my other nieces in case you think I let my young relatives shit in the street. After I picked up Lucy's turd in a bag a hearse drove past with a coffin in it which freaked me the fuck out and as usual I thought of something dark to try and relieve the tension and thought if the family would be alright with me just chucking Lucy's turd in the coffin to save me a trip to the doggy turd bin since it's going in the ground anyway. If I ever get round to actually writing a sitcom I need to write in a scene where a recently bereaved person decides to chuck a bag of trash into their dead relative's coffin after missing the bin collection day. After spending a bit of time at the park we came home and played golf in the back garden which Luna won (Obviously) and I pretended to be livid at losing the game and pretended to go to whack her with the little plastic club, giving her plenty of time to move, go behind me and whack me with her club. The thing she seems to find most hilarious is me being in pain, usually pain that has been caused by her. Checked out last night's AEW Dynamite and it was one of the best episodes I've seen in a while. It started off with a really good brawl between Rush and Jon Moxley. There was a sick moment where Rush licked Moxley's blood off his fingers. I know Mox is a family man now but in the past he has put it about a bit. If I were Rush I'd get myself checked. I thought Rush looked great in his match with Mox. He is much better as a heel which is why he bombed in ROH in my opinion as he was portrayed as a face which didn't match his in-ring antics. He also looked strong in defeat as they had him kick out of Death Rider but what counts now is how they follow up this loss because if he disappears from TV for three weeks then that will really hurt him. It was also announced that we'll be getting Moxley vs Jericho for the interim title which I'm looking forward to. Next up we had Ricky Starks (Complete with an awesome video intro) defending the FTW title against Danhausen then issuing an open challenge which he lost soundly to Hook. Afterwards Starks cut a promo where he said "People said that the FTW was a noose around my neck and I turned it into a tie" Nice sentiment but totally untrue. It's a shame too because if he'd been booked regularly on TV defending the belt then it could have done him the world of good. Afterwards Powerhouse Hobbs turned his back on Ricky Starks and it looks like we're getting a face run for Starks which I'm excited for because he has so much damn potential. If pushed right he could be the next AJ Styles. I was also really happy for Hook too. I'm not sure where the FTW title goes from here but if I had the pen I would add a rule to the FTW title so that matches can only end in submission or knockout to end the perception that it's just another title. Next we got a great high flying match between Sammy and Dante. Guessing it will lead to Sammy / Tay vs Eddie / Ruby. I would have Eddie and Ruby hold Sammy & Tay hostage after the match and threaten to harm them unless Jericho gives him one last match to end the feud. Next was the highlight of the night where Jungle Boy cut a promo on Christian Cage. JB Speculated that Christian was angry due to his recent divorce which I can totally imagine Christian giving JB that line to add some heat to the feud. Even though this is an undercard feud it has the best writing of any feud in the company right now so it feels like the main one and I know that these two will knock it out of the fucking park and hopefully Christian puts JB over. The main event was a great brawl between Daniel Garcia and a returning Bryan Danielson. Garcia dominated the match due to Danielson playing up his concussion issues. Garcia had a bit of help from Jake Hagar but ended up getting the technical knockout win over Danielson in a massive upset. It was only last week I was complaining that with AEW you can predict the results of the matches 90% of the time and before this match started I was thinking how beneficial it would be to Garcia if he went over. When Garcia had the Sharpshooter locked in at the end I actually leaned forward in my seat and tried to will Danielson to tap out. I think the last time I did this was the finish to the AJ Styles / John Cena match a couple of years ago. I'm so happy that they booked Garcia to go over. This will do wonders for his career if they follow up strongly. This was a really great episode of Dynamite as they did so much to put the younger guys over. In my opinion this is what the show should be like every week with emphasis on the younger guys being put over by the veterans.

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kkrazy256 · 2 years

Note

Oooo for prompts maybe “You have to help [him/her/them]. Please.” With Fox and Remedy?

Augh,,,did my best to keep this one short. This is Cody and Fox-centric but the topic of discussion is Remedy.

Cody slides the file across the desk before downing the shot. His nose immediately scrunches up, lips pulling into a grimace.

Fox knows this moonshine batch had been quite shit, but he’s already gone through at least three bottles too many this week to care. Cody lets out a stifled cough and Fox would’ve snickered if this had been a simple social call. But he reaches to pick up the datapad instead.

It was anything but a social call.

“CT-8847.” He starts scrolling.

“Remedy.” Cody offers after a beat; their names weren’t allowed on official files.

The information is fairly standard. The medic is younger than them but old enough to have seen a good share of campaigns. He had consistently scored the highest amongst his medic cohort and was on track for lieutenant. Until…

Fox swipes past three paragraphs of black bars, looking up with a raised eyebrow.

“Jedi clearance.” Cody leans back against the couch, rubbing at the corners of his eyes.

His ara’vod looks exhausted. The 212th isn’t technically on shoreleave. They are still mid-campaign, but Kenobi had to return for some emergency meeting or something at the Temple. Cody had tagged along with half a platoon, sending Fox a message about an administrative meeting. He hadn’t even bothered to show up out of armor. Flakes of dry mud fluttered off each time Cody shifted.

“As in you don’t know or you can’t tell me?”

Cody looks him straight in the eyes, “won’t. It’s not my place to”

He maintains eye contact, but Fox can see and hear the soft clinks of his finger tapping against the shot glass. Cody’s always been good at confrontation, even if the small tells give away his unease.

“Cody,” Fox sighs, picking up his own drink, “I need to know these things before I accept a transfer.” It’s rare for a trooper’s information to get redacted at their level of clearance. It doesn’t get much higher than marshal command.

“Why? Because you can’t take someone unless you know they’re useful?” Cody sits up abruptly, arms folded across his chest, “since when did you start thinking like them?”

“What? No, what are you on about?” Now it’s his turn to rub his eyes. Since the politicians started ordering decomms on those they considered useless. What’s the use in sending him here if he’ll die even faster?

“Trocar left notes on his file. He’s brilliant, he’ll do fine here.” Cody presses on and Fox glances at the four paragraphs from the 212th’s CMO. The guy needs to learn the difference between personal opinions and official statements for a record. Though, judging from the attitude in the words, he doubts anyone could make the suggestion without getting smacked with a datapad, natborn or otherwise.

It’s always the young ones who care too much that crack spectacularly.

That particular sentence burns itself into his mind.

“If he’s as brilliant as you say, why is he here?”

Wouldn’t it make more sense for him to be out there? Saving the lives of those on the field?

The clinks come in quick succession now. Cody’s gaze is on the drop of spilled moonshine on the table.

“I’ve done everything I could, Fox.” He eventually says, “I thought I could help but,” He pours himself another shot, wiping away the drop with a finger, “I think we’ll lose a good medic if he stays with us out there.”

“And you think being in the Guard can just, magically fix that? Whatever that is?” Fox takes the bottle back from Cody’s loose grasp with a bit more force than necessary.

He hates this misconception the rest of the GAR seem to have. The Guard isn’t some damn bin to collect lost and broken toys. It’s not the happy house or retreat they all think it is. Sending them here isn’t going to be some magical healing cure.

And they’ll only be disappointed and angry once they realize the truth. As if Fox needs any more of that piled up onto his evergrowing plate of shit to deal with.

His shin smarts from where Cody aimed a sharp kick, “you’re a bastard.” Cody scowls, but Fox refuses to stand down.

“I’m not expecting you to turn this kid into something that’s all smiles and laughs, Fox.” The glare falters, and his brother suddenly looks very young and unsure, “I’m asking for you to help him…please.”

Fox’s own vitriol dies down. If it’s one thing the both of them share, it’s pride.

He looks down at the file again.

It’s always the young ones who care too much that crack spectacularly.

“...do you really think I can?”

“I…I don’t know.” Cody runs a hand through his hair, “but I know staying on the field will only make things worse. He’s…” He places his glass down on the table without letting it go. Clink clink. “Trocar says he’s a medic without equal. Too good maybe. He…he gives too much. And he’s going to run out of himself to give sooner or later.”

“He needs an ori’vod.” Cody finally trails off with a bitter laugh, “and Ka’ra knows I’ve been a bad one.”

“Shut up.” Fox kicks his brother in the leg lightly, “if you were, you wouldn’t be here being a pain in my ass about it.” He grabs Cody by the wrist when he reaches for the bottle again, “hey.”

Cody looks at him.

“You did your best, ori’vod. I know you did.”

The clinks stop. Cody turns his wrist to slip his palm against Fox’s, squeezing their fingers together.

“Do better.”

Fox could only nod in silence.

They pull away from each other and Fox pours Cody a fresh drink.

“Where is he right now?”

“I had Waxer escort him to one of your medbays. He’s still on crutches, so I thought it would help for him to get settled in sooner than later.”

So Cody had already made up his mind well before coming to Fox. This meeting had just been a formality. If he had just wanted a drink, he should’ve just said so. Fucking asshole.

“We’ll head down in a bit then. I want to give him a formal introduction.” Fox reaches behind the couch, leaning to grab his stylus off the desk. Might as well make it official now.

He looks at the photo in the file. White bangs framed by vibrant red curls that barely went below his ears. The same dark eyes they all share reflect off the screen. They looked so bright and earnest. He wonders if they are now similarly dead like his own.

He doesn’t want that at all.

Fox scrolls to the last page of the transfer paperwork. Both Cody and Kenobi’s signatures are already in the appropriate blanks.

He gives Cody one more look before scrawling his signature.

Welcome to our House of Joy, Remedy.

#clone medic remedy #commander cody #commander fox #tcw #star wars #sw mine

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blackwoolncrown · 4 years

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”This essay has been kicking around in my head for years now and I’ve never felt confident enough to write it. It’s a time in my life I’m ashamed of. It’s a time that I hurt people and, through inaction, allowed others to be hurt. It’s a time that I acted as a violent agent of capitalism and white supremacy. Under the guise of public safety, I personally ruined people’s lives but in so doing, made the public no safer… so did the family members and close friends of mine who also bore the badge alongside me.

But enough is enough.

The reforms aren’t working. Incrementalism isn’t happening. Unarmed Black, indigenous, and people of color are being killed by cops in the streets and the police are savagely attacking the people protesting these murders.

American policing is a thick blue tumor strangling the life from our communities and if you don’t believe it when the poor and the marginalized say it, if you don’t believe it when you see cops across the country shooting journalists with less-lethal bullets and caustic chemicals, maybe you’ll believe it when you hear it straight from the pig’s mouth.”

>>Copied here in case anyone gets paywalled when they click the above. The full article is...a lot.<<

WHY AM I WRITING THIS

As someone who went through the training, hiring, and socialization of a career in law enforcement, I wanted to give a first-hand account of why I believe police officers are the way they are. Not to excuse their behavior, but to explain it and to indict the structures that perpetuate it.

I believe that if everyone understood how we’re trained and brought up in the profession, it would inform the demands our communities should be making of a new way of community safety. If I tell you how we were made, I hope it will empower you to unmake us.

One of the other reasons I’ve struggled to write this essay is that I don’t want to center the conversation on myself and my big salty boo-hoo feelings about my bad choices. It’s a toxic white impulse to see atrocities and think “How can I make this about me?” So, I hope you’ll take me at my word that this account isn’t meant to highlight me, but rather the hundred thousand of me in every city in the country. It’s about the structure that made me (that I chose to pollute myself with) and it’s my meager contribution to the cause of radical justice.

YES, ALL COPS ARE BASTARDS

I was a police officer in a major metropolitan area in California with a predominantly poor, non-white population (with a large proportion of first-generation immigrants). One night during briefing, our watch commander told us that the city council had requested a new zero tolerance policy. Against murderers, drug dealers, or child predators?

No, against homeless people collecting cans from recycling bins.

See, the city had some kickback deal with the waste management company where waste management got paid by the government for our expected tonnage of recycling. When homeless people “stole” that recycling from the waste management company, they were putting that cheaper contract in peril. So, we were to arrest as many recyclers as we could find.

Even for me, this was a stupid policy and I promptly blew Sarge off. But a few hours later, Sarge called me over to assist him. He was detaining a 70 year old immigrant who spoke no English, who he’d seen picking a coke can out of a trash bin. He ordered me to arrest her for stealing trash. I said, “Sarge, c’mon, she’s an old lady.” He said, “I don’t give a shit. Hook her up, that’s an order.” And… I did. She cried the entire way to the station and all through the booking process. I couldn’t even comfort her because I didn’t speak Spanish. I felt disgusting but I was ordered to make this arrest and I wasn’t willing to lose my job for her.

If you’re tempted to feel sympathy for me, don’t. I used to happily hassle the homeless under other circumstances. I researched obscure penal codes so I could arrest people in homeless encampments for lesser known crimes like “remaining too close to railroad property” (369i of the California Penal Code). I used to call it “planting warrant seeds” since I knew they wouldn’t make their court dates and we could arrest them again and again for warrant violations.

We used to have informal contests for who could cite or arrest someone for the weirdest law. DUI on a bicycle, non-regulation number of brooms on your tow truck (27700(a)(1) of the California Vehicle Code)… shit like that. For me, police work was a logic puzzle for arresting people, regardless of their actual threat to the community. As ashamed as I am to admit it, it needs to be said: stripping people of their freedom felt like a game to me for many years.

I know what you’re going to ask: did I ever plant drugs? Did I ever plant a gun on someone? Did I ever make a false arrest or file a false report? Believe it or not, the answer is no. Cheating was no fun, I liked to get my stats the “legitimate” way. But I knew officers who kept a little baggie of whatever or maybe a pocket knife that was a little too big in their war bags (yeah, we called our dufflebags “war bags”…). Did I ever tell anybody about it? No I did not. Did I ever confess my suspicions when cocaine suddenly showed up in a gang member’s jacket? No I did not.

In fact, let me tell you about an extremely formative experience: in my police academy class, we had a clique of around six trainees who routinely bullied and harassed other students: intentionally scuffing another trainee’s shoes to get them in trouble during inspection, sexually harassing female trainees, cracking racist jokes, and so on. Every quarter, we were to write anonymous evaluations of our squadmates. I wrote scathing accounts of their behavior, thinking I was helping keep bad apples out of law enforcement and believing I would be protected. Instead, the academy staff read my complaints to them out loud and outed me to them and never punished them, causing me to get harassed for the rest of my academy class. That’s how I learned that even police leadership hates rats. That’s why no one is “changing things from the inside.” They can’t, the structure won’t allow it.

And that’s the point of what I’m telling you. Whether you were my sergeant, legally harassing an old woman, me, legally harassing our residents, my fellow trainees bullying the rest of us, or “the bad apples” illegally harassing “shitbags”, we were all in it together. I knew cops that pulled women over to flirt with them. I knew cops who would pepper spray sleeping bags so that homeless people would have to throw them away. I knew cops that intentionally provoked anger in suspects so they could claim they were assaulted. I was particularly good at winding people up verbally until they lashed out so I could fight them. Nobody spoke out. Nobody stood up. Nobody betrayed the code.

None of us protected the people (you) from bad cops.

This is why “All cops are bastards.” Even your uncle, even your cousin, even your mom, even your brother, even your best friend, even your spouse, even me. Because even if they wouldn’t Do The Thing themselves, they will almost never rat out another officer who Does The Thing, much less stop it from happening.

BASTARD 101

I could write an entire book of the awful things I’ve done, seen done, and heard others bragging about doing. But, to me, the bigger question is “How did it get this way?”. While I was a police officer in a city 30 miles from where I lived, many of my fellow officers were from the community and treated their neighbors just as badly as I did. While every cop’s individual biases come into play, it’s the profession itself that is toxic, and it starts from day 1 of training.

Every police academy is different but all of them share certain features: taught by old cops, run like a paramilitary bootcamp, strong emphasis on protecting yourself more than anyone else. The majority of my time in the academy was spent doing aggressive physical training and watching video after video after video of police officers being murdered on duty.

I want to highlight this: nearly everyone coming into law enforcement is bombarded with dash cam footage of police officers being ambushed and killed. Over and over and over. Colorless VHS mortality plays, cops screaming for help over their radios, their bodies going limp as a pair of tail lights speed away into a grainy black horizon. In my case, with commentary from an old racist cop who used to brag about assaulting Black Panthers.

To understand why all cops are bastards, you need to understand one of the things almost every training officer told me when it came to using force:

“I’d rather be judged by 12 than carried by 6.”

Meaning, “I’ll take my chances in court rather than risk getting hurt”. We’re able to think that way because police unions are extremely overpowered and because of the generous concept of Qualified Immunity, a legal theory which says a cop generally can’t be held personally liable for mistakes they make doing their job in an official capacity.

When you look at the actions of the officers who killed George Floyd, Breonna Taylor, David McAtee, Mike Brown, Tamir Rice, Philando Castile, Eric Garner, or Freddie Gray, remember that they, like me, were trained to recite “I’d rather be judged by 12” as a mantra. Even if Mistakes Were Made™, the city (meaning the taxpayers, meaning you) pays the settlement, not the officer.

Once police training has - through repetition, indoctrination, and violent spectacle - promised officers that everyone in the world is out to kill them, the next lesson is that your partners are the only people protecting you. Occasionally, this is even true: I’ve had encounters turn on me rapidly to the point I legitimately thought I was going to die, only to have other officers come and turn the tables.

One of the most important thought leaders in law enforcement is Col. Dave Grossman, a “killologist” who wrote an essay called “Sheep, Wolves, and Sheepdogs”. Cops are the sheepdogs, bad guys are the wolves, and the citizens are the sheep (!). Col. Grossman makes sure to mention that to a stupid sheep, sheepdogs look more like wolves than sheep, and that’s why they dislike you.

