stuffeddrawer

[stuffeddrawer]

Holding my trans friends in the UK close to my heart right now. I’m sorry to our trans sisters especially. This Supreme Court ruling is disgusting and devastating.

Trans women are women and always will be ❤️🏳️‍⚧️

[stuffeddrawer]

(elys anon) gonna try my hand at something. Ignore if too cringe!!!!!

----------------------------------------------------

She hears of you before she sees of you.

Rumors travel fast you see, with halls like these; the walls have ears, and the windows are simply another pair of eyes for the court. They call you prey, in the same sweet mocking way all fae do. You have many names she thinks with silent apathy and an even more silent curiosity—Pretender, Little Queen, The Court's plaything—her people whisper of you, mock of you.

"What a joke." They'd giggle in the same sickening way all fae do. "Isn't that right your majesty?"

She hums, non committal, ever neutral. Ice and steel her cosmetics and apathy draping over her words like a shawl. "I suppose." But her true feelings are far from that.

They say you're weak. That you're pathetic. She however, sees something else.

You are strong. She thinks, unlike everyone else. Even your own husbands who look at her with adoration perhaps. Yes, the walls hear of gossips and more, and the windows brings light to even the most greatest secrets—such is the way of the fae, but you see, she is a firm believer of actions being more louder than words. It is how she's kept her own kingdom alive and running for this long, and so—she sees you for what you are.

The hardest worker there was in those castle walls—the smartest person in your own kingdom perhaps.

She's seen the results of your endless labor you see, how much that kingdom has flourished because of your effort, of how beautiful your kingdom has become.

Yes, your kingdom. Not that man (who she refuses to call by name too appalled at how he and his men treated you), or even the queen.

Yours, a mere human. The softest thing there was in the court, the weakest there was in a room full of the inhuman.

But still, still, it is rightfully yours and even the Forest creatures know. The wretched omen of death, the mischievous whisps, and perhaps even more—all of whom were Mother Nature's most cherished children whom seemed to all but adore you, and how correct they are to be she thinks. Mother nature may be fickle and cruel but she is not a fool, and neither are her children it seems.

She is of the same opinion.

That is why when the day arrives she is to grace your kingdom and finally sweeps past her greetings with the Queen and the men, she passes by them to greet you—who's head is hung low (what a travesty they have reduced you in, you were the one who deserved to hold her head high. Not them), and curtsies before you ignoring the scandalous gasps around her.

The sounds draw your attention, as you lift your head and look at her and—She smiles as softly as she can (because humans are soft, and you are human regardless of how you dress yourself. That is fine she thinks, she likes honest and good things. You are one of them, and therefore the deceit they have forced you to hide in is something she wants you to throw away when she is around.), and gingerly holds your hand up for her to kiss—much like those human stories the court whispers you so dearly adore.

"It is most pleasant to meet you at last, your majesty []"

THIS IS SOO GOODDD ELYS ANON I CANT THANK YOU ENOUGH 😩 an absolute masterpiece istg you gotta make a writing blog now pls 😩 <333 i hope you don’t mind me adding this and basically having it escape me 🙂‍↕️😭

Your name is soft on her tongue. The only name she bothers to speak. Not theirs.

You blink, startled, your lips parted slightly in confusion, and in the space between that breath- she sees it. The glimmer of what once was: the queen who stood alone in a foreign court, wrapped in fae glamours and political silk, holding up a kingdom with hands cracked from too much ink, too many late nights, too many broken promises. A queen no one ever crowned aloud but who ruled all the same.

They tried to grind you down to nothing, she thinks. Chipped at you until even you forgot how tall you stood.

And still, you remain; a little softer, perhaps. A little more quiet. But still, you remain, a solitary tree withstanding hail and storm/

Your hands are still stained with the ink that built this court. Your eyes still carry the weight of every lie you’ve had to wear. And your spine- gods, your spine, decorated in bones and gold and snakes- is still straight enough to shame kings, and she hopes your joined husbands are the most ashamed.

You have been robbed of everything except your dignity. So she will not rob you of that, too.

Thus, it continues quietly, like all dangerous things do; with glances and silence and gifts too carefully chosen to be mere coincidence.

“Is this… for me?” you ask one morning, holding the delicate glass vial up to the light. The honey inside shimmers like starlight- amber and strange, scented with something that doesn’t belong to this land.

Her voice is calm as ever. “It reminded me of you.”

You blink at her, confused. “Sticky?” you try to joke, your smile dry, unsure why she cares for you so- why she seeks out your company above everyone else’s. “Hard to clean up if spilled?”

Her lips curl, small and secret, a moment just between and for the two of you. “Rare. Sweet. Difficult to forget.”

It’s in the spiral-carved bookmark that appears in your book next- your favorite book, though you never told anyone it was.

You lift it from the pages with a furrowed brow. “…This wasn’t here before.”

“I thought it might suit you,” she murmurs from where she stands at your window, pretending not to watch the way your lips part in surprise. “You always lose your place when you fall asleep reading.”

