okay i’m gonna say it: fandoms are kinda dying on tumblr, and they’re starving because nobody reblogs anymore.
like… i don’t wanna be that person but be for real?? likes are cute and all but they do nothing for creators. ZERO. NADA. a reblog is literally the oxygen mask keeping this blue hellsite alive. you say you “love” a fic, an edit, a gifset? then BABES… reblog it. boost it. let it breathe.
half the time creators are out here pouring their entire soul, spine, AND three vertebrae into something just for it to get 200 likes and 3 reblogs, two of which are their own. that’s why people stop posting. that’s why fandoms feel empty. content doesn’t magically fall from the sky — it comes from people who feel seen.
and i promise you: reblogging is free. it costs you like 0.2 seconds and suddenly you’re personally responsible for keeping a whole fandom alive. congrats!! so yeah. if you like something? reblog it. scream in the tags. yell. keyboard smash. put sparkles. do whatever. just don’t let creators feel like they’re shouting into a void.
reblogs feed creators. reblogs keep fandoms thriving. reblogs literally save lives (okay maybe not literally but u get it).
support the creators you love !!!!!! or else we’re all gonna be sitting in empty tags like clowns.
Tags: smut, enemies to lovers, sexting, nudes, public groping, size kink, unprotected sex, oral (f receiving), Dom Changbin, rough sex, breeding kink, soft aftercare
Word count: 4.7k
Summary: A drunk dare. One obscene nude you should’ve deleted months ago. You send it to the loudmouth classmate you hate most—Changbin. What you don’t expect? His filthy response. Or how fast it spirals into late-night thirst traps, voice notes, and him promising to fuck you so good you won’t be able to walk.
This work contains mature themes, MINORS DO NOT INTERACT!!
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You didn’t even want to go out that night.
It had been one of those weeks—back-to-back deadlines, sleepless nights, and that argument with Changbin during Tuesday’s group presentation that had left you pacing your room afterward, teeth clenched, cheeks hot.
He was too much.
Too loud. Too confident. Too all over the place.
Every class, every group chat, every hallway you tried to exist in—he was there. Smirking. Teasing. Rolling his eyes at your notes, talking over you during discussions, always finding ways to get under your skin like it was a personal hobby.
But your girls had insisted. “You need a break. You need tequila.”
So you’d gone.
Lip gloss, crop top, shots lined up like soldiers.
By midnight, the living room was a haze of heat and laughter. Someone had started a game of truth or dare with twisted rules. Everyone was half-drunk and full of bad ideas.
You should’ve seen it coming. The moment your turn came and the bottle pointed at you, a few smirks lit up around the circle like a warning.
“Okay,” Layla grinned, “truth or dare?”
You hesitated. Truth was safe. Predictable. But everyone had been choosing it all night, and you’d mocked them for it. Now it was your turn to be bold.
“Dare.”
Layla didn’t hesitate.
“Send a nude to Seo Changbin… or run a full lap around the football field naked. With a suction dildo stuck to your forehead.”
The room howled.
Someone immediately got up to rummage in a drawer. “I have the dildo!”
Your stomach dropped.
You tried to laugh it off, eyes wide. “Are you fucking insane?”
“You’ve got beef with him, right?” someone snorted.
“This is perfect.”
“You’re always bickering, it’ll shake him up.”
It wasn’t the nudity that scared you. It wasn’t even Changbin.
It was what was already in your camera roll.
A photo you’d taken months ago during a particularly filthy night, when you were feeling reckless and painfully needy. The lights had been low, your skin warm, your thoughts wicked. You’d spread yourself wide open on the sheets, wet and glistening, lips parted, your own fingers pulling at your skin. Your face was in it. Your expression ruined.
You had stared at it afterward, thinking: This is too much. No one can ever see this.
But you hadn’t deleted it.
And now… your hand hovered over it. Over the send button. The whole room was watching you, waiting.
You felt drunk. Braver than you should’ve been.