This “they hate you for protecting them and only I love you, only I can protect you” tactic is familiar to students of abuse. It’s what abusers do to coerce their victims into isolation, pulling them away from friends and family and ensnaring them in the abuser’s toxic web. Law enforcement does this too, pitting the officer against civilians. “They don’t understand what you do, they don’t respect your sacrifice, they just want to get away with crimes. You’re only safe with us.”

I think the Wolves vs. Sheepdogs dynamic is one of the most important elements as to why officers behave the way they do. Every single second of my training, I was told that criminals were not a legitimate part of their community, that they were individual bad actors, and that their bad actions were solely the result of their inherent criminality. Any concept of systemic trauma, generational poverty, or white supremacist oppression was either never mentioned or simply dismissed. After all, most people don’t steal, so anyone who does isn’t “most people,” right? To us, anyone committing a crime deserved anything that happened to them because they broke the “social contract.” And yet, it was never even a question as to whether the power structure above them was honoring any sort of contract back.

Understand: Police officers are part of the state monopoly on violence and all police training reinforces this monopoly as a cornerstone of police work, a source of honor and pride. Many cops fantasize about getting to kill someone in the line of duty, egged on by others that have. One of my training officers told me about the time he shot and killed a mentally ill homeless man wielding a big stick. He bragged that he “slept like a baby” that night. Official training teaches you how to be violent effectively and when you’re legally allowed to deploy that violence, but “unofficial training” teaches you to desire violence, to expand the breadth of your violence without getting caught, and to erode your own compassion for desperate people so you can justify punitive violence against them.

HOW TO BE A BASTARD

I have participated in some of these activities personally, others are ones I either witnessed personally or heard officers brag about openly. Very, very occasionally, I knew an officer who was disciplined or fired for one of these things.

Police officers will lie about the law, about what’s illegal, or about what they can legally do to you in order to manipulate you into doing what they want.

Police officers will lie about feeling afraid for their life to justify a use of force after the fact.

Police officers will lie and tell you they’ll file a police report just to get you off their back.

Police officers will lie that your cooperation will “look good for you” in court, or that they will “put in a good word for you with the DA.” The police will never help you look good in court.

Police officers will lie about what they see and hear to access private property to conduct unlawful searches.

Police officers will lie and say your friend already ratted you out, so you might as well rat them back out. This is almost never true.

Police officers will lie and say you’re not in trouble in order to get you to exit a location or otherwise make an arrest more convenient for them.

Police officers will lie and say that they won’t arrest you if you’ll just “be honest with them” so they know what really happened.

Police officers will lie about their ability to seize the property of friends and family members to coerce a confession.

Police officers will write obviously bullshit tickets so that they get time-and-a-half overtime fighting them in court.

Police officers will search places and containers you didn’t consent to and later claim they were open or “smelled like marijuana”.

Police officers will threaten you with a more serious crime they can’t prove in order to convince you to confess to the lesser crime they really want you for.

Police officers will employ zero tolerance on races and ethnicities they dislike and show favor and lenience to members of their own group.

Police officers will use intentionally extra-painful maneuvers and holds during an arrest to provoke “resistance” so they can further assault the suspect.

Some police officers will plant drugs and weapons on you, sometimes to teach you a lesson, sometimes if they kill you somewhere away from public view.

Some police officers will assault you to intimidate you and threaten to arrest you if you tell anyone.

A non-trivial number of police officers will steal from your house or vehicle during a search.

A non-trivial number of police officers commit intimate partner violence and use their status to get away with it.

A non-trivial number of police officers use their position to entice, coerce, or force sexual favors from vulnerable people.

If you take nothing else away from this essay, I want you to tattoo this onto your brain forever: if a police officer is telling you something, it is probably a lie designed to gain your compliance.

Do not talk to cops and never, ever believe them. Do not “try to be helpful” with cops. Do not assume they are trying to catch someone else instead of you. Do not assume what they are doing is “important” or even legal. Under no circumstances assume any police officer is acting in good faith.

Also, and this is important, do not talk to cops.

I just remembered something, do not talk to cops.

Checking my notes real quick, something jumped out at me:

not

fucking

talk

cops.

Ever.

Say, “I don’t answer questions,” and ask if you’re free to leave; if so, leave. If not, tell them you want your lawyer and that, per the Supreme Court, they must terminate questioning. If they don’t, file a complaint and collect some badges for your mantle.

DO THE BASTARDS EVER HELP?

Reading the above, you may be tempted to ask whether cops ever do anything good. And the answer is, sure, sometimes. In fact, most officers I worked with thought they were usually helping the helpless and protecting the safety of innocent people.

During my tenure in law enforcement, I protected women from domestic abusers, arrested cold-blooded murderers and child molesters, and comforted families who lost children to car accidents and other tragedies. I helped connect struggling people in my community with local resources for food, shelter, and counseling. I deescalated situations that could have turned violent and talked a lot of people down from making the biggest mistake of their lives. I worked with plenty of officers who were individually kind, bought food for homeless residents, or otherwise showed care for their community.

The question is this: did I need a gun and sweeping police powers to help the average person on the average night? The answer is no. When I was doing my best work as a cop, I was doing mediocre work as a therapist or a social worker. My good deeds were listening to people failed by the system and trying to unite them with any crumbs of resources the structure was currently denying them.

It’s also important to note that well over 90% of the calls for service I handled were reactive, showing up well after a crime had taken place. We would arrive, take a statement, collect evidence (if any), file the report, and onto the next caper. Most “active” crimes we stopped were someone harmless possessing or selling a small amount of drugs. Very, very rarely would we stop something dangerous in progress or stop something from happening entirely. The closest we could usually get was seeing someone running away from the scene of a crime, but the damage was still done.

And consider this: my job as a police officer required me to be a marriage counselor, a mental health crisis professional, a conflict negotiator, a social worker, a child advocate, a traffic safety expert, a sexual assault specialist, and, every once in awhile, a public safety officer authorized to use force, all after only a 1000 hours of training at a police academy. Does the person we send to catch a robber also need to be the person we send to interview a rape victim or document a fender bender? Should one profession be expected to do all that important community care (with very little training) all at the same time?

To put this another way: I made double the salary most social workers made to do a fraction of what they could do to mitigate the causes of crimes and desperation. I can count very few times my monopoly on state violence actually made our citizens safer, and even then, it’s hard to say better-funded social safety nets and dozens of other community care specialists wouldn’t have prevented a problem before it started.

Armed, indoctrinated (and dare I say, traumatized) cops do not make you safer; community mutual aid networks who can unite other people with the resources they need to stay fed, clothed, and housed make you safer. I really want to hammer this home: every cop in your neighborhood is damaged by their training, emboldened by their immunity, and they have a gun and the ability to take your life with near-impunity. This does not make you safer, even if you’re white.

HOW DO YOU SOLVE A PROBLEM LIKE A BASTARD?

So what do we do about it? Even though I’m an expert on bastardism, I am not a public policy expert nor an expert in organizing a post-police society. So, before I give some suggestions, let me tell you what probably won’t solve the problem of bastard cops:

Increased “bias” training. A quarterly or even monthly training session is not capable of covering over years of trauma-based camaraderie in police forces. I can tell you from experience, we don’t take it seriously, the proctors let us cheat on whatever “tests” there are, and we all made fun of it later over coffee.

Tougher laws. I hope you understand by now, cops do not follow the law and will not hold each other accountable to the law. Tougher laws are all the more reason to circle the wagons and protect your brothers and sisters.

More community policing programs. Yes, there is a marginal effect when a few cops get to know members of the community, but look at the protests of 2020: many of the cops pepper-spraying journalists were probably the nice school cop a month ago.

Police officers do not protect and serve people, they protect and serve the status quo, “polite society”, and private property. Using the incremental mechanisms of the status quo will never reform the police because the status quo relies on police violence to exist. Capitalism requires a permanent underclass to exploit for cheap labor and it requires the cops to bring that underclass to heel.

Instead of wasting time with minor tweaks, I recommend exploring the following ideas:

No more qualified immunity. Police officers should be personally liable for all decisions they make in the line of duty.

No more civil asset forfeiture. Did you know that every year, citizens like you lose more cash and property to unaccountable civil asset forfeiture than to all burglaries combined? The police can steal your stuff without charging you with a crime and it makes some police departments very rich.

Break the power of police unions. Police unions make it nearly impossible to fire bad cops and incentivize protecting them to protect the power of the union. A police union is not a labor union; police officers are powerful state agents, not exploited workers.

Require malpractice insurance. Doctors must pay for insurance in case they botch a surgery, police officers should do the same for botching a police raid or other use of force. If human decency won’t motivate police to respect human life, perhaps hitting their wallet might.

Defund, demilitarize, and disarm cops. Thousands of police departments own assault rifles, armored personnel carriers, and stuff you’d see in a warzone. Police officers have grants and huge budgets to spend on guns, ammo, body armor, and combat training. 99% of calls for service require no armed response, yet when all you have is a gun, every problem feels like target practice. Cities are not safer when unaccountable bullies have a monopoly on state violence and the equipment to execute that monopoly.

One final idea: consider abolishing the police.

I know what you’re thinking, “What? We need the police! They protect us!” As someone who did it for nearly a decade, I need you to understand that by and large, police protection is marginal, incidental. It’s an illusion created by decades of copaganda designed to fool you into thinking these brave men and women are holding back the barbarians at the gates.

I alluded to this above: the vast majority of calls for service I handled were theft reports, burglary reports, domestic arguments that hadn’t escalated into violence, loud parties, (houseless) people loitering, traffic collisions, very minor drug possession, and arguments between neighbors. Mostly the mundane ups and downs of life in the community, with little inherent danger. And, like I mentioned, the vast majority of crimes I responded to (even violent ones) had already happened; my unaccountable license to kill was irrelevant.

What I mainly provided was an “objective” third party with the authority to document property damage, ask people to chill out or disperse, or counsel people not to beat each other up. A trained counselor or conflict resolution specialist would be ten times more effective than someone with a gun strapped to his hip wondering if anyone would try to kill him when he showed up. There are many models for community safety that can be explored if we get away from the idea that the only way to be safe is to have a man with a M4 rifle prowling your neighborhood ready at a moment’s notice to write down your name and birthday after you’ve been robbed and beaten.

You might be asking, “What about the armed robbers, the gangsters, the drug dealers, the serial killers?” And yes, in the city I worked, I regularly broke up gang parties, found gang members carrying guns, and handled homicides. I’ve seen some tragic things, from a reformed gangster shot in the head with his brains oozing out to a fifteen year old boy taking his last breath in his screaming mother’s arms thanks to a gang member’s bullet. I know the wages of violence.

This is where we have to have the courage to ask: why do people rob? Why do they join gangs? Why do they get addicted to drugs or sell them? It’s not because they are inherently evil. I submit to you that these are the results of living in a capitalist system that grinds people down and denies them housing, medical care, human dignity, and a say in their government. These are the results of white supremacy pushing people to the margins, excluding them, disrespecting them, and treating their bodies as disposable.

Equally important to remember: disabled and mentally ill people are frequently killed by police officers not trained to recognize and react to disabilities or mental health crises. Some of the people we picture as “violent offenders” are often people struggling with untreated mental illness, often due to economic hardships. Very frequently, the officers sent to “protect the community” escalate this crisis and ultimately wound or kill the person. Your community was not made safer by police violence; a sick member of your community was killed because it was cheaper than treating them. Are you extremely confident you’ll never get sick one day too?

Wrestle with this for a minute: if all of someone’s material needs were met and all the members of their community were fed, clothed, housed, and dignified, why would they need to join a gang? Why would they need to risk their lives selling drugs or breaking into buildings? If mental healthcare was free and was not stigmatized, how many lives would that save?

Would there still be a few bad actors in the world? Sure, probably. What’s my solution for them, you’re no doubt asking. I’ll tell you what: generational poverty, food insecurity, houselessness, and for-profit medical care are all problems that can be solved in our lifetimes by rejecting the dehumanizing meat grinder of capitalism and white supremacy. Once that’s done, we can work on the edge cases together, with clearer hearts not clouded by a corrupt system.

Police abolition is closely related to the idea of prison abolition and the entire concept of banishing the carceral state, meaning, creating a society focused on reconciliation and restorative justice instead of punishment, pain, and suffering — a system that sees people in crisis as humans, not monsters. People who want to abolish the police typically also want to abolish prisons, and the same questions get asked: “What about the bad guys? Where do we put them?” I bring this up because abolitionists don’t want to simply replace cops with armed social workers or prisons with casual detention centers full of puffy leather couches and Playstations. We imagine a world not divided into good guys and bad guys, but rather a world where people’s needs are met and those in crisis receive care, not dehumanization.

Here’s legendary activist and thinker Angela Y. Davis putting it better than I ever could:

“An abolitionist approach that seeks to answer questions such as these would require us to imagine a constellation of alternative strategies and institutions, with the ultimate aim of removing the prison from the social and ideological landscapes of our society. In other words, we would not be looking for prisonlike substitutes for the prison, such as house arrest safeguarded by electronic surveillance bracelets. Rather, positing decarceration as our overarching strategy, we would try to envision a continuum of alternatives to imprisonment-demilitarization of schools, revitalization of education at all levels, a health system that provides free physical and mental care to all, and a justice system based on reparation and reconciliation rather than retribution and vengeance.”

(Are Prisons Obsolete, pg. 107)

I’m not telling you I have the blueprint for a beautiful new world. What I’m telling you is that the system we have right now is broken beyond repair and that it’s time to consider new ways of doing community together. Those new ways need to be negotiated by members of those communities, particularly Black, indigenous, disabled, houseless, and citizens of color historically shoved into the margins of society. Instead of letting Fox News fill your head with nightmares about Hispanic gangs, ask the Hispanic community what they need to thrive. Instead of letting racist politicians scaremonger about pro-Black demonstrators, ask the Black community what they need to meet the needs of the most vulnerable. If you truly desire safety, ask not what your most vulnerable can do for the community, ask what the community can do for the most vulnerable.

A WORLD WITH FEWER BASTARDS IS POSSIBLE

If you take only one thing away from this essay, I hope it’s this: do not talk to cops. But if you only take two things away, I hope the second one is that it’s possible to imagine a different world where unarmed black people, indigenous people, poor people, disabled people, and people of color are not routinely gunned down by unaccountable police officers. It doesn’t have to be this way. Yes, this requires a leap of faith into community models that might feel unfamiliar, but I ask you:

When you see a man dying in the street begging for breath, don’t you want to leap away from that world?

When you see a mother or a daughter shot to death sleeping in their beds, don’t you want to leap away from that world?

When you see a twelve year old boy executed in a public park for the crime of playing with a toy, jesus fucking christ, can you really just stand there and think “This is normal”?

And to any cops who made it this far down, is this really the world you want to live in? Aren’t you tired of the trauma? Aren’t you tired of the soul sickness inherent to the badge? Aren’t you tired of looking the other way when your partners break the law? Are you really willing to kill the next George Floyd, the next Breonna Taylor, the next Tamir Rice? How confident are you that your next use of force will be something you’re proud of? I’m writing this for you too: it’s wrong what our training did to us, it’s wrong that they hardened our hearts to our communities, and it’s wrong to pretend this is normal.

Look, I wouldn’t have been able to hear any of this for much of my life. You reading this now may not be able to hear this yet either. But do me this one favor: just think about it. Just turn it over in your mind for a couple minutes. “Yes, And” me for a minute. Look around you and think about the kind of world you want to live in. Is it one where an all-powerful stranger with a gun keeps you and your neighbors in line with the fear of death, or can you picture a world where, as a community, we embrace our most vulnerable, meet their needs, heal their wounds, honor their dignity, and make them family instead of desperate outsiders?

If you take only three things away from this essay, I hope the third is this: you and your community don’t need bastards to thrive.

RESOURCES TO YES-AND WITH

Achele Mbembe — Necropolitics

Angela Y. Davis — Are Prisons Obsolete?

CriticalResistance.org — Abolition Toolkit

Joe Macaré, Maya Schenwar, and Alana Yu-lan Price — Who Do You Serve, Who Do You Protect?

Ruth Wilson Gilmore — COVID-19, Decarceration, Abolition [video]

#acab

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whencartoonsruletheworld · 3 years

Text

The Thrilling Saga of Connie paying real life money for the Worst Sonic TV Show

Let’s begin with the simple fact that me and my sister, @birdsareblooming “Cori”, have both been hyperfixating on Sonic the Hedgehog since last March. During this hyperfixation, I was on Sonic Wiki to copy-paste song lyrics onto my stolen mp3s, and I called my sister in and pointed at the template at the bottom.

“What is this Sonic Underground thing?” I asked. “It has one shit billion songs.”

So we clicked on the page to read about it, and each sentence we read was a punch in the gut and this quickly became the funniest thing we’d ever read. Highlights include:

It looks like this:

“Sonic[...] is known to be a prince”

Sonic has two siblings who actually have good characterization but their names are literally just Sonia and Manic. Like. Sonic split into two names. jesus christ

Also Sonic and his siblings all share a voice actor. honestly Jaleel White does his best with it but

“The three siblings possess enchanted medallions that transform not only into musical instruments, but also into weapons.”

“Some fans consider Sonia to be a clone of Amy Rose, minus the attraction Amy feels for Sonic.” YEAH I SURE HOPE IT DOES

“Manic is the most often captured of the siblings” himbo king

Knuckles shows up, and for the first, like, two sentences his description is very similar to the game, and then you get immediately pulverized by “He has a pet Dinosaur called Chomps.”

