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cassidy⚧ • the horrors & the wild • etc • sideblogs • ao3 • spotify

[escapefromcamazotz]

what happened first for you

first kiss

first time ingesting alcohol (in a nonreligious context)

i haven’t done either

Voting ended onAug 20

[hollanovscuckchair]

and what if i said that shane hollander doesn't want a threesome with anyone but two ilya rozanovs. what if i said ilya is very horny about this fact and makes a cast of his dick. what if i said that he makes shane suck the silicone mould of his penis whilst he fucks shane with shane on his hands and knees with the dildo gripped between shane's big hands as shane sobs that the silicone doesn't taste right so then they switch and ilya fucks his mouth whilst dildo!ilya fucks his hole (still controlled by actual ilya, he is bent over shane and fucking his hips forward into shane's mouth as he jacks the dildo in and out). and what if i said then shane starts sobbing with ilya's cock in his mouth bc dildo!ilya doesn't feel right in his ass either and he wants ilya to come in his hole. and what if i said ilya just coos meanly at him the whole time, calling him a silly little slut, stroking his hair in mock sympathy then bullying him for being so cock hungry. and what if i said ilya goes back to fucking shane's hole and makes shane lie with his face smooshed into the mattress, sucking on the silicone dildo like a pacifier, just drooling all over himself, still whining that it isn't right and ilya just laughs at him. what if i said all that?

[dragongirlsnout]

Have you ever considered that Sisyphus might've just been in for the love of the game? My bus driver hits the same curb every morning

[notforeveryonesk6666-deactivate]

someone who texts you boring little details of their day, just so they have a reason to talk to you

[ee-pomelo]

the end

[mymultifandomhell]

hello ilya 🥰 / ?

[all-or-nothing-baby]

CHERIK WIP

drunk!cherik, first class/mutant recruitment road trip era, pre slash (currently), pov erik.

.

“You like having a friend,” Charles claims. “In fact, you very much like having me, specifically, as your friend. And I don't even have to read your mind to know it.”

Erik's lips quirk. “I wouldn't know the difference; I've never had a friend before you. And anyway, you like me so much you want to kiss me, and I don't need to be a mind-reader to know that. So, what of it?”

There, he's finally said the words he's been ruminating over for days now, outloud this time. He's also managed to do it in a conversational yet still rather direct way, as he and Charles stumble down the Toronto alleyway, arm in arm, each considerably more than three sheets to the wind.

Charles is silver-tongued, granted, but he surely won't be able to worm his way out of acknowledging the tension between them, not now Erik has brought it up so plainly. Unless he believes Erik to be jesting, Erik supposes.

Erik was secretly rather glad the rumoured ‘Wolverine’ prick had told them to go fuck themselves several hours earlier, seeing as their flight isn't until mid-morning tomorrow. It meant they'd consequently spent the last few hours pouring hard liquor into each other's glasses and some of their hopes and dreams into each other's hearts. Well, Charles had, at least. Erik's only had killing Shaw to dream about for the past eighteen years. 

“Erik, what on earth are you…?” Charles trails off, scoffing at Erik's remark and making a show of rolling his eyes. He then hiccups, loudly, before practically giggling like a school girl, the last three glasses of Spanish sherry cask Scotch traitorously giving the game away on his behalf. 

He's not getting away that easily. Erik ignores his friend's faux confusion and presses on. “I don't like to play games, Charles,” he warns, sobering ever-so slightly. “I just happen to know that you know that I know. You know?” 'Ever-so slightly’ being the obvious operative words. Erik is almost as shit-faced as Charles.

There is now a very definite giggle bubbling up and out of Charles's pale throat. Slowly but surely, the sound turns to full-blown, drunken laughter. Hooting, whooping and all.

Someone shreiks for them to shut the hell up! from someplace above.

Erik point-blank refuses to join in with Charles's ridiculous merriment this time around. Which, honestly, is no mean feat. 

“I'm sorry, Erik,” Charles eventually says after catching his breath again, “but that really did sound very silly.”

Charles's hand reaches for Erik's shoulder. Erik regards it for a moment, before turning his attention fully to his friend again. Charles is beaming at Erik now, so open and unabashed—until he catches Erik's enquiring, sultry eye, that is. The telepath’s cheeks then flush like spilled claret on a starched white linen tablecloth, and Erik commits the particularly pretty shade of red to memory as a possible future bargaining chip in some harmless argument or the like. Or for some other, as of yet unnamed purpose. He's just about drunk enough to convince himself he might not leave the moment he gets the information on Shaw's whereabouts. Or if he does, that maybe Charles will want to join him. He immediately does his best to shake both thoughts from his mind, though. Wishful thinking can be a horribly dangerous venture, something Erik unfortunately learned the hard way.