So you said, too calmly, “Fine.”
And tapped send.
It only took thirty seconds for regret to sink in like poison.
What had you just done?
He was going to lose his mind. Or worse, not react at all. He could ruin you. Show people. Mock you in class. Bring it up next time you tried to speak during a lecture.
You curled into the couch, face hot, eyes burning from the alcohol and the humiliation chewing through your stomach. Your phone buzzed once.
Then twice.
You turned it over.
Changbin 💢:
Did you mean to send that?
You stared at your phone like it had grown teeth.
Your thumb hovered over the keyboard.
Every possible answer felt wrong. You almost typed “ignore it”, but deleted it. Then you typed:
“It was a dare. Just forget it.”
Another ping.
Changbin 💢:
That’s not the kind of photo you send as a dare.
You swallowed.
Your face was burning. All the background noise in the living room—the music, the laughter, the clinking glasses—faded to a soft murmur. The heat of the dare was starting to wear off, replaced by a sick rush of adrenaline and humiliation.
Changbin 💢:
Jesus fucking Christ.
I… I didn’t know you looked like that.
You’ve been walking around class with that between your legs?
You tightened your thighs instinctively.
You typed:
“It was a stupid dare. I didn’t mean anything by it.”
But he wasn’t letting it go.
Changbin 💢:
You already had that pic?
That wasn’t a selfie. That was planned.
You took that for someone. You were gonna send it eventually.
You bit your lip.
“It’s old. I never sent it to anyone.”
Changbin 💢:
That makes it worse.
You paused.
“Why?”
Changbin 💢:
Because I’ve never wanted to fuck someone I hate more than I do right now.
You looked so good. So fucking wet. Like you needed someone to take care of it.
You blinked.
Your stomach flipped. The burn between your legs sharpened. You weren’t sure if it was arousal or pure nerves—probably both.
“This is insane.”
“You’re insane.”
“You’re still the asshole who makes me want to throw things in class.”
You deleted it all.
Instead:
“You’ve seen it now. Can you just forget it?”
The reply came back instantly.
Changbin 💢:
No fucking way.
Changbin 💢:
You’re seriously gonna act like you didn’t send that on purpose? Like you don’t want me thinking about it?
Changbin 💢:
You want me hard for you, don’t you?
“No.” “Fuck off.” “Stop.”
You didn’t send any of those.
“You’re full of yourself.”
Changbin 💢:
Nah, princess. You’re the one dripping in that pic, not me.
You closed your eyes.
He was unraveling you.
The way he talked in person was always irritating—too loud, too smug. But here? In text? At 1:03 a.m.?
He was… different. Sharper. Controlled. Bold in a way that went straight to your core.
“You’re lucky I’m drunk.”
Changbin 💢:
You think I need you drunk for this?
I’d still be hard for you even if we were sober in the library.
You bit back a noise.
Your thighs rubbed together involuntarily.
Changbin 💢:
You want me to send something back? Would that make it fair? Even the score?
Your fingers twitched.
“You’re bluffing.”
Changbin 💢:
Try me.
Your pulse quickened.
“You’re not actually going to—”
Ping.
The photo loaded slowly.
Dark sweatpants. No shirt. His abs were tight, skin glowing with a warm amber sheen like he’d taken the pic right after a workout. His hand tugged the waistband down low, and the bulge beneath was unmistakable—huge, thick, pressed to the fabric like it was dying to be freed.
You inhaled, sharp.
The outline of his cock was ridiculous. Heavy. Thick at the base, curving up. The tip clearly outlined. The kind of size that made your body react before your brain caught up.
And his caption?
Changbin 💢:
Now you can imagine what’s gonna fill you the next time you talk back in class.
You didn’t realize your mouth had gone dry until you swallowed hard.
Someone from the living room called your name. “Babe! Your turn!”
“I’ll be right back,” you called, voice strained.