Literally so many sentences on Sonic Wiki are lowkey salty about this show. The page features lines such as “Sonic Underground bears little relation to the often complex Sonic universe (including previous animated series, as well as Sonic comics and games), and shares only three established characters” and “many of the characters in the Freedom Fighter group that were in Sonic the Hedgehog are completely left out (including Tails).”

“The show met with mostly negative reviews.”

*checks air dates* It only lasted two goddamn months

So after seeing this we thought it was the funniest thing and we showed our older sister, @patema-introverted “North.” To our surprise, our at the time “knew nothing about this sonic bullshit” sister recognized the show. Turns out she’d seen trailers for it as a child and that was her sole exposure to Sonic canon.

We were in quarantine at the time, so we ended up finding it on YouTube and binge-watching it all together as a sibling bonding activity. It was just as hilarious as we thought it would be- some stuff was legitimately good, like the sibling dialogue for instance, but good lord were the character designs ugly, the plot all over the place, and pretty much every song, um, not great. Also there was one episode that we skipped because it got, um, I think “stereotypical” is the nicest word I can use here.

But the point is, we had a jolly good time watching it, and afterwards we binged all the other Sonic shows and bonded as a family.

After quarantine, North and I go back to college. My roommate gets groceries at Walmart, while I get them elsewhere, so while she and North collect food I wander the DVD aisle to look at the cool movies and also dumpster-dive in the bargain bin for Cats (2019). I am also short as fuck, so the top shelf of movies I cannot see, I can only read the labels.

So one day I was browsing the DVDs, and glancing over at the labels for the top shelf. I read over the final one before the shelves end.

And then I stop, do a double take, and have a heart attack, because there is a label that reads “SONIC UNDERGROUND $3.74″

I immediately climb the shelf but there aren’t any DVDs atop the shelf. However, the label is still there. I excitedly tell my sister and roommates, freak out with them a bit, and then give myself a mission statement:

I will buy the $4 Sonic Underground DVD from Walmart

I did not want it as a gift, I did not want to find it online. I wanted to walk into a store, pick up the Worst Sonic Show on DVD, walk it straight to the checkout, and in front of the cashier and God, pay for it with my own money. I did not care if it was the whole series or two episodes; I needed to do this for my own serotonin.

We would go to Walmart about once a week. Every time, I would go to the DVD aisle, and go right to the end of the shelves. I would stare at the label SONIC UNDERGROUND $3.74 and empty space above it and wonder who the fuck was buying this other than me. I would occasionally ask employees if they had any copies in storage. I would build a shrine to Manic in my room. Okay, no I didn’t, but only because my RA would have murdered me.

Christmas break comes, and we have to go home. We have a nice Christmas, and Cori and I infodump at each other about how we would make Sonic Underground a good show (note: we’re both galaxy braining) and also play Bendy and the Ink Machine. Fun times.

When we finally get back to College, it’s late January- long story short we have a very long winter break. My roommate who gets food at Walmart got food without us the first week cause she showed up first, so we take her out to Walmart the first time in the year of our lord 2021 on January 29.

I wander the Valentine’s aisle, immediately grabbing a sequin puppy. I go to the DVDs and see Animaniacs Season One, also grab that.

And then.

There it is.

The Holy Grail.

Above the label SONIC UNDERGROUND $3.74, is one DVD left.

Already I am losing my mind. It’s roughly seven hours of episodes- I couldn’t find an episode list, but I think that’s half the show, for $4! And the cover is amazing.

That’s a png of Sonic from Adventures of Sonic the Hedgehog (1993) with a medallion badly photoshopped over it. The medallion is too small.

Manic is shoved into the corner. He doesn’t have his medallion at all.

Sonia isn’t even pictured on the front cover, probably because they realized she was the worst designed of the bunch. I’m not ragging on her though, because she’s still one of the better designed characters of the show. Those background characters make me cry

So you bet your ass I finally paid my hard-earned $4 for this shit. Upon getting home, I discovered that there was even wilder shit with this DVD than I thought.

For starters: the bonus features listed are as follows:

Original Concept Art - did not expect that these character designs were the final draft

Storyboard-to-screen - did not expect they bothered to storyboard this

Music Video Jukebox - that’s cute, they thought we liked the music

Interviews with original screenwriter & executive producer - I fully expect the only questions to be “why.”

On the left of this list are screenshots from the show, where people can finally see Sonia, who we Know™ is a girl because she is pink and has hair and also an actual body shape instead of just circles like her brothers.

But wait... what’s that in the lefthand corner?

That looks like some kind of robot. But it’s not a robot from Sonic Underground! That didn’t appear once. Why is it here?

The mystery continues upon opening the DVD case: inside are advertisements for other collections, including other Sonic DVDs: two volumes of Adventures of Sonic the Hedgehog (1993) and the final episodes of Sonic the Hedgehog “SatAM” (1993)

First of all, the first volume of AOSTH has the exact same PNG of Sonic as the Underground Volume 1. Not even trying to hide it. But second... the second volume of AOSTH also has this robot on its cover.

And THIS ROBOT IS ALSO DECORATING THE THIRD DISC IN THE SET?

So you may be asking, who is this robot? Is it from AOSTH or Underground?

IT’S FROM FUCKING SATAM. The one show that doesn’t have it decorating the DVD covers.

Also, not only is it from SatAM, it only appears in one fucking episode. Not a major character! AND IT HAS A DIFFERENT DESIGN ON THE PROMO ART, WITH HAIR AND FANGS.

Why is it showing up everywhere? What is going on?

I have not yet had the opportunity to watch this glorious piece of animation, but I am so glad at the confusion I have felt upon receiving it.

But before I go, I must share with you the best part of this DVD purchase. And it was flipping to the back, scanning the details, and discovering the exact runtime of the episode collection.

Guys, gals, and enby pals, friends and enemies, Nintendo and Sega, the first Volume of Sonic Underground has a runtime of...

420 MINUTES.

Maybe I’m wrong and this IS the best Sonic show.

#sonic underground #sonic the hedgehog #sonic 2020 #walmart #mine #connie writes #story time with tumblr

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mrsnegan · 3 years

Note

I am here with another request. It’s where college student!reader desperately tries to seduce her college professor(Negan), and after a full semester of trying she quits. Until she bumps into Negan in the hallway and he asks her why she stopped or something and they have sex.

Please and thank you💛🌟

[I'm sorry this took so long to write, life got in the way and in the last few days I finally found the time to work on your request. Professor/student AU is one of my favorites, so I had lots of fun writing this for you. I hope you enjoy reading it! 💛]

Warnings: smut, swearing, rough blowjob, bodily fluids, unprotected sex

One full semester you had tried to get his attention. One full semester of hoping to make him notice you, want you. You sounded desperate, even in your own ears, you knew, but you couldn't help yourself. He was the wet dream of any student, tall, dark and handsome with a deep voice and dimples which made you swoon. And he was your professor, a fact which you often tried to ignore. Your attraction towards him was borderline obsessive by the point the semester reached its end. So the only thing saving your sanity was to stop this desperate shit show of a seduction. He wouldn't notice you anyway. Of course your clothes didn't define your worth but they helped to get attention from time to time, so you wore all the sexy outfits your wardrobe had to offer. What a bratty behavior, you thought to yourself, though it hadn't stopped you to wear those skirts and tops which made you feel absolutely irresistible in front of him. To your dismay, he didn't seem to notice, a fact which frustrated you greatly. So your skirts got longer again, your tops less revealing.

As the days went by, your lectures with Professor Negan turned out to be the same as always, and by the end of the last one for the semester, you even felt relieved to have a break from staring at this handsome devil for hours. Despite him not even looking at you once, you had a hard time looking at him without drenching your panties.

You decided to return your books to the library but Helen, a friend of yours, invited you for a coffee in your favorite place not far away from campus. By the time you both said goodbye after a super relaxing afternoon of talking and laughing, you remembered your books. Checking the opening hours of the library, you had half an hour left to get business done. So you walked back, returning the books just in time. What you didn't expect was to run into Professor Negan on your way out, nearly knocking his coffee out of his hand.

"Ugh, sorry, Professor", you said, cheeks turning red in embarrassment. You always made a fool of yourself in front of those people who you found attractive. And up close, he was even more attractive than behind his desk during lectures.

"It's alright, Y/N, no need to apologize." He winked at you with this million dollar smile of his, accentuating his dimples.

You gulped visibly, nodding absently while walking past him to exit the library. What you didn't expect was to hear his low voice behind your back.

"By the way, where did your sexy as fuck skirts go? Laundry day?"

You whipped around, flabbergasted.

"Excuse me?"

He took one step in your direction, smirking wildly.

"I wanted to know why you don't wear those nice skirts anymore. I loved watching your ass in those."

With your mouth slightly agape, you just stared at him. No way did he notice your attempts without you noticing it. Had you been this blind?

"I...I thought you..."

"You thought I wouldn't notice? Oh sweetheart, I'm just good at hiding it, couldn't risk someone seeing my boner whenever your lovely tits more or less dangled in front of my face."

There was no way for you not to turn bright red under his heated gaze.

"Are you...making fun of me?" you asked, insecure about this whole situation.

He laughed lightly, emptying his coffee and throwing it into the bin a few feet away effortlessly. Everything he did, how he moved and talked seemed effortless to you.

"I would never make fun of you, Y/N. Not my style. Especially not when you're reacting this cute even if you must have known how absolutely naughty your whole behavior has been."

You couldn't stop your arousal at his words, him flirting with you made your heart nearly jump out of your chest.

He took another step towards you, then another until he only was a breath away from you.

"You need it bad, don't you, sweetheart? Need to be fucked real good by someone who knows how to handle you."

The moan leaving your lips didn't surprise you at all. His voice alone did things to you, you couldn't believe this was happening for real.

"How often do you imagine me inside of you, huh?"

For the first time since running into Professor Negan, you looked into his eyes. You could swear the desire in them would swallow you whole.

"Too...too often to count", you answered truthfully.

Without any other word, Professor Negan grabbed your hand, dragging you with him towards the part of the library which was used by staff and university teachers only.

He unlocked a door to a room with bookshelves, some desks and chairs in it and locked it after the both of you were inside.

At first, you just stared at him with wide eyes, your thoughts running wildly in your head, then he took determined strides towards you, pushing you against the opposite wall with ease. The kiss that followed drove the air out of your lungs. He claimed your mouth forcefully, kissing, you senseless with his talented mouth. He tasted better than you could have imagined, so you met his ministrations with equal fervor, groping at his strong arms to find some leverage.

His tongue felt incredible inside of your mouth and you couldn't stop the thought of him kissing you down there.

His hands also wandered down your body, up again, touching as much of you as possible.

"You have no idea for how long I wanted to do this. Fuck, you drove me mad all those months."

You stared at him with bedroom eyes, his words sounded too good to be true in your head.

"I thought you didn't care, Professor", you whispered breathlessly, chest heaving.

"It's Negan for you and care I most certainly fucking do." He attacked your neck with kisses and licks, teeth lighty sinking into your skin. He was rewarded with your moan, his name leaving your lips, tasting the sound of it on your tongue.

"You know you've been a bad girl, don't you? Teasing me relentlessly and then stopping like you changed your fucking mind from one second to the other."

"Negan I...", you tried to explain, but he silenced you with his index finger against your lips.

"Non of that. I know you need to be fucked badly and I'm more than glad to fuck you senseless, sweetheart. But I need to punish you first. Your little outfits and all that eye-fucking could have gotten us into real trouble."

"Punish me? How? But this...this here could get us in trouble too."

Negan just smirked at you, attacking your lips once again before answering you.

"Maybe I will bend you over one of the desks and spank your gorgeous ass until you beg me to stop. Or I will choke you on my cock and make you thank me for it. And yeah, it could get us in a lot of trouble but I don't care anymore, though your little games out in public need to have consequences. So what will it be, sweetheart?"

You gulped down nervously, but aroused nonetheless. His heated gaze burned your skin in the most delicious way and as tempting as getting spanked by him sounded, you really wanted to be fed with his cock. At this point, him finally in front of you, you couldn't suppress your inner slut, so you dropped to your knees without further ado, looking up at him through your lashes.

"Fuck, dirty girl", he commented your choice, letting you open his belt, the fly and push his jeans down. You freed his glorious cock which was standing at attention the minute he ran into you. He was everything you ever dreamed of, thick and long, definitely intimidating at first sight, but you didn't care. You wanted to taste him, to please him. So you experimentally closed your hand around his base, jerking him slowly while you placed the first little kiss to his tip.

Negan hissed at your ministrations, looking down at you in awe as you worked him leisurely.

His left hand came crashing against the wall for support as you took him into your mouth. His right collected your locks into a lose ponytail, guiding your movements. After bobbing your head a few times, tasting and feeling him on your tongue, you swallowed more of him, earning a rich moan in return.

"Yeah, fuck, let me fuck your mouth", he said above you. You wouldn't want it any other way, your panties felt drenched at this point, so you happily obliged, grabbing his strong thighs for support.

He pushed his hips forward, pushing your head further down his cock in return. You gagged, of course you did, just as he said he would make you, so you tried to breath through your nose steadily, while his thrusts came quickier and more forceful. Your spit dribbled down your chin, tears rolling down your cheeks from the intrusion, but you loved every second of your punishment, of being used like this.

Negan pushed you down until your nose nearly hit his pubic hair and you sputtered around his length. The moan above you made you feel dizzy with desire and then finally, he let go of your hair, so you could pull back and suck in much needed air into your lungs.

"T-than-k y-ou", you stuttered out of breath, throat deliciously burning from his rough handling.

"There you fucking go, sweetheart, you took me so well, such a fantastically filthy mouth", he praised, helping you up on shaky legs. He kissed you once more, passionately and forceful, like he couldn't get enough of his taste on your tongue, then guided you to one of the desk, sitting you down, legs dangling off the edge.

Now it was him kneeling in front of you, opening up your legs to his hungry eyes.

"Shit, getting your mouth fucked should have been a punishment, instead your panties are fucking drenched. Dirty girl", he said smiling mischievously, rubbing you gently through the fabric of your panties.

Your hips bucked involuntarily against his hand, you wanted more, everything, all of him.

He stripped you off your panties, pushing your skirt up some more so he could spread your legs wider.

Without any other comment, his face buried itself between your thighs, surprising you with a broad link from your hole to your clit. You gasped, hands gripping the edge of the desk.

"Such a delicious pussy, ready to be fucked."

His dirty talk drove you mad and as his mouth closed over your clit, sucking you into his mouth, you completely lost it. Your moans turned louder by the second while he pleasured you in the best way possible, driving you towards new heights. His tongue was joined by his finger, pushing itself into your quivering pussy.

"Shit, Negan", you groaned, looking down at him.

Your praise spurred him on, fucking into you with his finger, lapping at your clit. He pulled his finger out of you to quickly return with two of them, fingerfucking you faster and faster. Your body shook above him, too much pleasure to handle. You came with a scream while he sucked at your clit mercilessly and reached spots inside of you which you didn't know existed.

When he re-emerged from between your thighs, his grin seemed to be even bigger.

"You have no idea for how long I wanted to taste your pussy. Always imagined something this beautiful must be hidden under your short skirts."

"And you have no idea how many times I dreamed about you eating me out", you responded, still high from your orgasm.

"Luckily for the both of us we can finally fuck each other's brains out."

"You've got a condom?" you asked him breathlessly after another heated kiss.

"No, sorry sweetheart. But I'm clean, I promise you that. Are you on the pill?"

You nod your head yes, then pull him against your shivering body.

"Fuck me raw", you whisper in his ear, his moan traveling through your whole body like lightning.

You didn't have to tell him twice as he lined himself up with your center and sank down into your heat with one smooth thrust.

He swallowed both of your moans with a bruising kiss, setting a steady pace. He stretched you so good, it felt amazing, better than you could have ever dreamed of.

"Fuck, you feel devine, Y/N. Such a good girl for me."

You moaned at his praise, relishing in the way he fucked into you. Your hands found their way around his neck while his wandered from your hips to your breasts, groping you through your blouse.

"The next time we fuck I'm gonna worship those perfect tits of yours and will take my fucking time with your body", he whispered into your ear.

"The next time?"

"Oh fuck...sweetheart, you think I would let you go after all these months of torture...and feeling how absolutely perfect you fit around my cock now? No fucking chance..."

He picked up the pace, pounding into you mercilessly. His lips against your neck and his fingers all over you drove you to your breaking point. His thumb came down on your clit and you were done for. You moaned his name over and over again while he kept thrusting into you, fucking you through your second orgasm.

"Fuck, gonna cum...", he warned you just moments after your waves of pleasure ebbed away. He pulled out, stroking himself against your thighs and came with a loud groan, painting your inner thighs with his seed.

You felt alive, sated, dirty and glorious at the same time, pressing him against you to kiss him passionately.

After long moments of nipping on each other's skin, he retreated from you, pulling his jeans up, fastening them again. With a smirk, he leaned down to collect your panties. You looked at him with an arched brow while your lips curled into a small smile.

"Don't worry sweetheart, I will buy you a new pair if you want. I just fucking love the idea of you returning home with my seed between your precious thighs and no fucking underwear. I bet you will touch yourself to the thought of what we just did. And that fantasy alone makes me wanna fuck you all over again until you can't walk straight."