It’s you, who still sits at the same desk, fingers stained with ink, lips pursed in thought as you organize a council that will never truly thank you for it.

It’s you, who walks through the gardens cloaked in styles you no longer believe in, trailing behind the court with that same tired smile, always five steps behind your husbands- no longer quite queen, not quite dismissed.

And yet…

She is always near.

She watches you the way others watch constellations: in awe, in silence, with a kind of reverence that borders on worship. She’s not obvious about it- not as obvious as the others might be, not as obvious as the first day she came to this court and only held disgust for your husbands. Her admiration is laced in frost, dignified and distant. But it’s there.

Gods, it’s there.

She never speaks cruelly to you. Never jokes about your soft hands or your mortal sleepiness. Never calls you “Little Queen” the way the others do, sharp with mockery and disrespect.

“Do you ever tire of it?” she asks you once, her voice like glacial water, after you had to watch another meeting go by without a lick of care being given to your opinion. “Being here. With them.”

You hesitate, glancing down at the scrolls in your lap. “I tire of not knowing where I stand,” you say softly. “But I’ve been tired longer than I’ve been anything else.”

She doesn’t smile. Not then. Just watches you for a long, quiet moment. “They don’t see you,” she says finally. “Not properly. They don’t server you.”

You laugh, and for one it’s not the sound of sweet, tinkling bells heralding joy- but a broken sound, early morning blue skies and rain pattering on a window. “Do you?”

“Yes,” she says. Simply. Without pause, without even needing to think about it.

You think she means it in that polite way that nobles do- acknowledgement, nothing more, even though your heart beats so fast the remainder of the day everyone keeps sneaking you confused, nervous glances.

But you don’t see the way her fingers curl into her silks every time you laugh too brightly. You don’t see the way her throat bobs when your knuckles brush hers reaching for the same document. You don’t see how rigid her shoulders go when you flinch after someone calls you the human consort again, like your existence is a footnote.

You don’t know that she’s dreaming of you, either.

That she lies awake and wonders what your voice would sound like in bed, sleepy and real. That she thinks of your mouth on a teacup and wishes it were her instead. That she remembers, too clearly, the way you sighed once, just once, when her hand lingered too long at your back.

You don’t know that her guards are worried. That her advisors whisper of distraction. That a visiting noble once dared to touch your arm and she, without blinking, laced frost through the veins of his wrist.

You are just… confused.

You notice her kindness, and you thank her with a smile- but you don’t ask why she always stands between you and the cold; you don’t ask why her eyes find you first in every room; you don’t ask why she always smells like the sea wind, like distance and salt and something wild coming closer- you just thank her with too-human softness and bow lower than you should.

“Your Majesty.” You say whenever you pass her. Too formal and grateful for basic kindness..

“Please,” she sighs, and the ocean stills and watches the moon- hushed and yearning. “You can call me by my name.”

You blink. “Are we… that close?”

She looks at you then, and there is a sea-storm in her gaze, though you don’t feel afraid at all.

“I would burn the distance between us to ash if it meant you would see what I see.”

You say nothing. You think it’s fae poetry. A courtesy. You do not yet know her like she knows you, surely she doesn’t mean those words when no one here likes you-

And still- still-

She watches, and she wants, and oh, she thinks:

If she ever lets me love her, I will never let her forget what she is.

Not prey, and certainly not burrowed. Beloved.

And your husbands- oh, your poor, foolish husbands- they laugh at first.

“She’s playing the game.” Simon says, arms crossed, voice clipped.

“She’s being diplomatic- even if’s not needed.” Johnny agrees, too loud.

“She’s curious,” Kyle adds, with that forced little shrug, and John nods.

“Humans are a novelty.”

But their confidence begins to crack when she begins to show you off; at festivals, she walks with your arm in hers instead of their; in court, she praises your rulings before the council, cutting off nobles who try to talk over you.

At feasts, she pours your wine before her own.

“I never knew you liked rosewater.” You murmur, blinking at the glass, a happy little smile curling your lips.

“I didn’t,” she says, eyes steady and hands steady. “But you do.”

In the end, it shouldn’t be surprising when the maids sent to wake you doesn’t find you in bed. She searches and searches, and they are growing alarmed and have informed the guards who have gone to inform your husbands-

And then her maids finds you asleep in her bed, in her arms, and your flimsy nightgown’s ridden up enough they can all see the bite marks littering your inner thighs and your neck.

[stuffeddrawer]

size difference kink but in the “i grew up being made fun of for being chubby so now the idea of a giant of a man being able to toss me around and tower over me without making my weight a problem makes me really horny” way, you get what im saying?

[stuffeddrawer]

part 2 to this

cw: sex pollen, insanity, smut, omegaverse reader is a sub alpha, tf141 are dom omegas bc i say so word count: 3885 MINORS AND AGELESS BLOGS DO NOT INTERACT.