You grabbed your phone, pushed off the couch, and disappeared into the hallway. Somewhere quieter. Somewhere you could breathe.
And think.
And maybe—just maybe—look again.
Because for the first time since you’d met him, you weren’t sure if you hated him… or if you just didn’t know what to do with how badly you suddenly wanted him.
—
You thought you could outlast the tension.
After the photo he sent—the dick print, the way it looked too big to even be real, the caption that made your thighs clench—you told yourself it was just late-night chaos. That once the sun came up, you could pretend it hadn’t happened.
You left him on read.
Muted the conversation.
Avoided every look in class, kept your expression cold, distant.
But Changbin?
He was different now.
Quieter. Sharper. Dangerous.
He still joked with the guys. Still sat in the same row as always. But whenever your eyes flicked up, he was watching you—really watching. Like he could still see that photo of you spread open and dripping every time you bit your lip or crossed your legs.
And when your professor assigned a partner project and called out his name alongside yours?
You knew it was over.
Later that afternoon, the library was quiet. Too quiet. The air between you was thick with something unsaid as you stood beside where he sat, laptops open, pretending to focus.
You tried not to look at him.
Tried not to remember the outline of his cock stretching grey fabric. The way he’d said “what’s gonna fill you next time you talk back in class.”
Your body hadn’t forgotten.
You’d touched yourself to that image more times than you were ready to admit.
“You’ve been quiet,” he murmured, eyes on the screen.
You didn’t look at him. “I’m working.”
“Right.”
“That’s what you were doing the other night too, huh? Working?”
You stiffened.
“I didn’t take you for the type to keep that kind of photo in your phone. Or was it just waiting for someone better to see it?”
You finally turned. “Are you done?”
He leaned back slightly in his chair, smirking—but something darker hid behind his eyes. He leaned in towards you, low and quiet.
“No. Not even close.”
You didn’t notice when he stood. But you did feel it when he moved behind you.
At first, it was just his hand brushing your shoulder as he leaned to peek at your screen.
Then he didn’t move away.
Instead, you felt the heavy press of his chest behind you. His palm slid slowly—casually—over your back. Lower. Resting at the curve of your waist.
And then he shifted—just slightly—and you felt it.
The unmistakable weight of him.
Hard. Thick. Pressed right up against your ass.
Your breath hitched.
“Miss me?” he whispered.
Your cheeks burned. “You’re disgusting.”
“Am I?”
“Because this…” his hand flattened against your hip, pulling you subtly back into his body, into his cock—“says otherwise.”
You should’ve shoved him.
Should’ve snapped, slapped, screamed.
But your body betrayed you.
Your thighs clenched. Your breathing went shallow.
And when his fingers brushed the hem of your skirt, you didn’t move away.
If anything—you leaned back.
“You liked it,” he murmured, lips just behind your ear.
“You liked knowing I saw you like that. That I wanted to fuck you from the second that photo lit up my screen.”
“You’re full of shit.”
“You keep saying that,” he murmured, voice dropping lower, hungrier. “But your body doesn’t agree.”
His hand slid lower, palm resting on your ass now—really grabbing, squeezing, like it was his already. He rutted against you once, slow, just enough to let you feel the size of him again.
You gasped, barely holding in the noise.
“Poor thing,” he whispered.
“Trying so hard to act like you don’t want this cock stretching you open.”
You closed your eyes. “We’re in a fucking library.”
“And you’re soaked,” he growled. “Aren’t you?”
You were.
You hated him for it.
But God—you wanted more.
“Tell me to stop,” he said, voice a low rumble in your ear.
“Tell me you don’t want me pushing these panties to the side and sliding in right here.”
You didn’t say anything.
And neither did your body.
Because for the first time, you weren’t sure who was in control—him, or the ache between your legs screaming for more.
His grip on your waist didn’t loosen. If anything, it tightened—fingers flexing into the curve of your hips like he wanted to memorize the way you fit under his hands.