---

Taglist: @iluvneganandjamie @happysgal @negans-attagirl @you-a-southpaw-doll

#negan #negan smut #negan x reader #negan x you #jeffrey dean morgan #negan fanfiction #negan fic #fic request

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1ddiscourseoftheday · 3 years

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Mon 15 March ‘21

FIRST TIME GRAMMY AWARD WINNING ARTIST HARRY STYLES!! From the bottom of the stairs to the top of the fucking world baby, get itttt!! He won Best Pop Solo Performance for smash hit Watermelon Sugar-- the other two categories he was up for went to others but he was a dark horse for any of them so getting one is awesome! Yeah the grammys are shit but I’m so happy for him to see him receiving validation and acclaim from the industry that has never appreciated what he (and his bandmates) are and can do as artists, it’s a fucking start you know? We can enjoy the moment! Harry did! His acceptance speech was short and it feels like he was blindsided and forgot everything (including not to swear on TV and as pro as he is you know that means he was absolutely reeling, I love that) but later he said “I want to thank my fans for giving me an environment to be free to make the music that I want to make and supporting me along the way the last ten years”, yes that’s right we have helped you find a place to feel good, and “this is an incredibly sweet icing on the cake of what I get to do everyday so thank you.”

But that’s not all! He also performed, and wore things! Say what you want about Harry (or better yet please DON’T at least to me but that’s a losing battle) we always get so hyped up about even just seeing his outfits and he does not let us down! BLACK LEATHER, TITS FULLY OUT, DICK BANANA CHARM, AND A MUPPET BOA? Yeah he did that! Shirtless under a patent leather suit, I mean: wow. Very glam rock, very… well listen it’s just very GAY in like so many different ways??? Harry Lambert said they wanted “something darker, sexier, and more unexpected” which is definitely about that look I’m assuming and not the pastel thrift store rummage bin hodgepodge he wore later, unless Harry(s) and I have very different ways of interpreting “darker”. (Harry L also said “free the nipple” and we can all see that he MEANT it.) Harry red carpet-ed and accepted his award in a lavender muppet boa, tits slightly less out but still cleavagey, and with a seemingly random collection of other garments YES BABY OKAY you just WEAR THAT THEN! About that Harry L said, “we wanted to do something that felt British and eccentric, a little bit rock ‘n’ roll and a little bit camp,” but the people have spoken and they said ‘we think he looked like Cher from Clueless’ so, sorry Harry(s)! Esquire struggling to describe the look-- “the kind of thing that Styles seems to make wearable” klasjdlk the doubtful ‘seems’ is sending me. Either way we can definitely all agree on the camp part, and that the matching face mask (as seen in the audience shots and in adorbs pics of him camping it up with Lizzo backstage) is amazing, love that (even if he does spend way too much time nervously pulling it on and off omg just LEAVE IT) and it even went also with outfit number THREE (or at least it did as well as any of his anything went together lol) which was a big floppy orange coat and plaid pants and a THIRD BOA, a dignified (haha JK NOPE it’s still a muppet) black number this time.

It seems the performance was filmed in advance rather than done live-- there were clues suggesting this might be the case, but the real giveaway was when a picture from it leaked before the broadcast, lol. Way to make it so we “can’t even tell if it’s live or not” Ben, and why is he STILL so obsessed with trying to gaslight us anyway my god just say what’s prerecorded it’s fiiiine. ANYWAY Harry played Watermelon Sugar and only WS; well after all it is his GRAMMY AWARD WINNING SONG. Plus it was a really nice version, all smooth and funky, with a highlight of the night being Harry’s full on 60s girl group choreo move with the backup singers, omg. Those backing vocalists were the duo G.A.W.D., and there was extra accompaniment by fellow nominee Devonte Hynes aka Blood Orange (who also directed the performance and no I do not know what that means) and “Spencer and Josh” on horns (the closest I can find to someone crediting them so, apologies guys). Anyway! All of them (regular HS band included) were decked out in matching gucci black leather too and looking good. And Harry looked so happy to be up there performing, just beaming like a lighthouse, so overall- good good stuff, I just keep on dancin!

The real bombshell of the performance though was subtle and needed confirmation after for the excitement to really hit-- it was Sarah drumming decked out in tight black leather and visibly pregnant!! That’s right, band drummer Sarah Jones is PREGNANT by (Grammy Award winning) guitarist Mitch, there’s a HARRY STYLES BAND BABY on the way!!!! WHAT A NIGHT! It wasn’t enough for Harry to find love in his own band, he’s somehow cupid-ing that energy all over the place and spreading it around, AMAZING!

And Liam comes through with not just a sweet congratulations for Harry (“what a huge moment, proud to be your brother” awwww) but also the final word on the performance look- goddammit it IS one of the rejected Best Song Ever video looks, LMAOOOO. But did he tag HSHQ instead of Harry directly in acknowledgment of how the awards system really works and that they are all to be congratulated or simply because it was easier? We will never know.

Additional tidbits-- bassist Hynes was apparently playing creative director Molly Hawkins’ dad’s bass- did we know her dad was a famous bassist who played with Fleetwood Mac and many other 70s stars?! If I did I had definitely forgotten! And more Molly news-- she’s also pregnant!! Harry will soon be surrounded by quarantine babies, dreams really coming true huh? Harry posted a pic of himself with Mitch and Devonte looking very cooool, we saw the ceramic watermelons label execs were sent for the WS release last year, and Rebecca Ferguson who knows 1D from way back when (and has recently drawn attention for talking frankly about how fucked up the industry is and about having seen unnamed boy band members literally slammed against the wall by their management) congratulated Harry and posted a couple of baby pop star Harry pics, cuuuute. Louis’ merch handlers, in response to no complaints whatsoever, sent out emails apologizing. They say they’ve run out of lanyards which were meant to be sent out so they will “be adding a freebie which we know you’ll enjoy” to affected customers’ orders. That is sucky about the lanyards but that’s customer care! Niall posted about his cool bright limited edition merch to remind that it will be gone gone gone tonight and also shared a pretty and touching picture from a the large anti violence rally held in London to protest the killing of Sarah Everard today. And finally some good advice from Bebe Rexha, loved by larries; she says she loves us right back but please don’t kill anyone for not streaming her new song! Yes good plan.

#grammy award winner #harry styles #liam payne #niall horan #louis tomlinson #CHASM baby (chaby)#also having a good day-- haylors! don’t begrudge them their excitement they haven’t been fed in like 8 years #let them carry on about Harry and Taylor actually sharing the same space and not being rude to each other especially if it continues to prod #the genuinely rofl hilarious analyses coming out of last night about them sending secret messages to each other in their performances #(which the other was definitely not present for whenever a celeb was present for another artists performance they did react cutaways)#15 mar 21 #harry lambert #molly hawkins #mitch rowland #sarah jones #ben winston #long post #sorrrrry

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yunhoiseyecandy · 3 years

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✕ 𝐭𝐢𝐭𝐥𝐞; 𝐬𝐞𝐧𝐬𝐞𝐬

✕ 𝐠𝐞𝐧𝐫𝐞; 𝐬𝐦𝐮𝐭, 𝐟𝐥𝐮𝐟𝐟

✕ 𝐩𝐚𝐢𝐫𝐢𝐧𝐠; 𝐫𝐨𝐜𝐤𝐬𝐭𝐚𝐫!𝐡𝐨𝐧𝐠𝐣𝐨𝐨𝐧𝐠 ◆ 𝐟.𝐫𝐞𝐚𝐝𝐞𝐫

✕ 𝐰/𝐜𝐨𝐮𝐧𝐭; 𝟐.𝟗𝐤

✕ 𝐧𝐨𝐭𝐞𝐬; 𝐧𝐚𝐦𝐞 𝐜𝐚𝐥𝐥𝐢𝐧𝐠, 𝐝𝐢𝐫𝐭𝐲 𝐭𝐚𝐥𝐤, 𝐛𝐞𝐠𝐠𝐢𝐧𝐠, 𝐧𝐨 𝐩𝐫𝐨𝐭𝐞𝐜𝐭𝐢𝐨𝐧 - 𝐬𝐭𝐚𝐲 𝐬𝐚𝐟𝐞, 𝐥𝐚𝐧𝐠𝐮𝐚𝐠𝐞, 𝐜𝐡𝐨𝐤𝐢𝐧𝐠

[𝐭𝐚𝐠 𝐥𝐢𝐬𝐭] @little-precious-baby , @multidreams-and-desires , @hanatiny , @latte-fairytaekwoon , @cloudyyeonnie

─────

no matter how many times he’s been on stage, adrenaline rushing through his veins, the high of it all never gets old.

and he can’t bear thinking of the day it all ends.

he remembers the first time he ever picked up a guitar, the way the tips of his fingers brushed against the rough cords as he strummed to the beat. it was something that came so natural to him, and he knew at that moment, his bottom lip tucked between his teeth as he hummed, this was meant to be.

it’s been almost seven years since that day, and his heart still swells whenever he thinks about how he felt. it was amazing, but it’d been hard to try and convince his parents to allow him to play, let alone buy him his own instrument.

hongjoong chuckles at the old memories, and he finds it hard to believe that he was once a fifteen-year-old boy who begged his parents to let him do what he loved, hot, wet tears running down his cheeks as he pleaded on his knees.

he loved his parents, and to see them disagree with something that meant so much to him crushed him. they used to push for him to study harder in school, beg his teachers for extra credit so he could have even a slim chance at passing the class, but that simply wasn’t who he was meant to be.

he used to be a more than acceptable student, but since he started playing in a small band that had been formed by a few friends of him, he couldn’t focus on anything but the music he adored.

music was his drug, and it would be difficult to put him in rehab. eventually, though, his parents had chosen their son over school work and caved in. that christmas they had gotten him his favorite guitar, and he can still feel the smoothness of the mahogany as he ran his fingers over it.

he’d grown greatly since then, but the rush he still gets is the only thing that hasn’t changed since.

this was who he was meant to be, and he knew that nothing else could compare. he was more than proud of himself for choosing this career path, and he knew it’s the only thing he could do best.

that’s why he always put his all into every performance, head moving to the beat while he sang his heart out till it was hard to breath. and tonight was no different, especially since he had one of the biggest record labels in his country out in the crowd, scouting for the next best performer

—

“we’re up in five, man.” san said loud enough so the rest of the group could hear. hongjoong blocked out everyone, his fingers brushing over the strings as he sang the lyrics to their song under his breath over and over again.

they couldn’t afford to screw up this gig, and it was already going to be a challenge since they had one of their group members, seonghwa, out with a cold. he was the main drummer, so they had to call for backup if they wanted any chance of success tonight.

hongjoong twisted the cap off his water bottle and took a sip before groaning, “fuck. if I keep messing up this note we’re gonna be screwed.” he’d always had trouble with that certain line, but it always got to him right before they were up.

san laughed, “yeah, well whose fault is that for not coming to practice on time?” mingi looked over to him before bursting out laughing, but it soon faded when he saw the look on hongjoong’s face. “sorry, but it’s true!”

sure, they’d all been friends for years now, but that didn’t change how annoying san and mingi could be sometimes. seonghwa really needed to get better, or hongjoong would end up losing his mind.

“doesn’t matter,” he tossed his bottle into the recycling bin, “it’s not like I’m just sitting around when I don’t show up.”

“dude, we’re just messing with you. we all know you’re the try hard amongst us three.” this time it was san who lost it at mingi’s words, both the boys heads thrown back onto the couch as they held their stomachs.

“fuck you.” was all hongjoong could say, knowing damn well they would just look at him and continue to giggle like children if he tries to defend himself. he sighed, looking to his wrist watch and then standing up to collect his belongings.

it was now time to perform, and he was more then excited as he walked out onto the stage, his bandmates following right behind him. hongjoong never really knew why he got stage fright, especially considering how many gigs they’ve had in the past.

he’s done this before, but something told him tonight was going to be different. and that eerie feeling didn’t pass on, not even when he went on stage and played like it was his last. his heart felt like it would burst through his chest at any moment, and he loved the way it made him feel.

he could taste the sweat that ran down his face and over his lips as his tongue ran over them, but he had to ignore the saltiness of it and focus on what lyric came next.

“you say you don’t want me but you always come crawling back,”

“I’m like your drug call me your dealer I’ll give you that,”

“I’m not your baby, don’t make it seem like we’re reserved,”

“you broke my heart and I learned my worth fuckin’ try hard.”

he looked over to mingi after he sang the last word, his hands gripping the white microphone as he smirked. mingi’s hair was damp, and hongjoong assumed he’d taken a water bottle and poured it over his head after his drums solo was over.

it was a signature move that made the crowd go wild, and the red head did it at almost all of their performances. they’d done it since the beginning, as all of their fans seemed to love it.

they watched as the people in front of them threw their hands up in they air as their bodies jumped up and down, and hongjoong smiled fondly as he watched the lightsticks they had around their necks glow.

this environment, the setting, it made him fill with joy. and maybe it was the red t-shirt you had on that was different from the rest of the crowd that made his eyes meet yours, or it just might’ve been fate, but he couldn’t seem to pull his focus away from you no matter how hard he tried.

that is, until san wrapped his arm around him and bowed towards the hundreds of people they gave their thanks to. “c’mon, it’s time to go now man.”

—

“okay let me get this straight,” your friend mia started, taking a fast swig of her martini. “hongjoong, kim fucking hongjoong, locked eyes with you?”

you knew you must’ve sounded crazy when you told her, but you saw what you saw. “yeah, I know. sounds stupid, right?” you ran a hand through your hair as you sighed, and you couldn’t believe your own words.

you’d been waiting months to go to one of their concerts, let alone be close enough to the stage to be able to breath the same air as them. and to have one of the members actually acknowledge you existed had over the moon.

you can still feel the way heat crept onto your cheeks when he bit his lip, your eyes wide when he winked your way. it felt like the whole world stopped for a moment, surreal, almost. you hated how easily he got to you, too, like he knew just a smirk or a smile would make you a mess.

and it was right. because as soon as you left the venue, your legs feeling like jello as you ran to the restroom, your lace underwear was a mess that only proved how sensitive you could be.

and that only made you wonder if the small exchange you two shared made hongjoong feel the same way.

but all your thoughts and curiosities stopped when you the hotel door slid open and revealed the man you were just thinking about, his two friends and many people with cameras trailing behind him.

“is it true you have a new solo song coming up in the next week?!” one reporter shouted towards mingi. “are you three planning to split up soon like the rumors have stated?!” san huffed as he pulled his hoodie over his face, pushing hongjoong and the taller boy forward and near some stools at the bar.

they were all relieved when security came out of the elevator and blocked the rest of the paparazzi outside the building, preventing any more unwanted people from coming in.

“I love performing, but trying to go home and sleep can be so fucking tiring.” hongjoong said, running his hand through his messy dark blue hair. san and mingi nodded, and they waved over a bar tender to order a round of beers.

“tell me about it, they just always act like they’re about to attack us or some shit,” mingi huffed, “I’m so exhausted.” it was normal for mingi to get tired and anxious after a long day, but san and hongjoong knew it would be best if he went up and slept as soon as he could.

it had been hard for the younger one ever since he’d needed a break due to anxiety, so they were careful nowadays not to push him to his limit. they cared for each other, and seeing one of their own feeling down was never a good sight. “you should go up to your room, mingi.”

san hummed, agreeing with hongjoong as he took a sip of his beer. “yeah, we’ll check up on you later.”

mingi new better than to argue with them, so he stood up and fixed his leather jacket, telling him he’d order room service and then go to sleep. “see you guys later then.”

your eyes fixed themselves on mingi as he took the elevator up, hands shaky and clammy as you realized who the two guys in front of you were. “mia, you s-see them too, right?”

her mouth was open wide when you looked over to her, and you could tell she was speechless. you tried to regain your compose and took a sip of your drink, trying everything to try and get your senses back.

she saw what you were doing and played along, realizing you wanted nothing more than to crawl up in a ball and scream into a pillow. “so.. how’s school?”

you two bursted out laughing at her words, but your knee hit the counter and both san and hongjoong looked up at you. san looked away when he saw you were okay, but hongjoong’s gaze didn’t leave yours after he recognized you as the girl from the concert.

“shit, he’s looking at you, y/n.” you focused your eyes on the glass in front of you, toying with the hem of your shirt as you let out a shaky breath. “shut up or they’ll hear us-”

“oh, you’re the girl from the concert, right?”

—

you didn’t even know how you were in this position, his lips smashed against yours in a hot and steamy kiss as you ground your bodies into each other. but you were.

so for now, the only thing on your mind was how his hand felt between your thighs, thumb brushing over your clit and making your legs want to give out soon.

your back arched against the door when you felt his lips ghost over your collarbone, and you could feel his lip piercing against your skin as it burned. “ngh, hongjoong,”

your clothes had been discarded long ago, only your white lace that was now soaked through on, and hongjoong still had his black ripped jeans on along with his white t-shirt. he moved you to sit on his bed, “lay back for me princess, I wanna make you feel good.”

you did as he told, sitting up on your elbows so you could watch him. his tongue swept up and down your left thigh as his fingers toyed with you over your panties., “please, just do something already..”

he smirked and gave a sharp squeeze to your other thigh, “patience, baby.” you felt him drag his lips up your body, taking his time to place wet kisses across your stomach and over your hip bones. “I bet you taste amazing.”

you groaned at his words, pulling him up to you by the nape of his neck and you crashed your lips together. he swiped his tongue over yours, groaning into your mouth as he did so. “then taste me.”

you didn’t have to say it again, and he trailed his way down your body while his fingers pulled your underwear down your legs, tossing them on the floor. you watched as he spread your legs wide for him, and you could’ve come right them and there just from the sight of his head in between your thighs.

“so pretty,” his arms wrapped around you, nails digging into the skin of your waist. his eyes didn’t leave yours when he licked a long stripe up your pussy, taking his time to swirl his tongue around your clit before sucking it into his mouth.

you couldn’t help it as you reached down to grip his hair, and he moaned into you when he felt his scalp burn as you tugged. “fuck, you feel so good joongie.”

all his fans called him by that nickname, so he’s not exactly sure why it felt different when you said it. it came out like a whine, and he felt his boxers get tighter and tighter with each passing second. “tell me how much you want me, y/n.”