Charles continues. “And anyway,”—another hiccup—“that last statement simply isn't true; you, my metal-bending friend, are quite partial to a tinker on the old checkerboard. Which is a discovery I'm eager to persue as it turns out I'm rather fond of letting you win.”

Charles bites the inside of his cheeks. It makes Erik a little mad with jealousy.

“Sure,” Erik agrees sarcastically. “But you're not wrong about the former, at least when I'm playing against you, Seelenfreund.” The smile Charles gifts Erik with at learning his new moniker is positively blinding. Rather like looking directly at the sun, Erik muses. “But you're trying to change the subject,” he scolds in an attempt not to wander too far from the current task at hand.

Erik slows their pace a little.

“Hmm? What subject’s that, dear?” Charles asks, absentmindedly trying to pick a piece of lint from the breast of his jacket.

“The one where you want to kiss me, Liebling.”

Charles now looks abruptly across at Erik as if every drop of his blood containing every drop of the alcohol he's consumed this evening has somehow just drained from his body, all at once.

“Oh, that,” he mutters before all but gulping his acknowledgement down. Then, with what is either reluctance, retinance or resignation, Erik can't tell which, Charles stops, straightens himself to full height and squares up to Erik, also stopping Erik in his tracks. In a much firmer manner, looking up at Erik, Charles boldly says, “What of it?” looking Erik dead in the eye as he borrows Erik’s quip from moments ago.

Erik is nothing but wholly delighted with that answer.

He hadn't really thought Charles would dare be honest with him, nor indeed himself. Not over this. Therefore, he hadn't really thought about what would or could possibly be the outcome, if that were the case. Well, alright, Erik very much had thought about it. He just hadn't imagined any of the things he'd thought about doing with Charles would actually be placed on the table. He hadn't even thought Charles was truly aware of the table's existence, until now.  

Charles, though, apparently fully aware of all the metaphorical furniture in the metaphorical room, is now metaphorically standing atop the table, singing loudly while wildly waving his arms in the air. 

Erik grins—somewhat shark-like, he's been told—before going in for the kill. 

“Have you ever kissed a man?” 

Charles gulps for real this time, blinking rapidly and hands trembling so much he jails them in his trouser pockets. Then he seems to find his courage from some reserve unknown to Erik.

“Never one as handsome,” Charles says, licking his lips. “And never, ever in the way I want to kiss you, Erik Lehnsherr.”

.

not been round these parts properly in foreverrrr and not made any fanfic/art etc in even longer bc audhd burnout is a bitch ToT anyways, about a month ago I announced I was falling down the rabbot hole... which I was/still am BUT last night I ended up having my gazillionth random rewatch of x men first class and ofc got immediately dragged back into the cherik pit, kicking and screaming (a blatent lie; I am loving it). so, here's the first draft of the start of a first kiss (and maybe more?) wip that I unbelievably boshed out today, for the maybe one person who follows me that might be interested. @mercurialkitty my lovely mutual lol it's you xD

[boonjur]

SPIDERMAN BND SPOILERS

[tsunflowers]

the thing with romance for me is that you need to convince me through behavior and dialogue that the characters enjoy spending time with each other and seek each other out. even with enemies to lovers a foundation of mutual respect goes a long way. you can be like "he's the youngest ever general of the dragon slaying guild and I'm secretly a dragon, but he's the best swordsman I've ever fought and our sparring matches are the only thing that make me feel alive ever since my family was killed." if he implies something similar then bam, you have a reason for the two of them to hang out even though one of them knows it's dangerous. you can't be like "he's a dragon slayer and he's mean to me all the time but the flex of his arms when he swings his sword is just too sexy." it does not matter how many times you have your protagonist say "I shouldn't be drawn to him... but I am" if you never show a real moment of connection between them that draws them together

[drmellking]

a coworker called me pretty today. blushing, giggling, kicking my feet. i love girls sooooo much

[drmellking]

guys u don't understand. she's so pretty and funny and amazing and so kind and nice and i have a big fat lesbian crush on her haha

[drmellking]

WE KISSED NSHSBSHSHBSHSHSHSHDHHDGDGDHDH

[whoreiorcats]

i think ao3 should have a feature like an anonymous kudos but instead of kudos its "i jorked it to completion" and you can leave as many of these as you want and obviously authors would opt-in to this feature on a per-fic basis but like. i want the stats, you know.