You told yourself to move.
To snap out of it.
To shove his cocky ass away and slap the heat off your face.
But instead… you shifted.
Barely. Subtly. Almost like a breath.
Your hips arched back just the tiniest bit—and you felt him twitch.
Big. Hot. Hard against you.
And god help you, you did it again.
This time, he chuckled. Low and raspy.
“Keep doing that and I’m gonna take it personally.”
His voice buzzed against the shell of your ear, warm and wicked.
“I can swear you’re wet.”
“I’m not,” you breathed, barely able to form the words.
“No?”
One of his hands slid from your hip, slipping lower, slow and deliberate. Your skirt offered no protection—his fingers eased beneath the hem with practiced ease, knuckles brushing your thigh.
“Then you won’t mind if I check.”
You gasped. “Changbin—”
But it was too late.
His hand slid up. Under your skirt. Under your panties.
And then—his fingers paused.
Right at your slit.
Slick. Dripping. Heat soaked through cotton and flushed onto his fingertips.
He let out a quiet groan, something dark and pleased.
“Fuck me…”
You froze.
“You’re soaked.”
You should’ve died of embarrassment.
Instead, you whimpered—barely, breath catching in your throat. Your thighs twitched, instinctively trying to close, but his hand was already there, slipping further, middle finger pressing through the wetness and parting you open.
“Look at that,” he muttered. “Fighting me in public, dripping for me in private.”
“You can’t—” you whispered, but your voice cracked halfway through.
“I can,” he said. “And I am.”
His fingertip circled your entrance, not quite pushing in. Just enough to tease. To test how badly your body wanted him.
And it did.
God, it did.
“All this just from my picture?” he murmured. “You really are a dirty little thing.”
“Changbin, we’re—someone could—”
“Then stay quiet,” he whispered, lips grazing your ear. “Be a good girl and let me feel what you’ve been hiding from me.”
You squirmed against him, helpless. His hard-on grinding into your ass. His hand between your legs. Your body betraying everything your mouth refused to say.
But then—he pulled back. Slow. Measured and wicked.
“Not here,” he muttered. “Not yet.”
You let out a shaky exhale, unsure if it was relief or frustration.
“You’re not ready.”
He said it like a promise. Even more like a plan.
—
That night, your phone lit up before midnight.
Changbin 💢
You touching yourself right now?
You swallowed, heat curling in your stomach.
“No.”
A lie.
You’d been thinking about his finger, barely there, slicking through your folds. The way he pressed against you like he could fuck you through your clothes. The restraint he showed—pulling away just when you were about to lose it.
Changbin 💢:
Liar. You were dripping earlier. You think that goes away?
Changbin 💢:
You want help?
Your breath caught.
Then another message.
📷 An image.
A mirror selfie. Taken low. No shirt. Sweatpants slung low on his hips. But this time… no filter, no teasing.
His cock was hard. So obvious. Thick and curving up in those grey sweats, the head visibly straining against the fabric. His hand was wrapped around the base, gripping himself through the material.
Your core clenched.
Changbin 💢:
You made me like this. Do something about it.
Another ping.
🎧An audio file.
You hesitated… then tapped.
His voice—low, breathless, filthy—filled your room.
“Wish you were here right now. I’d be in you already. So deep you’d cry. Want you moaning my name with your thighs wrapped around my waist.”
You bit your knuckle.
“Bet you’re wet again just hearing this.”
You were.
And you knew damn well… this was only the beginning because it was obvious that you knew you should stop.
Mute the chat. Turn your phone off. Go to sleep.
But instead, you hit play again.
Changbin’s voice filled your room for the second time, low and unsteady.
“Wish you were here right now. I’d be in you already. So deep you’d cry. Want you moaning my name with your thighs wrapped around my waist.”
Your hand had already slipped under the waistband of your shorts. Shame curled hot in your chest, but it wasn’t enough to stop you.
Not with his voice saying things like that.