“I want you so bad,” you whispered into his ear after he crawled his way back up your body. “I want you to fuck me until I’m screaming your name.”

he tugged his underwear down and slid them off, placing lingering kisses on your neck as he teased you with the tip of his cock. “you want me, princess? want me to have my way with you, make you come over and over again,” his breath fanned your ear, “make your cum mess up the sheets while I keep you quiet with my hand around your throat?”

you couldn’t help the borderline pornographic moan that slipped past your lips at his words, or the way your legs wrapped tightly around his waist. he placed an open mouthed kiss on your lips, shaking his head lightly before pulling away from your body. “nah ah, baby. I wanna slap that pretty ass you have while I fuck you,” without warning, he pulled you to the edge of the bed and flipped you over, pushing his hand on the small of your back. “good girl.”

your nails scratched at the fabric beneath you, pushing your ass out and groaning when he spread your legs apart. he grabbed himself and dragged his cock up and down your pussy, and he swore he’d never been harder.

you couldn’t believe this was happening right now. one of your favorite artists is about to fuck you dumb, and all because you both so happened to stay at the same hotel for one night.

“you’re so wet, y/n. fucking soaking for me.” he leaned down to bite your ear before pushing himself in you with one single thrust. he didn’t move, and you assumed he wanted to give you time to adjust. “beg for it, baby.” and only if it was that easy.

the way you screamed for him to fuck you, and all while his hand was secured tightly around your throat.

the way your brain was starting to get fuzzy, only thoughts of how good he felt inside of you present.

the way he would land a harsh slap to your ass if you tried to muffle your moans.

the way he would groan or hiss whenever you clenched tightly around his cock.

it was all too fucking much

but you completely lost all your senses when he pushed down on the small of your back while he fucked into you, and you swore you could feel him in places you didn’t even know existed. “r-right there, fuck!”

he was panting, and in that moment he knew this wouldn’t be a one time thing. it felt different, almost too good to give up. he knew you were his new drug, and rehab would be a bitch if he wanted to quit.

his hand squeezed one last time, halting the breath you were ready to take. you felt your nails tear the bed sheets below you as you came, and you could feel his cum fill you up as it spilled out and onto the cloth under you.

after he pulled out, he kissed up your back and placed a soft kiss on your forehead. “I’ll go get the bath ready.”

and that’s when you knew, he was way more than just some boy in a band.

─────

#hongjoong smut #hongjoong fluff #hongjoong angst #ateez smut #ateez fluff #ateez angst #kpop smut #kpop fluff #kpop angst #kpop boy group #kpop fanfic #ateez #kpop #kim hongjoong #Ateez hongjoong #listen-#don't @ me for the made up lyrics vewrgnbpri #I TRIED #big oof

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you-can-stay-mp3 · 3 years

Text

✎ stray kids as your classmates headcannons

masterlist | navi

the chaos. the idiocy. the lack of sleep

these hcs are also ?? so specific to my school ?? my friend and i wrote them so long ago and i figured they were pretty solid 💪💪

˗ˏˋ bang chan ˎˊ˗

↠ studies english, maths, physics and history

↠ does four a levels and has left the mortal realm

↠ for some reason you can find him in every subject department ????

↠ he only gets away with it because every teacher LOVES him

↠ he gets to keep his break in the staff fridge

↠ at lunch, he brings you out to eat

↠ always has snacks in his blazer for when jisung gets fidgety during maths

↠ chan used to be allowed in the recording rooms in music until he started bringing hyunjin

↠ he lost recording room privileges and was moved to one of the mac rooms instead

↠ i say ‘bringing’ but it’s more like hyunjin ‘followed and would not leave’

↠ takes technology classes after school for fun - he’s really good and gets a kick out of his work being used as a good example

↠ gets to keep his break in the staff fridge

↠ he’s either really great to sit beside or really annoying

↠ on one hand he’s hardworking and smart and will help you with answers and let you copy off of him on tests

↠ on the other hand when he’s in a super playful mood he will not stop poking you in the ribs for no reason

↠ his school bag is worryingly heavy

˗ˏˋ minho ˎˊ˗

↠ does triple award science and digital technology

↠ likes science :)

↠ also does four a levels but is glowing

↠ every teacher loves him??

↠ like you get away with so much shit because they see minho with you and go ‘ah this is all a misunderstanding minho wouldn’t set the bin on fire :)’

↠ minho just shows up to orchestra rehearsals sometimes like baby you don’t belong here

↠ he only turns up because he has a few friends who do it but every year for their concerts he gets roped into playing the bodhran

↠ it started in third year by mistake and every year he announces he hates doing it and just won’t this year but he always comes crawling back

↠ he always gets something to share at lunch and ends up throwing bits of it at you

↠ complains the whole time and you’d just be like ??? i didn’t ask you to get me anything???

↠ he’d tell you to shut up and eat it.

↠ chooses his snacks with you in mind

↠ always has plasters and painkillers on hand

↠ drives to school

↠ won’t give you a lift

↠ tells you to get the bus like a common wench

↠ they all come up with a random catchphrase every other week and minho is losing his mind

↠ ‘if chan says that boils my piss ONE MORE TIME-‘

˗ˏˋ changbin ˎˊ˗

↠ does physical ed, art, english and technology

↠ goes to lunch with felix but will always bring you back a snack

↠ always has a hoodie in his bag and an earphone ready for you when you’ve had a bad day

↠ has an extra tie in his bag because all of his friends are dumbasses and he KNOWS they’ll forget it at least once a week

↠ also drives to school

↠ he brings jeongin

↠ if he sees you walking to school on his way he’ll let you get in

↠ everyone steals his t-shirts purely because of the big arms and they’re comfy

↠ no more fitted shirts the world has surpassed the need for fitted shirts

↠ will always ask to copy your homework but when you ask to copy his he says no

˗ˏˋ hyunjin ˎˊ˗

↠ does history, religion and single chemistry

↠ he’s,,,, not so good at chemistry

↠ considered taking drama but realised he’d have to actually participate in productions and shows

↠ he does drama club after school instead

↠ but would never be caught dead in the department during school hours

↠ also takes technology classes after school

↠ only because his mum makes him

↠ sleeps on the bus home and often misses his spot

↠ sleeps over with whoever’s stop he wakes up closest to

↠ everyone in the group has a collection of his clothes in their houses for when he decides to do this

↠ for lunch, he always leaves his chocolate milk aside for you

↠ Does Not Know His Timetable and relies on you to tell him what class he’s in next

↠ if you’re working in the library together, he’ll try his best to be super quiet and will help you tie your hair back because he knows you can’t do it properly yourself

˗ˏˋ jisung ˎˊ˗

↠ does chemistry, maths and english

↠ no one knows why he does english but they don’t question it

↠ he sits in the back corner and throws paper balls at the back of your head and kicks your seat

↠ chan tried to stop him, he really did

↠ his subject choices are fucking atrocious

↠ he took technology but dropped it after two weeks

↠ he’s oddly good at chemistry???

↠ when you ask him a question he shrugs and says he guessed it

↠ you know he’s full of it and studies at every chance he gets

↠ he took german a few years ago and won’t shut up about it

↠ would buy lunch for himself

↠ when you ask for some he says no.

↠ don’t be fooled he pretends to be annoyed but he always planned to give you some anyway

↠ always accuses everyone of stealing his clothes when in fact it’s him who has the most of other people’s clothes

↠ chan has to call him every morning to wake him up so he won’t miss the bus

↠ makes you buy him bottles of water at all hours of the day

↠ will not stop whining if you don’t

˗ˏˋ felix ˎˊ˗

↠ does art, french and home ec

↠ ngl he goes to lunch with changbin

↠ will scrounge the snack changbin brought back for you

↠ makes up for it every friday when there was a home ec practical and he got to bake

↠ the type to push you into an open classroom door while you’re walking past

↠ HUGS ALL THE TIME

↠ like there’s always some sort of physical affection; linking pinkies, arm over your shoulder, just general poking and prodding

↠ minho has to separate you

↠ also throws paper balls at you in class but you can’t be mad because he just wants to play hangman

↠ the most active in the groupchat

↠ please turn off your notifications when you go to sleep

↠ will actually help you with your homework, but also makes sure you’re not taking everything too seriously and reminds you to enjoy yourself

˗ˏˋ seungmin ˎˊ˗

↠ does english and triple award science

↠ curses the day he chose science

↠ he hasn’t done the english homework

↠ he will call you at 4:27am to get it

↠ played cello in orchestra for a few years

↠ least active in the groupchat

↠ exclusively steals your food at lunch

↠ he used to bring his own but when he realised you were willing to share / he could just take some of your food, he just stopped

↠ will still buy a cookie and when you ask for one always says no

↠ he brings one back anyway

↠ makes you come study at the library with him because he knows you won’t do it if you’re left to your own devices

˗ˏˋ jeongin ˎˊ˗

↠ takes english, sociology and french

↠ jeongin is the only one who does choir

↠ but somehow ?? jisung is always at their concerts ???

↠ makes you bring him back lunch and then ends up stealing half of yours

↠ he shares his drinks with you if that’s any condolences

↠ he does not come to class

↠ ever

↠ always gets a ride to and from school from changbin

↠ he always calls you at the same time every night just to talk because he didn’t see you much that day :(

↠ uses his baby status to his advantage

↠ decides he’s coming to your house after school

↠ you don’t get a choice in the matter

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calumcest · 3 years

Text

i’ve seen the red, i’ve seen the blue

unfortunately for you lot i’m still kicking

Michael is - and Calum would be willing to put money on this - the most annoying person who’s ever walked this Earth. In fact, Michael’s very existence is probably proof negative of a deity, because Calum reckons no god would make an error as big as the creation of Michael.

It’s almost impressive, really, how one person can contain so many irritating traits. Most people Calum’s met have one or two - maybe they leave their wet towels on the floor because the towel rack is a whole two feet away (Luke), or maybe they forget to put the butter in the fridge so Calum ends up having to marinate rather than butter his toast (Ashton) - but Michael seems determined to collect every annoying quality a person could possibly have and then invent a few more for good measure. He might not leave his wet towels on the floor, but he stuffs them into the towel rack unfolded and so tightly that it’s almost like he wants them to go mildewy, like he wants to make Calum sacrifice three minutes of every day just to yank them out and fold them properly, and he might not leave the butter out, but he puts the empty packet back in the fridge every time without fail.

It’s the third time that happens in the space of a month that Calum stomps into the living room, brandishing the empty butter, and shoves it in Michael’s face.

“That’s butter,” Michael informs him, not taking his eyes off the TV.

“Not anymore it isn’t,” Calum says. “It’s empty.”

“Why did you bring it in here, then?”

“Because you put it back in the fridge.” At that, Michael looks up at Calum.

“Well, what’s it doing in the living room, then?” Calum stares at him.

“I brought it here.”

“What for?”

“It’s empty,” Calum says. “It needs to be thrown away.”

“So you walked it from the fridge to the living room instead of taking it to the bin?” Calum stares at Michael.

“Walked it?” Calum says. “It’s not a fucking dog.”

“No, I told you,” Michael says, eyes back on the TV. “It’s butter.”

“It was butter.” Michael shrugs. “This is the third time, Michael.”

“The third time it’s been butter?” Michael sounds intrigued.

“No, you fucking-” Calum throws his hands up in exasperation, almost losing his grip on the empty pack of butter. “The third time I’ve had to tell you that if it’s empty, it goes in the fucking bin, not the fridge.” Michael blinks up at him again.

“Well, in fairness, you haven’t told me that a third time yet,” he points out. Calum makes a mental note to look up whether irritation is just grounds for manslaughter.

“Fine,” he says. “If it’s empty, put it in the fucking bin. Why the fuck are you putting empty shit back in the fridge, anyway?”

“In case you need it,” Michael says, like it’s obvious.

“When have I ever given any indication that I want an empty pack of butter?” Calum says, and Michael shrugs.

“You never know,” he says.

“I think I do,” Calum says. “Name me one situation in which I’d need an empty pack of butter.”

“A mugging.” Calum stares at him.

“So in this situation I’m getting mugged in my own kitchen?”

“Well, I never specified whether you’d be at the receiving or giving end of it,” Michael says.

“Right, so now I’m mugging someone in my kitchen. I’m inviting someone into my house, taking them into my kitchen, and mugging them. With an empty pack of butter.” Calum slams said empty pack of butter down on the arm of the sofa Michael’s sitting on.

“It might be the closest thing to hand,” Michael says.

“If I’m mugging someone in my own kitchen, I hope I’ve had the foresight to put some knives out,” Calum says.

“It could be a circumstantial mugging,” Michael suggests.

“A circumstantial mugging?” Calum says. “I’ve got a guest around, I take them to the kitchen and I’m suddenly seized with the urge to mug them? With an empty fucking pack of butter?” Michael shrugs again.

“There are weirder weapons,” he says. “I watched an episode of a crime show where someone murdered someone with a loaf of bread.”

“So I’ve escalated to murder now?” Calum says, incensed, although in fairness, he isn’t far off committing a murder at this point. “I’m inviting someone into my house, taking them to the kitchen, getting overwhelmed with the urge to suddenly mug them and then batter them to death with an empty pack of butter?”

“Mm,” Michael hums thoughtfully. “It does sound like something you’d be arrested for.” Calum’s glad he’d put the pack of butter down, because he thinks if it were still in his hands, he might prove Michael right.

“Murder by empty pack of butter is sounding quite appealing right now,” Calum agrees, but Michael’s moved on from discussing stupid hypotheticals when you have something genuine to say to not listening because I’m more interested in what I’m going to say next than anything you have to say on his bingo card of irritating traits for the evening, looking at Calum with narrowed eyes.

“I think you’d be arrested for illegal gambling,” he says, apropos of absolutely fucking nothing, and Calum entertains a brief, very enjoyable mental image of him giving Michael a hundred papercuts with his hypothetical illegal deck of cards before throwing Michael an exasperated look. Before he can say anything, though, Michael asks: “What would I be arrested for?”

“Not listening to your boyfriend the first two times he tells you not to put empty packs of butter back in the fridge.”

“That’s not a crime,” Michael says, with a frown, like he’s annoyed Calum’s not taking this seriously.

“But it is criminal.” Michael’s not listening, again.

“I think I’d be arrested for being too cool,” he declares. Calum rolls his eyes.

“Yeah, and then they’d drop the charges for lack of evidence,” he says, and Michael scowls.

“Fine,” he says. “You’d be arrested for fraud.” Calum snorts.

“Fraud?” he says. “Who am I defrauding?”

“Me,” Michael says, a little sulkily. “Deceiving me into thinking you love me so I give you love back.”

“If you loved me you wouldn’t put the empty butter back in the fridge,” Calum points out.

“Maybe it’s a test of how much you love me.”

“Well, it’s one I’m happy to fail,” Calum says, and Michael scowls again.

“You’re such a dick,” he tells Calum, pouting a little, a tiny frown between his eyebrows, and it looks so ridiculous and adorable that Calum can’t help but laugh.

“You drive me to it,” he says, kneeling down next to the sofa and resting his forearms on it, looking up at Michael. “I plead insanity.” Michael blinks down at him, blue-green on brown.

“So, what, this is my fault now? I drive you insane?” he says, a little indignantly. Calum nods.

“Every day of my fucking life,” he says, and he’s being entirely, one hundred percent honest. “You’re the most annoying person I’ve ever had the misfortune of meeting. You make me sympathise with Thanos.”

“You wouldn’t have me any other way,” Michael says, and Calum’s lips curve up in a smile, and he leans forward and presses a soft kiss to Michael’s lips.

“No,” he says. “I wouldn’t.”

(He’s being entirely, one hundred percent honest about that, too.)

#malum #5sos fic #5sos fanfiction #this is such a stupid little fic #drabble #alsoo i havent written anything in like...a year? ish? so pls be gentle #britpop doesnt count and even that was like six months ago

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hunxi-guilai · 4 years

Video

youtube

good day friends please enjoy --

Tencent uploaded 160 minutes of behind-the-scenes/interview material for CQL, and I don’t usually go for YouTube videos over, mmm, ten minutes, but I stg I sat down and watched all two hours and forty minutes of this, utterly riveted

anyway, if you’d like to join me in the corner, I’ll be quietly screaming about:

Wang Yibo mercilessly bullying Xiao Zhan behind the scenes (thwapping him with his giant sleeves) and Xiao Zhan apparently giving as good as he gets

Xiao Zhan constantly losing at rock-paper-scissors

the stages of befriending Wang Yibo are apparently: 1) “oh what a nice and quiet young man,” 2) “hm he’s got depths,” 3) “okay, nope, he’s completely crazy”

the fact that Xiao Zhan and Wang Yibo spend at least half of their joint interviews complimenting each other

they had Liu Haikuan and Zhu Zanjin play jenga while answering interview questions; Liu Haikuan, by the end of it, just starts whacking the jenga tower with a small hammer because apparently he has a deep-seated and wordless tendency towards chaos

the entire cast had only 15 days of fight training before they got chucked into the show? holy shit

Yu Bin has the most fight scenes out of everyone in the show and is very tired

Yu Bin’s ideal role is a rabbit. It’s relaxing and people spend all day pampering you

jk he thinks it’d be cool to try out Jin Guangyao for size

the role Xiao Zhan wants to try next is apparently an homme fatale (charismatic, mesmerizing, a lil evil, but like, complex about it)

Liu Haikuan calls Xiao Zhan “A-Zhan” and I canNOT

Liu Haikuan and Xiao Zhan @ Zhu Zanjin and Wang Yibo teasing them: “我靠你是人吗？”

Wang Haoxuan relentlessly complimenting Song Jiyang. it’s adorable

Wang Zhuocheng, when he’s not being an angry grape, is a total sweetheart

seriously I think he smiled through his entire interview, someone hurry up and squish him he’s literally the cutest

Xuan Lu is a much more mischievous than Jiang Yanli

Xuan Lu knows what’s up

Liu Haikuan is a huge Marvel fan -- his favorite Avenger is Captain America, and he’s very proud of the memoriabilia he’s collected

Wang Zhuocheng is an avid Broadway fan

the entire cast and crew apparently has a large number of WeChat groups amongst themselves, and the one for the junior trio is called 三大傻 (’three big dummies’）

someone cast Wang Yibo in a TV show where he just fights other people for fifty episodes. it’s what he wants. feed him.