[whoreiorcats]

jerk it to fanfiction??? noooo bro i was just joshing ya. wouldnt that be crazy? haha. fucking got you bro i cant believe youre so gullible. what a far fetched notion. that people would do such a thing. cant believe you fell for it

[your-void-senpai]

Ilya buys one of those dildo fucking machines so Shane can finally get railed on both ends at once, which doesn't entirely work because Shane wants them both to be his dick. So Ilya starts leaving him tied up with the machine running until he's wrung dry, and then he comes back to actually fuck him.

[secretdawn0521]

been thinking abt her alot recently

[2well2water]

i need everyone to get it out of their sick and twisted minds that body hair is inherently unhygienic lmao the next person who tells me they shave for hygiene reasons is getting elbowed in the faceeeeeee. like okay. shave then. and i hope you and your sad bald armpits and sad bald puss somehow enjoy your yeast infections?? might even get a two for one if you’re lucky. the only place it’s okay to be bald is your head actually.

[connorstorriegifs]

Connor Storrie | Saint Laurent - Fall 26 | 08/14/26

[all-or-nothing-baby]

“Jesus,” Shane mutters, swallowing thickly when his mouth fills with guilty saliva. 

Rozanov steps dangerously closer to him, bringing big hands to stroke the lengths of Shane's arms, swiftly up before trailing them almost painfully slowly down again, the callouses on his fingertips snagging the silky material of Shane's track top; one snag for each of Shane's sins. Those big hands then circle Shane's wrists and Shane thinks not of shackles but of cock rings and wow, he is so fucking fucked. He feels Rozanov's fierce heat through his clothes and at once wants to sob at the fact they aren't tucked safely away in either of their hotel rooms, where neither of them would be wearing fucking anything by now.

Shit, this is such a bad idea.

“I am not usually into Bible, but if you want to call me Son of God is okay, I guess. I am very special,” Rozanov deadpans. His face paints a dour picture with zero hint of smirk, and Shane wants him.

Rozanov's deft fingers then leave Shane's wrists bereft, only to give Shane whiplash as he starts to trace along the waistband of Shane's sweats, dragging Shane's gaze up to that pretty face that's pretty like an engraved knife handle is pretty, when a long tongue licks at what Shane knows to be delicious lips, unhurried and with obvious purpose—and Shane needs that mouth enveloping his already thickening cock, stat.

Instead of ripping off all of Rozanov's clothes and shoving him into a nearby bush like both their bodies want him to, Shane says, “Yeah, you're special alright. A particularly special kind of asshole,” trying not to smile and failing miserably.

“Well, you would know,” Rozanov gifts him, raising a single brow right along with the stakes. Then it's as if he can read Shane's mind when he says, “So, you bring us out here to get naked and fuck in bushes like Oasis song, huh?” 

Shane's brain stammers over that. Then his words do, too. “I—what? No! I mean, uh, yeah, maybe, but I don't just—wait, did Oasis really write a song about that?” He thinks about this for a second before asking, “And you like Oasis, Rozanov?” There's a slightly amused tone to the question. Whenever he's wondered about the kind of music Rozanov might be into, he's only been able to imagine shit like techno, maybe hard trance.

“Clearly more than you, philistine,” Rozanov replies snidely as he slips those gorgeously warm hands under both of the tops Shane is wearing. He begins smoothing over the planes of Shane's torso like he wants to climb inside, clever fingers climbing each of Shane's ribs then eager palms trailing down his flanks. Up and down, up and down. Shane's skin sings at the contact, his heart thumping out an erratic beat to the tune, and he has to gulp down the near-constant stream of needy saliva his glands are now wildly producing at the thought of what might come next.

Both of us, hopefully.

He allows his eyes to close as he imagines exactly what he wants, for just half a filthy, glorious second. 

Then he's asking, “Man, how are you always so warm?” with genuine wonder, trying to dampen the feeling of just how much he likes that.

How much he likes Ilya Rozanov.

Then he jokes, “It's not exactly Florida out here,” just in case that was a weird thing to say. 

Rozanov's patented Are You Stupid, Hollander? face makes the second appearance of the evening. Not that Shane takes mental notes of that sort of shit or anything. 

“Silly Canuck,” Rozanov spits. “First, I am very hot. Second, I am Russian. Springtime here for me pretty much is Florida.”

And why does Shane want this arrogant Mean Girl so bad he'd allow himself to be called all the derogatory names under the sun if it meant he gets to have this?

Always, he thinks, and then immediately disgards such a ridiculous notion.

What the hell is wrong with him tonight?

.

a (mostly unedited) snippet from my hollanov wip I'm writing for my bestie @shealynn88 titled That's Me In The Spotlight (Losing My Religion).

[burins]

watching my promised afternoon thunderstorm slip from a 90% chance to a 20% chance.... baby come back i can change