Not when your body was still aching from what he’d done in the library.
You typed, hesitant:
“You’re a menace.”
Changbin 💢:
And you’re quiet. You touching yourself again?
“No.”
Changbin 💢:
You’re such a bad liar.
Another ping. Another message.
Changbin 💢:
Say my name once, and I’ll show you the real thing. But let me hear how down bad you are first.
Your legs squeezed together.
He wasn’t letting up.
Not just the teasing — the control. The way he peeled you open without even being in the same room. It was like he’d figured out every weakness you had and was pressing on all of them at once.
You typed:
“You want me to say your name?”
Changbin 💢:
Just once. Out loud. Right now.
I know you’re touching yourself, i just want to hear you.
Your heart pounded. You stared at the audio reply button. Your thumb hovered.
Me pulling your legs apart. Spitting on your pussy.
Sliding in nice and slow while you beg me to ruin it.
You let out a shaky breath.
Changbin 💢:
C’mon, baby.
Be a good girl and let me hear how badly you want it.
The words good girl punched straight through your resolve.
Your finger hovered over the record button.
You didn’t overthink it. Didn’t script it. But at the back of your mind, you knew shouldn’t have done it.
You knew the second you hit record—you were crossing a line you couldn’t uncross. But the heat in your stomach, the ache between your legs, the way Changbin’s voice still echoed in your ears? It all left you trembling.
So you moaned. You whimpered.
And you said his name.
“Changbin…”
You sounded so fucking needy. So shameless and desperate.
Exactly how you felt.
You hit send with your heart in your throat, thighs clenched tight around your own hand. And then you waited—seconds dragging, breath caught in your chest.
Then: ping.
🎥A video.
No caption. No warning.
You hesitated, pulse in your ears, then tapped it.
The first thing you saw was skin—his hand, wrapped tight around the base of his cock. Thick. Hard. Heavy. His head was a darker shade of his skin, glistening with precum, veins running thick along the shaft.
The next thing you heard?
His voice. Ragged. Strained.
“This what you want, baby?”
He was filming from above, cock in his fist, his abs flexing as he pumped slowly, steadily. Each stroke was loud and wet. His hand moved like he was imagining you were already wrapped around him—tight, dripping, ruined.
“Been jerking off since you moaned my name,” he growled. “You sound so fucking pretty when you’re begging.”
You bit your lip so hard it almost bled.
“Wanna cum in you so bad,” he panted. “Wanna watch it drip out of you. Want you to feel it for days.”
And then—he grunted. Shuddered.
And came.
Ropes of it. Thick spurts shooting across his abs, the head of his cock twitching violently in his grip.
“That’s all for you,” he breathed, voice wrecked.“Next time, I’m doing that inside.”
The video ended, but you were done for.
You stared at your screen like it had punched you in the stomach. Heat licked down your spine. Your hand had slipped between your legs again before you even realized it.
You replayed the video.
Once.
Twice.
Three times.
You wanted to taste it. Feel it. Be under it.
Then your screen lit up again.
Changbin 💢:
You still there?
Your fingers trembled. You didn’t even overthink it.
You typed:
“I need you.”
[📍Location Shared]
And hit send.
—
You barely had time to think.
One knock. That’s all it took.
You opened the door and he was on you—mouth crashing into yours, body pinning you flat against the wall like he was afraid you’d disappear if he let go.
He kissed like a man possessed.
Like your voice note had ruined him. Like your moan had carved something primal into his chest and he couldn’t shake it loose.
His tongue slid past your lips, rough and greedy, tasting you like he had to claim you first.
“Fuck,” he growled against your mouth. “Took you long enough.”
You barely had time to respond—his hands were already under your shirt, palming your tits like they were his, thumbs flicking your nipples until you whimpered.
“This all for me?” he asked, breath hot.
“This pussy been soaking since the second I sent that video?”
You gasped as he shoved one leg between yours, grinding up against your clothed heat—his cock already hard, pressing through his sweats like a weapon.