Wang Haoxuan would like to be cast as a normal person his own age, thanks

they made Xiao Zhan and Wang Yibo read 彩虹屁 (lit. ‘rainbow farts,’ used to describe particularly poetic but not necessarily coherent compliments from fans), onscreen

Xiao Zhan got too flustered to finish reading some of them, and was adorably shy about all the compliments

Wang Yibo read them with a straight face and was like “yep, sounds right”

well there goes three hours of my life I’ll never get back and honestly I’m not even mad about it

#cql bts #cql #Xiao Zhan #Wang Yibo #oh no I can't tag the entire cast I give up #anyway so Xiao Zhan might be the best actor of his generation or whatever #I didn't want to put it up there in the bullet point notes because they're mostly happy but #my heart fucking breaks for Liu Haikuan someone give the man a hug #I adore the CQL cast and crew a normal amount #it just seems like filming was exhausting but also a lot of fun and rewarding #and everyone got along really well #it seems like a lot of them are still friends and that's awesome

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xbunnybunz · 3 years

Text

Weak Hero University (2/?) [Reader x Weak Hero]

Summary: I know you assholes are crying now that the first season of Weak Hero is over. But you’ve got other things to focus on, like where the fuck you’re going to live after getting kicked out of your old dorm. Luckily, you’ve found one last open room on the other side of Weak Hero University. What could possibly go wrong?

Genre: Romance, Humor, Slice of Life

Date: 6/1/2021

A brief introduction of everyone later, you haul a suitcase into the room while Ben noisily and clumsily pulls on his shorts, after much persuading from his friends.

“You’re living… Here? In the boys dorms?” Eugene asks, tagging beside carrying your schoolbag. “Isn’t that against the campus policy?”

You park the suitcase beside by your room and sigh, popping your back briefly.

“I’m just as confused as you guys are, but the keys here seem to be for this room here.” You allow a single gold-hued key to dangle from your fingers on a cheap polyester lanyard, Eugene’s eyes follow the menacing stare of the school mascot printed on the side until you pull it out of his sight.

“Let’s see just how fucked up this school is when it comes to money extortion.” You put the key in the door and hear a tell-tale metallic ‘click.’

“Wow.” A voice says from the couches. “Pretty fucked up.”

You sigh, shoulder slumping forward. “Whatever. Let’s just get this over with.”

Most of the items go into your room without much hassle at all. A suitcase full of cute PJs you and your nonexistent best gal roommates could rave over, a plastic box full of face masks you’d probably never be able to use without being made fun of, and a waterlogged ziplock baggie half-full with notes (and corn chips) from last semester.

What? A folder? What the fuck is a folder?

A boy with silver hair passes by and begins to say something to you, but seems to debate better options when he sees the plastic baggie on the floor.

Feeling slighted somehow, you ask Eugene who he is once he’s out of earshot.

Eugene laughs and begins to speak but an arm looping around his neck cuts him off.

A pair of shimmering emerald eyes meet your own, but it’s clouded with a shadow of mischief. “You haven’t heard? That’s the white mamba of E-quad. He’s fearlessly beaten bastards so bloody with belts that we have metal detectors installed at the dining hall entrances now!”

“Stop exaggerating, Alex.” Eugene chokes out, sounding mildly discontented while desperately trying to pry the arm from around his neck.

“Wait, that was because of him?”

Eugene and Alex both freeze, brows furrowed. “Wait, you weren’t kidding?” Eugene asked.

“I was.” Alex says.

They both fix their gazes on you, and you’re suddenly struck with the memories of needing to surrender your lockpicking kit in front of several dozen freshmen behind you, and the hot desire to bury that memory consumes you.

“Haha, me too.”

They don’t seem convinced.

Before the conversation about buckle-assisted homicide can continue, a large shadow descends upon your form and a great arm reaches out from the heavens above. “Here, I grabbed this from the kitchen in case you needed a snack.”

You look up and see Gerard, the tallest and blindest of the group. You accept his gift of a single (1) lunchables capri-sun with much adoration in your heart.

“Thanks Gerard.”

He gives you a smile to remind the audience that he is, simply put, cool as fuck.

“No problem.”

Well, one problem. You eye the last bit of your luggage sitting at the doorway like a heaping pile of hot flaming garbage. It’s an amalgamation of the extraneous bits of your personality you’ve collected over the course of the past semester at Weak Hero University and maybe a forgotten bagel. Despite your previous roommate’s pleads for you to throw some of it out, you’d be damned if you weren’t a treacherous little hoarder. Simply put, it was a huge box of insignificant trinkets that made for a very significant problem. You had gotten lucky to cross paths with a cute but gullible junior earlier, who you immediately marked as prey and flirted with before unceremoniously dumping your crap on him to carry across campus. But now you’d have to pick up the box of crap yourself, which would prove to be a challenge with how little you actually wanted to be responsible for your own items.

The three boys see you eying the box and you perk up immediately, eyes glimmering with the possibility of wooing the fine gentlemen into helping a oh-so-meek lass like yourself.

You twirl a piece of hair between your fingers and bat your eyelashes at nothing at all, pouting your lips and hoping they weren’t too crusty. “Oh, I’m so tired. How am I ever going to move that big and heavy box?”

You stare dismally into an off-corner and attempt to look forlorn, grimacing when you see a weird construction of a human-sized dorito-chip statue made of empty dorito bags beside the television. This was the moment your main love interest would swoop in and offer his servitude to you, dewey roses blossoming on convenient parts of the screen. Here it was, your very own shoujo moment!

But there’s no offer. In fact, you stare so long at the doritos statue that you begin to get spots in your vision.

When you turn back, the boys are by the box in question, though they are not attempting to move it at all. Instead, they lament over the problem with you as opposed to offering a solution.

“Ah, that thing looks so heavy. Sucks to be you.” Alex laughs.

Euguene shakes his head. “Right? I wouldn’t even be able to get a corner off the ground.”

Gerard places a thoughtful hand on the back of his neck. “You should probably save the capri-sun for after moving everything.”

Ugh.

Just when all hope seemed lost, Ben meanders out of his room. This time, all his articles of clothing are intact.

“Hey, what are you guys staring at?”

Yes! This was your movie-moment after all!

“Oh Ben! Thank god you’re here.” You resume your maiden in distress pose. “I was just so tired from the trip, my feeble heart and body can’t bear to-“

Alex pokes his head up when he hears Ben approaching, waving him over. “Look at all this shit she has. She’s like those people on My Strange Addiction!”

Irritated that he’s cut you off, you try to continue. “I won’t ever be able to lift all that on my own-!”

“Aren’t you talking about Hoarding, Buried Alive?” Gerard asks, clearly already losing interest in the luggage.

“Actually, I think that would be Hoarders, the reality television show that aired a little before My Strange Addiction took flight! It’s actually really interesting how that all started out, if you want to hear about it.”

You scowl at the back of Eugene’s head and stop quickly when Ben shoots a grin at you.

He puffs out his chest in a stupid himbo way and thrusts his thumb into his chest. “I can move this for you! No sweat! Just tell me where you want it!”

Sweet! You were about to resort to desperate begging, but those plans are cancelled!

You clasp your hands together and sigh, envisioning a world where men with muticolored hair fall in love with you.

“Oh, anywhere in here is fine, thank you so much Ben!”

As he goes in to lift it, you can see his muscles straining against the well-fitting fabric of his shirt.

Oh yes, this is definitely worth the dorming fee.

“Ben, you’re so sweet for helping me with this!” He ambles past you while struggling to hold the lid of the box closed. A strained voice comes from beyond the green rim of the bin. “Yep, no problem at all.”

You follow him into your room, tailing him while rambling about how grateful you were.

“You know, there was a junior who I met by the campus square on my way here. He helped me move everything to this building, but he struggled with that box a lot longer than you! I’m actually not sure how you’re even getting it off the ground without a wedge and trolley, but boy am I glad!”

Ben stops at the foot of your bed, barely able to peek over the edge of the bin. “Erm. Is here okay?”

“Hey I mean, as strong as that guy was, you’re definitely cuter than him. I was almost sad to see him go, but that’s the life of a busy woman!”

“Pleasemyarmsareshaking-”

“As great as all this is, I’m actually really excited to make friends with everyone! Given these strange circumstances that usually only happen to indulge borderline psychotic fans, we should take advantage and-”

Ben drops the box on the floor and you screech, a pain shooting up your leg and pumping adrenaline into your veins.

“-FUCK! Shit!”

Ben freezes and realizes the absolutely fuckery he has just caused, but before he can react, you grab the corner of the box and throw it off your foot in a show of brute gorilla strength, crumpling to the floor in agony.

The boys have their heads poked into the doorway, curious after hearing two cuss words successively. They blanche when they realize the situation.

“Oh fuck. My bad?” Ben wants to comfort you but is frankly quite scared to after seeing your display of power.

“Did she just throw that thing with one hand?” Gerard asks.

Alex stares at the scene before him. “What the hell happened to her foot?”

Eugene titters about nervously, playing with his fingers “Do we have first aid?”

From the kitchen, a deadpan voice is heard. “Where’s my capri sun?”

#weak hero #webtoon weak hero #weak hero x reader #weak hero university

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bellesque · 4 years

Text

Stop & Smell the Flowers (Loki x Reader)

A Loki Oneshot for the Spring Time with Loki Collab Collection on AO3. Also on my AO3.

Rating: Explicit

Words: 8.9K BIG yikes

Tags/Warnings: Sex Pollen (therefore Mildly Dub-Con), Smut, Vaginal Sex, Oral Sex, Orgasm Delay, Orgasm Denial, Sex in Space, and some hints of a Praise Kink

Summary: Plant samples from Alfheim and a brooding god as your only companions in a small Quinjet sounds like a recipe for disaster, but some good things can happen in ten hours.

A/N: All I can say is... whoops, my hand slipped?

THE RIDE BACK to Earth is longer than you anticipated.

The small Quinjet is a sturdy and silent thing, the engine’s muffled hum a constant as you hurtle through space. It’s a drawn out, unceasing sound; it brings your boredom to the forefront of your consciousness and warps it into a false sense of steady calm. You might even be able to close your eyes for a second, seeing as there’s nothing but blackness before you—

“Wake up,” a voice snaps from behind your pilot chair, punctuated by a sharp snap of fingers. “You will not crash this ship.”

You straighten in your seat, unfazed by the bite in your companion’s tone. You blink a couple times, squeezing your eyes shut as you stifle a yawn.

“There’s literally nothing to crash into, Loki.”

Heavy boots thud against the metal floor of the ship until they stop by the copilot chair a few paces away from you. “You never were the vigilant type to begin with.”

This time, you sigh. “Look, if it makes you feel better, I’m turning on autopilot. If you can’t trust me, trust Stark. His tech is unparalleled. We will be fine.” You punch a button on the control panel, and the low hum of the Quinjet rises slightly in pitch. Swiveling around in your chair, you turn to face the god with raised hands. “See? No hands. All good. Course set.”

Loki stares at you, his features set in an unamused scowl, before turning on his heel to the farther side of the ship.

It takes a little more willpower than usual not to allow yourself to snap back at him, but you manage. After all, you’re both pretty tired, and he’s most likely antsy because of how long you’ve been cruising through the void of space. You’re sleepy, he’s irritable.

Still, your estimated time of arrival isn’t for another eight hours, and seeing as you’re going to be stuck with each other you might as well try to maintain some semblance of cordiality.

“So,” you begin, pushing up and out from your seat, “Alfheim was pretty.”

Loki stands by the glass window that shows you nothing but the expanse of space. His reflection is so clear that the details—like the strong slope of his nose, his aristocratic cheekbones—are unmarred.

“Yes,” he answers curtly. “Home to the Light Elves. As Stark briefed earlier, if you had been paying any attention.”

You swallow the retort, letting it fizzle out on the tip of your tongue. Stark did brief you on your mission, alright. You just wish knowing how to handle a brooding, irritated god was one of the things on Tony’s agenda.

Your mission was simple enough—collect some plants and flowers and shrubs and cuttings, he said. All the planty things. It’ll be quick, he said. Two rides through the Bifrost from Earth to Heimdall’s Observatory in Asgard, and then to Alfheim, followed by a short Quinjet ride to the nearby planet-slash-moon-thing, he said. Piece of cake, won’t take too long to get there.

He failed to mention how long it would take you to come home since you couldn’t use the Bifrost for reasons that were “none of your damn business.”

“You know, you’re not usually this much of a pain in the ass,” you find yourself saying as you stand side by side.

“And you’re not usually this mouthy,” he replies. He cocks his head at you. “Are you certain the coordinates have been set for Midgard?”

“Yes, sire,” you say, unable to keep the mocking tone from your voice at bay. “I told you. Trust me. If not me, then Stark.”

You lapse into silence, watching distant planets and stars twinkle against the dark backdrop of the void, the unending vastness pulling you into thought.

You’ve been working with the Avengers for just about a year. In this time, you’ve gotten to know everyone in the tower.

Including Loki.

He’s… quite a character, to say the least. Silent. Calculating. Not plotting his next attempt at world domination, but still, many are wary of his presence. You’ve spent enough time with him to know he’s a different Loki from the one in New York, though. You’d even go as far as to say that he’s… almost kind of good. Wreaking chaos, sure, by way of annoying the hell out of Steve and Tony especially, but… good.

And you’ll even admit to yourself, just a little, that he’s nice to be around. Not right now; no, he’s unnecessarily bitchy at the moment. But when it’s just you and him in the tower while the rest are either off-world or taking a day off outside the tower, it’s almost refreshing. His presence is companionable. When you watch a movie, his comments are genuinely witty and they make you laugh. He’s more aloof—more himself, you feel, and he allows himself to actually fucking smile.

And hell, when he does, looking at you with those green eyes and that heart-wrenching, happy smile—

You huff, squashing the blooming feeling in your chest. Pivoting on your heel, you make towards the other side of the ship: the small corner by the hatch that holds your collection of plants from today’s excursion. Maybe the weird, exotic flowers will keep you from acknowledging your tiny (but growing) crush.

“Do you have plants like this on Asgard?” you ask, hoping to inject some light into the heavy and tired air that hangs between you.

It takes Loki a second to move from his stance by the opposite window, but he ends up by your side eventually. He picks up a glass jar that houses a plant with blue, stunted leaves. “No.” He brings it up to eye level, examining it and rotating it in his hand. “The plants we’ve acquired are native to the Alfheim regions, it seems.”

“What does Stark want with them?”

“I haven’t the faintest idea.”

He sets down the jar with a dulled thunk and picks up another. The flower inside this one is pretty: curling petals with an orangey, reddish, and golden iridescence to it. It glitters in the low light of the Quinjet’s interior, and you can’t help but voice your admiration for it.

“Do you know what that one’s called?”

“No.”

“So why’d we get it?”

Loki’s eyebrows scrunch together, shifting his weight to the other foot. “Are you a child, mortal? Why must you ask such—”

You never get to hear the rest of Loki’s question; the Quinjet makes a hard, stuttering sound, almost as if it’s skidding over gravel, and the entire ship lurches forward and then sideways. The scraping sound of metal doesn’t cease as the ship continues to vibrate from the turbulence. You lose your balance, clutching at air to steady yourself, only one particularly hard jerk to the side causes you to stumble into Loki with a soft oof.

The pair of you are jostled to the floor, and the next thing you register is the distinct sound of glass shattering.

After a few seconds, the vibrations stop. Thankfully, because you were really starting to worry that dying in space was going to become an actual thing. The lights flicker before steadying and it resumes its normal hum as though it didn’t just go through the most unholy turbulence you’ve experienced. Granted, this is only your third time in space, but the unexpected collision leaves you spooked out nonetheless.

“What was that?”

It’s this moment that your mind chooses to notice that Loki’s chest has seemingly cushioned your fall, the top half of your body splayed on top of him.

Feeling the heat rise to your cheeks, you hastily clamber off him. “Shit, I’m so sorry.”

He doesn’t say anything, only rises to his feet and dusts off the front of his clothes. “You and I are in big trouble,” he says.

You hurry to the cockpit, which isn’t much of a cockpit considering how small the ship is compared to what Stark usually provides. A space rock just about the size of the ship lazily rolls away. “Looks like an asteroid?” you say, uncertain. “Are we caught in a belt?”

“No, it was a rogue one. The trouble I pertain to is not that, mortal. I’m afraid we’re one plant short now.”

“What?” Your head whips to the back so fast that your neck cricks, and you rush to the spot Loki points at.

Broken glass, and a flower that’s lost some of its iridescence. Some particles glitter on the metal floor, and you curse.

“There’s a spare jar in one of the overhead cabinets. Maybe we can still salvage this one.” You sigh. “What if this had some super special healing power and we just ruined it?”

“I told you not to crash this ship, and yet—”

“Shut it, Reindeer Games.” At this, you can see in your periphery how Loki’s nostrils flare just the slightest at the nickname. He hates it. Hates it because Stark uses it.

You manage to pick up the bigger pieces of broken glass without inadvertently cutting yourself and throw it into the waste bin. Loki hands you—well, more like shoves into you—another glass jar, into which you carefully place the flower. You slot it with the other plant samples and straighten up.

“There are still some smaller shards of glass around here,” you say, gesturing vaguely at the floor, “so we just need to be careful when we walk here.”

The floor shimmers in some angles: some attributed to the minute glass shards, some from the flower. Loki dips his chin in acknowledgment before resuming his perch by the window, staring out at the abyss of space as he was doing before you and he decided to look at the Alfheim plants.

A decision you’re regretting more and more with each passing minute.

You’re back in the pilot chair, scanning for any possibility of crashing into another space rock. If what you were feeling earlier was sleepiness, how you’re feeling right now is that tenfold with an extra weight of ten pounds on your head. Your eyelids are heavy and your body is beginning to feel warm. You sniffle, your nose a little congested, and a sneeze permeates the silence.

You swivel around to face Loki. The simple action of it causes your head to spin; you feel almost lightheaded, the same feeling you get when you’re sick. You steady yourself by planting your feet on the floor. “Hey. Are you feeling a little woozy?”

Loki’s eyes snap to you, concern written on his features. “Are you feeling unwell?”

“Not really. Feels like… like an allergy. From the flower.” You sneeze again. “Head’s heavy. Wanna sleep.”

“There’s a pull-out cot you can rest in.” In a flash, Loki’s helping you up, one arm around your waist. You can’t stop your eyelids from closing this time, feeling your grip on consciousness slip from you as your head lolls onto Loki’s shoulder. It’s a weird feeling. Heavy and light at the same time. You want to voice how it feels, but all that comes out is another sneeze.

“Perhaps the Alfheim flowers are a little too intense for your mortal body.”

Maybe it’s the allergies, but you swear you hear the hint of a smile in his voice. Loki drapes a blanket over you—wait, is he tucking you in?—and cards his fingers through your hair. You’re not sure if it’s real or not, but it feels nice.

“Sleep,” he says, voice distant and muddled. “I will take care of the ship.”

It doesn’t take you long to fall asleep to the Quinjet’s comforting hum.

It’s hot.

Way too hot.

You blearily open your eyes, the feverish warmth that’s spread over your body the first thing you notice. The funny thing is you’re hot but you aren’t sweating. At all.

Just warm.

Excessively so.

“It’s hot,” you blurt out dumbly, sitting up on the strangely comfortable cot. The blanket falls away from you as you squint at Loki’s silhouette in the pilot chair.

The lights are a little dimmer, you think. Not as harsh and cold, blinding white too, but almost warm. You didn’t even know the ship had that feature.

Loki doesn’t answer you. You realize this a little late after marveling over the Quinjet’s new lighting. “Are you hot?” Your voice sounds foreign, different to you—a different timbre, a little more hoarse.

“Not particularly.”

Your stomach does a little flip because shit, his voice sounds different too.

You swallow, rising to your feet. “How long was I asleep?”

“I did not keep track. Perhaps an hour. Maybe two.”

He swivels in the pilot chair, and your stomach does a funny kind of flip. He’s the perfect picture of a confident, cocky prince with a sort of casual regality; he’s leaning back just a little lower with his legs spread open, one arm hanging over the armrest while the other is bent at the elbow, a closed fist by his face. Like he sits on his own throne, proud and powerful and incredibly sexy.

And you’ll be damned if you don’t admit it’s an attractive sight.

“Did you sleep well?” he asks, his head falling to one side. The intensity of his gaze burns into you, and something inside you coils unmistakably. What the hell…?

“I…” your voice catches, and you clear your throat. “I did. Maybe—do—uh, do you want to take a nap this time? ’Cause I can keep watch.” You hurry to your feet, and your legs feel like jelly as you stand. It’s as if they aren’t a part of your body as they take you to the heart of the ship, the halfway point between the cot and the cockpit.

Loki stands, still staring at you, and even in the dimness of the ship you can see that the intensity with which he looks at you hasn’t waned. He reaches you, standing a good foot away, and stops.

You try to calm the wild beating of your heart, rooted to the spot from his attentions, and you fidget. Your eyes are flighty in contrast, flitting from his face to his chest to the void outside the Quinjet and back again.

He lifts a single finger up to your face, tipping your chin upwards so your eyes meet. Heat begins to pool somewhere specific now, and you’re not sure what to do about it.

Obviously nothing, your brain screams in protest. It’s like your mind is swimming, your afterthoughts delayed and your actual thoughts heady, private wishes just bubbling at the surface.

“Your face is red,” Loki comments, his voice low and soft. Like the blanket he tucked you into. No, a part of you thinks, stop this right now—

He brushes his knuckles against your cheek, regarding you with great interest. “You’re burning up as well. Shall I take you to bed?”

Surely he doesn’t mean for his words to come out as much of an innuendo as they do, but that’s immediately where your mind goes: into the gutter.

“A-aren’t you tired?” you say instead, allowing Loki to steer you by the shoulders back to the pull-out. “I can definitely—”

“No, you need to rest,” he insists. As your butt hits the mattress, Loki’s expression shifts into a thoughtful one. “Although your suit seems to be an unfitting set of clothes, considering you’re quite hot. One moment.”

Loki disappears, walking to a hidden part of the ship and you take this time to fan yourself. It’s still unbelievably hot, and the way your folds are slippery without any stimulation (except, you think with a small smirk, Loki’s little pilot chair moment was visual stimulation enough) causes alarm bells to ring faintly in the distance of your mind.

You experimentally flex your lower muscles and—oh. Oh.

“Here,” Loki says as he saunters back into view. He tosses you a dark green shirt. “Wear that.”

You stare at the bundle of fabric in your lap and realize it’s his.

And just like that, a fire is lit within you.

You bring up the shirt to your face, inhaling his scent when he turns his back, and fucking hell does he smell good. Your mouth practically waters at it, your eyes trained on Loki’s back as he settles back into the pilot’s chair.

Unconsciously you bite your lip as you wonder what his skin might look like underneath his armor.

“Don’t turn around,” you say, fighting the urge to jump him right then and there that surges to the fore. You’re tempted. You really are. And you also want him not to listen to you and turn around, watch you undress and change into his shirt.

Again, what in the hell…?

You shimmy out of your clothes and pull Loki’s shirt over you. It’s Asgardian in design, likely tailored specifically for him. You wearing it just feels so intimate. The smell that’s so distinctly him envelops you and quite frankly, it’s intoxicating.

You stand, and the shirt falls just to your mid-thighs. He didn’t bother getting you any shorts; you’re not sure if you’re grateful or angry, or maybe a heady mix of both.

Bundling up your used clothes in your arms, you clear your throat. “Thank you.”

Loki swivels around, stuttering to a stop when he sees you. His eyes rake over you, from your messy bedhead down to your exposed legs. His Adam’s apple bobs in his throat quite visibly, and your pride rears its head in victory.

“No shorts, though?” you ask innocently, one eyebrow shooting up.

“Unnecessary,” he answers with a devious grin that makes your insides melt and ignite all at once.

He turns his attention back to the controls, and you lay your clothes by the side of the pull-out.

Wearing Loki’s shirt does little to cool your temperature—in fact, it’s still blistering despite the Quinjet’s air conditioning.

“Are you sure it isn’t hot?” you ask again. You know you’re asking unnecessary questions, but you want to get him talking, speaking to you in that gorgeous velvet full voice of his.

You hear him chuckle, a gush of heat rushing towards your center. “I’m afraid that’s all you, little one.”

Sighing, you flop onto the bed, pulling a pillow over your legs. Maybe if you take another nap, the heat will subside from your body.

Your arousal, on the other hand…

A thought enters your mind, fleetingly, because you immediately push it away and chastise yourself through the murky fog of your brain. Pleasuring yourself? In Loki’s presence? The absurdity of the idea. You should be feeling shame… only you don’t. Not really, at least.

You shift onto your side, squeezing your eyes tight. Sleep does not come to you. You try lying on your back, on your stomach, and then again—

“Are you alright back there?”

The normal tone Loki uses astounds you, seeing as you’re somehow a feverish, horny mess and he isn’t. It puzzles you, and some deep part of you wants to figure out why. Only your brain seems to refuse to cooperate unless you’re thinking of doing certain things.

Things you certainly don’t mind doing with Loki.

“I-it’s hot,” you explain, embarrassed defeat lacing your words. How many times have you said that to him? You probably sound like a broken record.

At this, Loki lets out a full peal of laughter, husky and with a sensual edge to it. You wish you could make him laugh, hear it one more time. Or twice. Or on loop. It doesn’t really matter.

He swivels again to face you, his sitting posture similar to the one earlier, and it does things to you. Causes an uproar that’s novel to you, a need rising within you that must be sated.

Loki makes a smooth come hither motion with his fingers, curling from his pinky to his index. A beckoning you can’t refuse. “Perhaps I can help. In case you’ve forgotten, I’m quite adept at magic. It may help the current predicament you face.”

You slide off the cot and walk barefooted to the copilot chair. He looks a little different, you realize as you amble towards him. Maybe it’s the allergies, but just as he sounds different, there’s something different about him now that you’re really looking. He’s always been a pretty face and you’ve always found him extraordinarily handsome, but right now is different. You just can’t put a finger on it, so you chalk it up to his aura changing. Or the allergies. Most likely it’s the allergies.

You’re about to sit in the copilot chair beside him, only to be stopped when Loki laughs again and wraps his fingers around your wrist. All you hear is a faint, “No, silly girl,” before he pulls you in between his legs.

Pulls you with surprising strength, it seems, because your butt lands almost unceremoniously in the crook of his groin and lap. Your knees are hooked over the opposite arm rest, which means if you shift even just the tiniest bit to the side, your hip will come in contact with a certain part of him.

It’s a dilemma, you think with a giggle, if you want to be caught in a hard place.

His arms snake around your waist, pulling you close to him, and it just registers that you’re sitting on his lap holy shit you’re sitting on his lap.

“Are you comfortable?” he murmurs, adjusting your position so he can rest his chin on your shoulder. Instantly your mouth goes dry; it’s the proximity. You’ve never been this close to him before, and being in such a… an intimate position has you tense and rigid on top of him.

“I think so?” you squeak, stilling further as Loki’s nose burrows into your hair. He parts the curtain of your hair with side to side movements, until he buries his face into your neck. He inhales, and a delicious shiver runs down your sides.

“Good,” he breathes.

You’re frozen on his lap, afraid to even let out the smallest puff of air. His face just stays there, in the crook of your neck, inhaling deeply.

“Are… you okay?”

And then your heart stops, because he’s lifting his head, his fingers brushing your hair to the back and exposing your nape to the cool air. The next second he’s tracing the tip of his nose from your chin up to your earlobe, where he pauses. You’re acutely aware of his lips against your skin, just barely brushing against it. “Never been better.”

He inhales again, deeply, and another shiver runs down your spine. You were wrong to think he was unaffected; something’s changed between you as you slept, and you aren’t sure why or what it is.

“You smell…” He trails off, moving down and back to the spot behind your ear. You swear you feel the slightest whisper of a kiss there, and it takes extra effort to hold in the sigh that’s caught in your throat. “…different.”

“I have a smell?” It comes out with a halfhearted, short laugh; an attempt to ease the thick tension that hangs over you.

Loki only hums in response. This time, with the pressure on your neck and the puffs of his breathing against your skin, you’re sure Loki’s lips are on you. Not a kiss, nothing more—just a steady weight that anchors you in his lap.

Anchors you to the reality that you are in his lap.

“And you are so warm.” The way he says it, his mouth moving against your skin, it’s almost as if he’s talking to himself. His arms around your waist tighten, and your hip comes in contact with a little bulge.

Well, not very little, but…

“Y-yeah, I thought you were going to do something about that.”

“Hmm? Oh, yes.”

His hand rests on your exposed thigh, his thumb rubbing hypnotic circles into your skin. “Better?” he asks with his face still buried in the crook of your neck.

“I don’t think so.” Coherency becomes increasingly difficult to achieve; you’re too focused on the sizzle of electricity thrumming within your veins, spidering from where he touches you.

“How about…” His hand glides up your thighs, skimming over your underwear and underneath the baggy shirt until they come up to rest on your hip. “Now?”

You’re sure he kisses you this time, on that sensitive spot below your ear, and you bite your lip to stop yourself from making a sound.

“Still nothing,” you whisper, strained. “As hot as ever.”

There is no second guessing anymore: something wet and hot darts out behind your ear, and Loki’s lips press a firm, lingering kiss there as his hand skims to the center of your stomach. You suck in a shaky breath, your eyes slipping closed at the spark you feel.

“And now?” he questions, just by your ear. The conspiratorial tone and the volume he uses makes you clench in anticipation.

Instead of answering, you shift on his lap—purposefully grinding a little bit on his evident erection. You hear Loki’s breathing change just slightly, his fingers curling on your stomach.

You think he’s about to do something to break the sexual tension and turn it into something tangible, something you both can actually do to ease the ache you’re sure you both feel, but you know the God of Mischief enjoys his games. He enjoys acting unaffected when in fact he is, and you intend to play that to your advantage. Somehow.

“I’m not sure I’m feeling anything,” you say as nonchalant as possible. A plan quickly brews in your mind, and you pretend to notice something on the dashboard. You wriggle in Loki’s lap, making sure to rub him in all the right places as you tell him you swear you saw something whiz past.

The way Loki tenses underneath you brings you a small bout of satisfaction.

“Perhaps,” he starts, his voice clearly strained as you begin to rotate your hips ever so lightly against him, “perhaps a nap is what you need.”

“But Loki,” you say, exaggerated and almost whiny as you lean back against his lean chest, feeling the full extent of his arousal against your lower back, “who’s going to see if the asteroid comes back?”

You yelp as Loki stands, one arm hooked under your knees and the other around your waist. He’s carrying you, the thought floating through your muddled brain.

“Stark will handle it. Like you said. Trust him and his technology, or something like that,” he says, voice a little rough. “It’s bed for you.”

Loki lays you down with surprising gentleness, smoothing the covers around you. You think you might be able to sleep a little now that a little pent up energy has been released, but you only become shell-shocked when Loki climbs into the cot beside you.

It’s not a very large bed, mind you, which means that you’re trapped between his body and the wall of the ship. There isn’t much room to lay on your back when Loki’s in it with you, so you settle on your side while he does the same.

Loki pulls your back to his chest, completely flush against his body. “Relax,” he murmurs. “Try to sleep.”

Yeah, as if you can with something very hard poking into your backside.

For the record, you do try to sleep. You let your eyes drift closed with Loki’s arm draped over you, but even when you reach that half asleep state you’re focused on his erection behind you and his arm slowly making its way under your shirt again.

And somehow, whether it’s of your own doing or your body on autopilot, your hand slowly makes its way behind, reaching between you and placing it flat against his erection.

It’s like time stops. There’s nothing but static in your brain, the only sound the ever-present hum of the ship. As if neither of you dare to breathe. Loki’s fingers rest on your hipbone, where the garter of your underwear rests.

Neither of you move. You stay like this, for how long you don’t know, until Loki exhales a little, pressing his length against your palm.

“Can’t sleep,” you whisper, shifting to ease the budding strain in your arm. “Still hot.”

“So am I,” Loki replies softly.

You don’t think you can tense up further, but your body surprises you. “Maybe…” You don’t know why you’re allowing your question to form and where you’re getting the boldness to ask. “Maybe you should take something off.”

He’s quiet for a moment, and you don’t turn around to face him. The sound of the sheets rustling and the mattress shifting is enough to tell you that he got up. Cold dread begins to replace the delicious fire that was coursing through your veins—have you scared him away? Offended him?

The mattress dips again, and Loki’s pulling you against him, in the same spooning position you were in earlier. Only… only he’s shirtless, you realize when your back hits his chest.

Shit, you really want to turn around and take a good look at his gloriously naked chest first.

You’re not sure your heart can take any more when Loki slowly guides your hand back to the evidence of his arousal. Once he places your palm on his erection, his hand is sliding over your skin underneath what you’re wearing, resting just underneath the swell of your breast.

“You know, mortal, you are very pretty,” he admits quietly, his finger dashing against your skin. “And your company is… tolerable.”

“Yeah, you’re not too bad yourself, Reindeer Games.” It comes out rushed, breathy, and a small moan of pain (or is it?) punctuates the end of your sentence as he drags a nail over your skin.

“Do not call me that. Or I will have to punish you.”

When did you decide to court danger?

“Are you threatening me with a good time?”

“Perhaps I am threatening you with the absence of one.”

Fast as lightning, Loki removes his touch from you. “You are still feverish. Perhaps you should take off your shirt.”

“You mean your shirt.” Your heart thumps loudly against your ribcage, your hands now toying with the hem of the fabric. The tone between you two has shifted so drastically, the tension so thick it’s almost suffocating. You sit up, twisting to see Loki lying on his side, his eyes dark and half-lidded.

You maintain eye contact as you grip the end of the shirt, slowly pulling it as it exposes, bit by bit, the upper half of your thighs, your underwear, your stomach, your breasts, until you pull it over your head and toss it to the side. Loki stares at you all the while, a hungry look in his eye, but does nothing.

“Lie back down,” he commands, running a finger over your bare side. “Perhaps now you will be able to cool off.”

He twirls the ends of your hair around his fingers as you do as he says, the warmth of your center now the focus of your attention as it thrums.