“God,” he groaned. “You feel so fucking good.”
“Can’t wait anymore.”
He picked you up like you weighed nothing, carried you into your own apartment without breaking the kiss, and dropped you—hard—onto the kitchen counter.
Before you could speak, your shorts were yanked down and off. Your panties, too. Ripped aside with one rough pull.
“Fucking knew it,” he muttered as he spread you open. “Look at this wet little pussy. So damn ready for me.”
“You’re such a—”
“Say it,” he snarled, two fingers sliding through your folds, circling your clit just right.
“Say it while I ruin you.”
You choked on a moan, hips jerking up. His fingers dipped inside—thick, slow, curling—testing you.
“Tight,” he hissed. “So fuckin’ tight already.
How the hell you gonna take my cock, baby?”
You looked down—and froze.
He’d pushed his sweats down just enough, and there it was. All of it.
His cock was thick. Long. Veiny. Angry-red at the tip, already leaking. You’d seen the outline. You’d watched him stroke it on video. But up close?
It was fucking terrifying.
And you wanted every inch.
“I’m gonna mess you up real pretty.” he whispered, dragging the head through your slick folds.
“You’re not walking tomorrow.”
You whimpered, thighs trembling.
“Changbin—fuck—”
“What’s that, princess?” he smirked. “You scared of this cock now?”
“Shut the fuck up and give it to me.”
That was all he needed.
He lined up and slammed in—
The stretch was obscene. Your back arched, a broken cry ripped from your throat. He didn’t wait. Didn’t tease. He bottomed out in one brutal stroke, hips snapping forward until his balls slapped against you.
“FUCK,” he growled, head dropping to your shoulder. “Tight little cunt’s squeezing the shit outta me.”
You clawed at his back, desperate to breathe, but it felt too good. The way he filled you—so deep, so thick—you felt him in your stomach.
“Took it all, huh?” he rasped, pulling back just to thrust in harder. “Greedy little thing.”
He fucked you like he meant it. Like he was punishing you for every time you rolled your eyes in class. For every time you told him to shut up.
You were moaning like a pornstar—loud, shameless, wrecked—as he pounded into you on the kitchen counter, sweat dripping, his abs flexing with every thrust.
“You were made for this cock,” he groaned. “Fucking built to take it like a good girl.”
He pulled out suddenly, grabbed your wrist, and dragged you into the living room.
“Bed’s too far. Couch. Now.”
You stumbled, legs shaking. He bent you over the armrest, slapped your ass once—hard—and buried himself inside again with a brutal snap of his hips.
“This ass…” he groaned. “You know how many times I’ve stared at it in class?”
“Wanted to fuck you bent over all the damn desks.”
Your moans were broken now—choked sobs of pleasure every time his hips slammed into you.
He wrapped his hand around your throat, not too tight—just enough to own you.
“You love this, don’t you?” he growled. “Big cock splitting you open. My hand on your neck. My cum dripping out of you.”
“Yes—fuck—yes, Changbin, please—”
“Please what?”
“Please don’t stop.”
His grip tightened. His thrusts turned savage.
“I’m gonna cum inside you,” he warned. “I want it leaking down your thighs when you go to class tomorrow. I want everyone to know this pussy’s mine.”
You clenched around him—hard—and he lost it.
“Fuck—fuck—baby—”
He came deep inside you, groaning like he was unraveling from the core. Hot spurts filling you up, cock twitching inside your walls.
You collapsed forward, shaking.
But he wasn’t done.
He pulled out, flipped you onto the rug, and dropped to his knees.
“Need to taste you.”
His tongue went straight to your core, licking up his own mess, spreading it across your folds as he devoured you like he’d starved for days.
“Not leaving till you cum on my face.”
And you did.
Screaming his name. Shaking. Barely able to think.
Your first mistake had been sending that photo.
But your biggest mistake?
Letting him in.