Loki props you against him, on your side again, his fingers dancing across your midriff, moving up until he’s tracing the tops of your breasts and ghosting over your nipples.

Your back arches almost unconsciously, pressing into him where he meets you with equal pressure.

Experimentally you gyrate over his erection, making sure to keep your movements slow and agonizing. His hands skim over your breasts until he takes one in his hand, rolling your nipple between his fingers until they pebble.

His head falls onto your shoulder as you keep with your tantalizing dance over his hips, his breathing growing ragged. He tweaks and pulls at your nipples, squeezing and palming your breasts until it’s the only thing that clouds your mind.

“Are you—are you still warm?” he asks, evidently trying and failing to keep his composure as you buck your ass against him particularly hard.

“You tell me.”

He flicks over your breast in response, your head falling back with a barely held back moan.

“Maybe you should take off your pants,” you suggest with a sigh.

“Maybe I should take off yours.”

“I’m not wearing any, remember?”

Loki stills, which makes you do the same. He shifts, gently guiding you to lie on your back. The confusion must be clear as day on your face, because Loki stares at you with those intense green eyes of his as he climbs on top of you.

Your faces are level, his eyes scanning every inch. You’re not sure where this is coming from; one minute he’s all over your breasts and the next he’s quiet and on top of you. He buries his face in your neck for what feels like the millionth time today, setting off a reaction that sends another wave of want to your core.

This time he sucks on your neck, and you gasp. Your hands move to bury into his hair, but Loki pins your arms to the sides by your wrists. You writhe underneath him as he marks you with tongue and teeth.

He peppers kisses around your neck, your throat, your collarbone as he grinds into you. Letting out a small groan, he moves to hover over your lips.

“Tell me to kiss you,” he whispers hoarsely. “Do it. Now.”

The grip on your wrists has slackened and you take the opportunity to pull Loki’s face to yours. Hungry and passionate is what the kiss is: his mouth moves quickly, in sync with yours, as though to make sure every bit of this is real and not just a fever dream. You savor it, the taste of him, leaving you dizzy and delirious with every swipe of his tongue and graze of his teeth against your lips. It’s almost rough, the way he kisses you, but it fits the urgency you feel. You don’t want to have it any other way.

He travels down until he’s suckling at your breasts, and you do everything in your power to hold in the moan that rises in your throat. All you can feel is heat and slick and the pulsing of your blood, overcome with the need to be filled to the brim by him.

You’re about to fumble with his pants when he trails a path of kisses down your torso, stopping when he reaches between your legs.

You’re practically trembling with anticipation now. Seeing Loki in between your legs, a wicked grin on his face, has you wetter than you’ve ever gotten in life. He spreads you apart, settling between them, and feathers kisses over your inner thighs.

“Loki,” you say through gritted teeth, your pussy clenching as he nears your sweet center. “Stop teasing.”

He shifts forward, kissing your hips, your stomach jumping underneath him. Then, with a mischievous glint in his eyes, he bares his teeth, scraping over your skin and biting down on the fabric of your underwear.

He slides one side down, his mouth dragging over your thigh, your underwear between his teeth; he does the same to the other side, and again he goes. All the way, pulling your underwear down with his teeth until they’re around your ankles. He discards it lazily, adding it to the growing pile of clothes, and at this point you’re nothing but a whimpering mess.

“So this is the source of your sweet smell,” he mutters as he lowers his head between your legs. You’re shaking lightly, wound tight from the excitement, and when Loki inhales the scent of you, long and drawn out, you almost want to cum right there and then.

“Absolutely divine,” he comments. Then he’s placing his tongue flat against you, your head falling back against the pillow, unable to hold in the moan that spills from your lips.

It’s like an explosion of little lights, you think distantly. Little stars bursting from one touch.

He lifts his head from your cunt with a mischievous grin. “I like that sound, little one. Let’s see how many times I can make you do it again.”

The feeling of Loki’s head between your legs, his mouth inside you, is incomparable. He dives into your cavern, his dexterous tongue causing you to sigh praises that seem to only spur him on. It’s a steady, swirling motion that drives you insane, your pelvis arching.

Then he’s moving up to swipe over your clit, and every nerve ending in your body sizzles and frays, another loud moan of his name ripped from your throat. With a grip of steel, he holds your thighs down, parted wide, as he assaults your clit with sucks and nibbles and licks.

“Loki,” you pant, hips bucking against his mouth. Your insides begin to coil in preparation, your walls clenching around Loki’s tongue. “Loki, I—”

He hums, almost like he’s questioning you, and the vibration on your sensitive parts is enough to send you over the edge.

The orgasm that overtakes you is powerful, pulsing through every part of your body as you whisper his name like a prayer. Only Loki doesn’t stop—he licks up every drop that leaks from you, and it’s enough stimulation for another powerful orgasm to build.

His lips latch onto your clit, sucking rhythmically, as his tongue swipes and swirls around the bundle of nerves.

“Loki,” you try to say, only it comes out a breathy whine, “I want to go down on you too—ah—”

He plunges a finger deep within you, curling against your G-spot in time with his sucks.

“Fucking hell, Loki,” you grind out, your fingernails digging into his scalp as you rotate your hips on his face. You can feel the steady climb to another precipice of an orgasm, as well as the tiny smirk that plays on Loki’s face against you.

Your grip tightens on his hair as he speeds up his movements; rapid, quick swipes on your clit, his fingers pumping in and out of you shallowly. Your walls begin to clench at the splinters of release—

“Not yet,” he says, removing his lips and fingers from you with a dark grin.

Frustration wells up within you, but it’s shadowed by the undeniable thrill that shoots towards your center. If you’re understanding Loki right—which you do most of the time—he isn’t finished with you just yet.

He crawls on top of you like a prowling animal, the pure lust in his eyes mirroring what you feel. He captures your lips in a kiss, languid and seductive, his hands cradling your face.

The juxtaposition of the entire situation hits you like a freight train. He’s gentle when he’s holding you like this, like you’re made of glass, but the urgency with which he grinds into your naked mound detonates another explosion of emotions. One action is delicate, the other rough. Contrast bolting through you at the same time and colliding into one as pleasure.

“You’re amazing,” you sigh into his mouth, and you can feel Loki suck in a breath, pausing at your words. Spotting your chance, you roll on top of him, straddling his waist with a smirk.

Loki’s eyes open, a ghost of bewilderment etched onto his face at the sudden shift, and then when he sees your expression he transforms his own into his usual confident half-grin. As though he’s merely amused by this whole situation—but he isn’t fooling you.

“I didn’t think you had it in you, little one,” he drawls, sliding his hands up your sides.

You grab his forearms, pushing them down to his sides as you rock against the clothed tent in his pants. Loki could easily overpower you, you know that, free his arms from your not so vicelike grip, but he lets you. Lets you pin his arms to his sides just as he did to you.

Lowering your head, you run your nose along the expanse of his chest, up to his neck where it’s your turn to inhale deeply. He smells just like the shirt you were wearing, only ten times more potent, and it sends a fresh wave of heady arousal to wash over you.

“Not yet,” you echo his words from earlier, your grip tightening on his wrists as you grind down into him. You can feel Loki about to respond with a snarky remark, so you silence him by suctioning your lips on his neck. Your one track mind has only one goal: mark him with bruises that are of your doing. Claim him as yours.

You lift off him with a little pop; not a very sexy sound, but Loki seems to enjoy it with the way his hips seem to be moving of their own accord. You kiss across his throat before suctioning again on another spot right below his jaw.

This time, you play a little rough.

Loki’s hips jerk upwards as your teeth rake over his skin, his breath fanning over your hair. “Little minx,” he utters, groaning a second later as you push your center against him with a harder bite to his neck.

“Pants off, Loki,” you whisper.

He frees one arm from your grip and haphazardly waves his hand, and your swollen sex comes in contact with the flesh of his hard and heavy cock.

Just as Loki’s about to jerk up and into you, you lift your hips off of him. It kills you to do it, but the teasing, the foreplay, causes you to feel a smidge of power.

“I said, not yet,” you say, sliding down his body until your face is level with his cock.

His length throbs in front of you, and somehow, somewhere in the deep recesses of your mind you think you’ve never seen a cock as beautiful as his. Curious, you lick a stripe down the underside of it, from the base up to the tip.

Loki masks his hiss, turning it into a cheeky exhale, folding an arm under his head. “Go on then. Impress me.”

Whatever intimidation game he’s trying to play, feigning nonchalance, it’s not going to work on you. You take a moment to examine the bead of precum that leaks from his slit, your fingers at the base of his erection, and drag the tip of your tongue over it before sliding your lips over the blunt head.

You don’t bob up and down; unmoving, merely suckling and swirling your tongue around the head of his cock. His hands fist into your hair as your hand and mouth begin to pump up and down his shaft, and just like that promises and praise fall from his lips like wine.

You chance a glance at him, and are utterly pleased by the sight. Loki’s eyes are scrunched shut, barely containing his pleasure, breathing hard through his nose. To have him, a god, reduced to his most carnal needs at your ministrations fills you with gratification. You take him further into your mouth until you can feel him pulsing with almost release, and then you lift off him with a sly grin.

“Not yet,” you repeat in almost a teasing, singsong kind of way.

Loki glares at you, but it’s hardly threatening. You manage to laugh as you level your faces, kissing him hot on the mouth and guiding your slick entrance to his throbbing cock.

You hover over him, not fully seated, his cock just stretching you the slightest bit. Your self-restraint cracks with every passing second you remain unmoving, until Loki takes your hips in his hands and brings you down on top of him, seating you on top of him.

He stretches you in a way you can only describe as full. You lean forward, planting your hands on his lean chest, and rock against him, eyes closing at the feeling.

It’s nothing you could ever conjure up in your wild dreams—he fills you, grinding in time with you and sending you into a barely controlled frenzy. But you keep your movements slow, relishing the way you can feel him throb inside you. Everything feels so new, a first you’ve never experienced: each touch, movement, kiss, no matter how small seems to be amplified in the small ship. It fills you with an unfamiliar, delicious kind of fire, boiling inside you.

“Not—not bad,” Loki grunts, unable to maintain the once casual tone he used before. “For a mortal.”

You swivel your hips and rake your nails over his chest, and Loki’s mouth parts lightly. “Not bad,” you remark, squeezing your muscles around him, “Reindeer Games.”

It’s Loki’s turn to seize his opportunity, it seems, because his eyes fly open, a wild, hungry look to him as he flips you underneath him, his cock still buried in you. The shift in position drives you a little mad, your pussy clenching unconsciously around him.

“What did I say,” he asks dangerously, plowing in and out of you with slow, agonizing strokes, “about calling me that?”

“You’d punish me.” A delicious shiver runs down your spine as the words come out.

“Wonderful that you remember. Because you’re about to forget everything except my name.”

And with that promise, Loki brings your wrists over your head, pinning them above you with a firm grip, his mouth seeking yours as he begins to rut into you more senselessly now. He swallows the moan you make when the tip of his cock hits a particularly sensitive spot inside you, making sure to angle it right where you’re most sensitive.

He doesn’t cease his movements when he latches onto your breast, roughly biting and sucking until you’re whimpering soft cries and pleas and praises. His other hand caresses the curve of your hip and ass before he presses on your clit.

If you were seeing stars earlier, right now you’re seeing entire galaxies explode behind your eyes. The sensations are overwhelming, your legs spread wide open, and just when you think you’ve felt it all, Loki takes you by surprise and pulls you both into a kneeling position. He bounces you on his cock with unrelenting speed, and your arms find their way around his shoulders as you approach orgasm yet again.

You subconsciously flex your walls around him, biting down on his shoulder to prepare you for an orgasm—only Loki slows to a stop, gently laying you back down on your back.

The release that built inside you ebbs away, and you clench around Loki, a silent signal for him to continue. Only Loki pulls himself out of you, resting atop you with his face buried in your neck, suckling another bruise into your skin.

“Loki,” you breathe, his hand cupping your breast, “Loki, please.”

The god has the nerve to smile against you, you feel it. “What did you say to me earlier?”

“You said it to me first, in case you’ve forgotten.”

Loki lifts his head, his eyes boring into yours, blown with desire and yet… something has shifted. Something else is there.

“You are extraordinary,” he tells you, brushing hair away from your forehead. “You have always been the object of my attention, ever since you walked into the board room on your first day.”

Your throat closes with the genuine admission, and you swallow the lump in your throat. “Yeah, well, I always thought you were pretty neat. Maybe we can talk later and finish what we started?”

Loki chuckles, his eyes crinkling, and presses a kiss to your lips. “Smart woman.”

It’s almost as if the tender moment doesn’t happen at all, because Loki’s arms snake underneath you to bring your hips closer to his, plunging into you and reaching a deeper spot that makes both of you groan in earnest. Whatever just happened, you can probably mark it for later with a good sit-down conversation. Right now your focus is on his cock inside you, and you don’t hesitate to tell him how good he’s making you feel.

“Hands above your head,” he commands.

You oblige, and his head immediately dips to your breasts. He’s kissing, licking everywhere he can reach, while your hands tangle in his hair, his shoulders, his muscled back. Your back arches, his cock thrusting mercilessly into you, burying himself to the hilt and brushing against that sweet, sweet spot over and over.

You don’t know how you’re ever going to come back from this. Loki buried within you, your cunt stretching to accommodate him, perfectly slotting into each other. His fingers rub against your clit, adding to your already overloaded senses and fuck, it’s as if all the effects from the foreplay and your heat come crashing down in one big tidal wave.

The speed at which Loki’s pounding into you is almost ungodly, unreal. Your mouth hangs open, your orgasm building with extraordinary intensity—

Almost as quickly as it builds, you’re tipped over the edge, a broken wail of his name accompanying the spasms in your lower body. You’ve never had an orgasm as shattering as this one, your cunt fluttering around Loki even as you slowly come down from your high.

“That’s it,” Loki says, jaw set. “Very good, little one.”

He doesn’t stop, doesn’t even slow down—he continues to wreck you, the sounds of your coupling obscenely filling the air. You want him to feel the seismic pleasure you just did—so you clamp around him, rotate your hips in little circles in time with his thrusts.

“You’re absolutely amazing,” you tell him, watching how he slowly unravels with every new praise. You tell him how good he makes you feel, how good he is, perfect and incredible and oh, the things you would do to—

Loki bends down and kisses you ferociously, licking every part of your mouth and biting on your lips as he bucks, going rock hard and cumming inside you. His movements slow, just a fraction, as you let him ride out his high.

“Glorious woman,” he mutters, his eyes still closed as he kisses over every inch of your face.

You’re about to return with a compliment of your own, but are cut off when Loki grinds into you again.

“A-are you still hard?” you ask, a giggle rising to your throat whose tail end turns into another moan.

“I’ve lost count how many times I’ve made you make that wonderful sound,” he says, hips stirring back to life as you feel a fresh bout of slick moisture gush down your legs. “I think that’s quite a success.”

And then he’s flipping you over, on your stomach, pulling your ass up and sliding his still-hard cock back into your dripping folds, reaching depths you didn’t even know you had, evidently ready for another round.

Through your half-lidded eyes, you make out the faint outline of stars—whether they’re from the pleasure you feel or actually there, you don’t know.

-- -- --

You’d think overstimulation would best you, but your entire afternoon—evening, morning, you can’t really tell, space is just completely dark—has been you and Loki all over each other all over the ship.

You can’t tell how long it’s been, but you can feel the ship beginning to descend into Earth’s atmosphere.

“Hey. Hey, Loki—ah, yes, there—”

You’ve also lost track of how many orgasms you’ve had.

You writhe underneath him, searing hot ecstasy blistering in your core as Loki sucks on your clit, his teeth just lightly scraping over it, his fingers smoothing over your inner thighs.

“You taste so sweet, little one,” he murmurs against you, licking through your folds.

“Don’t distract me.” You swat at his head weakly. “I think we’re here.”

“Haven’t touched the ground,” he says, shrugging, making to dive back into your well-spent cunt.

You stop him before he can seduce you into letting him taste you again, and again, as he’d been doing all day.

Whatever warmth you were feeling earlier has completely subsided from your body, and even your mind feels clearer. As soon as you came down from whatever it was, all that was left was a blissful afterglow that you still feel until now.

Surprisingly, you and Loki haven’t had any awkward, dead air—granted, he has been buried in your thighs and yours in his most of the trip. You thought maybe as soon as the strange fever subsided, you’d both be back to whatever it was before this, but apparently not. It seems to have opened up a door, an opportunity, one you both mutually want to walk through together.

“We still have time,” Loki purrs, caressing your folds with his thumbs.

“You’re insatiable,” you sigh, and Loki takes this as a sign to delve back into your warmth, his tongue gliding into you for the umpteenth time today.

“You love it.”

You and Loki disembark the Quinjet, you with shaky legs and him with a sort of spring in his step. You’re not sure what to tell the others when you see them, a tinge of worry sneaking into your bubble of sexual satisfaction.

As soon as you walk into the board room, you’re met with the expectant eyes of the Avengers, studying the pair of you with varying expressions.

And then Loki’s sliding his arm around your waist, bringing you closer to him, and the room erupts into shouts of “Called it!” and “No!” and you can’t help but laugh at the raucousness of it all.

“I’m glad we couldn’t take the Bifrost coming back here,” you tell Loki quietly.

“As am I,” he whispers back.

“Yeah, about that,” Stark cuts in, stepping forward, “yeah… you totally could have used it.”

#by belle #smut #loki x you #loki x reader #loki laufeyson #loki fanfiction #loki fanfic #loki smut #loki imagine #yeah... yeah this VERY long #tom hiddleston imagine #sex pollen

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