Because now?
You’d never get him out.
—
You couldn’t move.
You were sprawled out on your back on the rug, blinking at the ceiling, your entire body throbbing with the aftershocks of what he’d just done to you. You felt wrecked in the best, most glorious way.
And yet—somehow—Changbin was the one panting like he’d just gone through hell.
He lay beside you, arm thrown over his face dramatically.
“I’m filing a formal complaint,” he groaned. “Your pussy should come with a fucking warning label.”
You wheezed out a laugh.
“Says the guy who just broke my uterus.”
He turned his head, looked at you.
And melted.
The shift was instant—his gaze softened, mouth twitching into the tiniest smile. He scooted closer, propped himself on one elbow, and brushed your sweaty hair off your cheek.
“You okay?” he asked, voice gentle. “Like… really okay?”
You nodded. “More than okay.”
He exhaled like he’d been holding his breath for ten years. Then leaned in and kissed your forehead, your nose, your cheekbone—everywhere but your lips, like he was saving those for dessert.
“I swear I didn’t mean to fuck you like a caveman,” he mumbled. “I blacked out. You made that sound and I was just—gone.”
“You were terrifying,” you whispered, smiling. “In the hottest possible way.”
That made him grin.
He reached over for the hoodie he’d left slung on the chair and helped you into it—actually helped, like lifting your arms, guiding it over your head, kissing your shoulder once it was on.
Then he grabbed a warm towel, knelt between your legs, and started cleaning you up with the softest, most careful touch.
“Can’t have my girl leaking all over the carpet,” he murmured.
“Your girl?”
He looked up with a cocky smirk.
“You just let me raw dog you and you screamed my name for the neighbors, baby. Don’t play shy now.”
You tried to glare, but he leaned forward and kissed your knee. Then your thigh. Then higher.
“Next time,” he said, “I’m taking you slower. Gonna edge you until you’re crying.”
Your stomach flipped.
“You’re already thinking about next time?”
He glanced up at you with a boyish little shrug.
“I think about you all the time.”
Your heart stuttered. Because it didn’t sound like a line. It sounded real. Raw. Like the truth.
He saw your expression shift and leaned in, his lips brushing your temple.
“Not just the sex,” he murmured.
“I think about you when you fight with the professor. When you tie your hoodie strings in knots. When you roll your eyes at me like you always do.”
“Binnie—”
“I like you,” he whispered.
Simple. Honest.
And it hit you harder than any orgasm.
You buried your face in his chest. He chuckled and wrapped his arms around you, one big palm cupping the back of your head like he could hide you there forever.
“You hungry?” he murmured.
“Starving.”
“Good. I got us pizza and fried chicken.”
You looked up. “You really ordered food while I was moaning your name?”
He smirked. “Actually did it on my way here but I can multitask baby.”
You laughed into his chest, and he kissed your head again.
When the food arrived, you sat curled in his lap, eating from his chopsticks while he kissed sauce off your lips between bites.
Later, when you were tucked into bed and halfway to sleep, he whispered:
“You were fucking perfect tonight.”
“I’m gonna be addicted to you now.”
You didn’t say anything back. You just pulled his arm tighter around you and pressed a soft kiss to his knuckles.
Because you already were.
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Authors note: Its been a hot minute without a Binnie smut 💪🏻 How are we liking this cute little enemies to lovers?? 🤭❤️
you know a joke that never EVER gets old is when a character says smth like “I will NOT go to [place] and that is FINAL” and then it cuts to them in that place I eat that shit up every single time
Except... what's going on with those labial scales? Something about them looks off. And that row of spikes down the back, Komodos don't have that. And their nostrils aren't so round. Hm. I think I know what's happening here.
I did not realize that this was AI at first glance; I thought it was just a really heavy editing style. I saw the missing central toe, yeah, but Komodos will do that to each other sometimes. The other forefoot, the one with four toes, is positioned in such a way that the fifth toe could be hidden, and the lifted hind foot could be similar.
But if you know Komodo dragon anatomy like I do, the inaccuracies pop up pretty quickly. Still, it's not like it was during the early days of GenAI; what I'm seeing here is that the GenAI image algos are getting better at discerning what part of a picture is a Komodo dragon. Since the inception, GenAI has really struggled to make accurate reptiles. In the beginning, everything was an iguana... even the Komodo dragons.
Over time, the models have been refined, but there are still some pretty obvious anatomy differences- the slit pupils, the mouth shape, the overall definition of the snout...
And they often struggle with the tongue. This isn't what the inside of a lizard's mouth looks like!
There's a lot of talk about how GenAI is bad for the brain- but it seems like most of it is actually about writing. And I think we should be talking more about images, too. Not even just about the stolen training data or the erosion of opportunities for artists, but... what is such easy access to these generated images doing to our ability to perceive what's real versus what isn't?
Every single one of the images I pulled is from a highly popular stock photo site. In case you don't know what a stock photo is, it's a photograph (you can also have stock illustrations and stock footage) that's been licensed to use in different applications. These pictures aren't taken for a specific client; anybody who pays can use them within the terms of the image's license.
But all of these images- they're not photos. They're inaccurate illustrations. I recognize them for what they are because I spend a lot of time looking at lizards, but what if you've got someone writing a quick news story, or designing a science worksheet, or throwing together a museum brochure or a zoo sign? If they don’t know what a Komodo dragon is supposed to look like, they’ll use whatever looks convincing.
Images trigger something deep within us- you know that saying "A picture is worth a thousand words?" We're wired to trust what we see. But the problem here is that genAI doesn't create an image of the thing; it creates what its internal logic says is associated with the subject of the prompt. It all comes down to probability; generative AI makes images by looking at its training data and creating output based on what the data is associated with.
(For more info on how AI "sees" what it does, check out the LENS project, which you can read more about here.)
We don't see things the same way the computers do, and we're willing to trust images more than words. How many stock photos do you think you see each day? It's probably more than you think; after all, the average American sees around 5,000 ads per day. And while those photos are marked as AI generated on the stock sites, they aren't marked as AI generated once someone has licensed them. And if the stock site doesn't have what you need? No problem, just use the AI image generator to fake that photo yourself!
We already have seen political deepfakes and AI generated images used to spread misinformation. Did you see the image of an ICE agent arresting a Doordash worker? That was an AI fake, part of a larger hoax. Some of us are already learning to respond with increased skepticism to important images, because people have an agenda to fake those. But what about the less important images, the background images, the completely mundane images? GenAI seems to be quietly coming for them, and it's something we should be paying attention to, because if we're exposed, constantly and quietly, to generated images and are trained to believe it's photography, we'll be more accepting of the bigger lies when we see them.
I don't really know what the solution is here, other than for people to be aware of the stock image issue, and to stop using stock sites that allow generated images, like Adobe Stock. We can't put the generative AI genie back in the bottle, but we can at least be aware of the damage it's causing. And maybe part of the solution is to look for alternative stock and reference options. Maybe we'll start to see more photographers licensing their images directly, or putting together specialized repositories of images based around a theme or topic that they specialize in. The downside there is that it's less convenient than the stock model where there's thousands and thousands of images on every conceivable topic to choose from. I don't know what genAI is going to do to the traditional stock model, but I'm concerned about what the end results might be and what those results might do to our ability to perceive reality.
This is a huge part of why I started the Animal Reference Photo Repository. What used to be reliable reference sites are now full of AI slop, and it’s damaging so many things. @kaijutegu did a great job of breaking down the issues with the data and information pollution GenAI is causing.
I chose not to license my photos for sale and made everything on the site free for non-AI artistic use: paywalls ruin the internet, and there has to be something accurate out there available for folks to access.
And if you’d like to see some real Komodo dragons, well, the site has a bunch.