(divider by @cafekitsune)

If it hadn’t been for Simon, Johnny would have gladly offered his throat to you first.

“They’ll kill you right now…” Simon murmured, his voice laced with his own anger with what had been done to you. He knew you shouldn’t have gone in alone, knew you should have had back-up. He tried to get Price to let at least one of the team go with you, but with your talents, how fantastic you were with stealth, it was hard to argue – anyone else going would have just gotten in the way. It made sense, but it didn’t sit right in Simon’s stomach, not when he still felt responsible.

It took all they had to give you a wide berth, your potent alpha scent driving all four of them insane with need and want. They all wanted to devour you, wanted you to devour them, wanted you to mark them up, wanted to make sure no other omega got anywhere near you. It drove them insane.

You were hungry, starving, feral, but they couldn’t risk getting near you, even if they were able to restrain you. You were volatile, no sense of You left.

John had been in a meeting with Laswell nearly the entire time, trying to figure out what to do with you. The last resort had been to… remove you, but even Laswell was against that idea. It wasn’t scrapped, but they had no incentive to kill their alpha, even if you were feral. You were theirs and they were yours. There had to be a way to fix you, to break you out of that feral state. Sex, the smell of a beta, another alpha, tea, coffee, something sour, anything.

They were told, at least the ones close to their heat, to stay away, that perhaps the smell of an omega after being gassed with the scent of one would only trigger a regression – as if there was anything to regress to.

“There’s something we can do, right?” Kyle asked, desperately ignoring that ache in his bones to just comfort you, to keep you close and soothe that angry alpha, how he wanted to kiss every square inch of you. Kyle had been told to stay away specifically, him and Simon both, their heats so close and would likely cause a problem. They both had a difficult time following that order, the heated glances Kyle would shoot towards Simon were nothing short of lewd. The intense stares, the plain longing looks Simon would send towards Kyle were thinly veiled.

Johnny watched as John sat down next to him with a huff, habitually throwing a leg over the Scotsman’s own leg.

“Dunno.” Price mumbled, chewing on his lip in thought. His eyes seemed unfocused, distracted by Kyle’s and Simon’s sweet scents, a candle that burned and reminded them of you – black cherry merlot, Simon insisted, something rich and intense – and what happened with you. He’d been pouring over the information that led you into that situation over and over again until those tiny little words all blended together into one big blob. He couldn’t figure out where he went wrong. He didn’t want to admit that he was angry, that he was upset – a captain wasn’t supposed to get like this, but you were theirs, and it hurt more. Their hearts belonged to you, and yours to them – having you hurt like this, forced into something that smelled so unnatural made every synapse in his brain spark and ache.

“Don’t even know if we can get our Bird’s mind back to what it was – God knows ours ain’t much better.” He huffed again, angry, frustrated, so utterly distracted by your forced cycle and it wasn’t even your fault. He was so angry on your behalf.

John didn’t want to think about how much it must hurt, not when all four of them were aching to take care of you, wanted you to growl their names as you came undone, limbs trembling and body shaking, mind empty in a blissful way and fully and completely spent.

Something in Johnny’s chest growled – he just wanted to see you, wanted to take care of his alpha, wanted to purr your name until you were crying out his. He stood, making John’s leg thump to the ground and catching Simon’s attention, the Scotsman pacing as his stomach bubbled with anxiety. Being told to stay away from you was like telling someone they weren’t allowed to breathe. You were – are – their fresh air, they were your heart and soul. You helped with John’s paperwork, made sure Johnny’s explosives were stocked full. You made sure Simon had company when training baby-faced recruits, and you were Kyle’s refuge from the world when it got too much, too loud, too chaotic. Your hands were sent from the heavens themselves, and they were told not to touch.

Even in your broken, delirious, feral mind, your body still craved their touch, refusing to let nurses and doctors anywhere near you. You didn’t trust them – they weren’t yours. You nipped at any one of them who got too close. You couldn’t make out what they were saying, the blood rushing in your ears too loud for you to make anything out. You didn’t care.

Your hands had been restrained to the bed, your ankles too. It would have been fun if your mind wasn’t mush and if this wasn’t humiliating. Your body still shook, limbs still ached, and you could still smell that sweet inviting scent of an omega. It still smelled so wrong, nothing like what you should be diving headfirst into, but you still craved it, still drove you mad, and it still sent shockwaves of arousal through your system.

The room you were forced into, were trapped in, was heavy and thick with potent yet altered alpha pheromones, and you wanted so desperately to dive into someone of yours, your pretty omegas. You whined, softly, before releasing a low, hungry growl, slick only growing between your legs and making a wet, sticky mess. You tried to grind your legs together, to try and ease some of the tension, to try and make it ache just a little less but with how your ankles were restrained, it was near impossible. The most you could do was wiggle your arse against the sheets beneath you and it wasn’t enough.

You were going mad, you wanted to devour and be devoured, so much so that you swore you were hallucinating when you thought someone, an omega – your omega? – was standing there.

He smelled divine, his scent making your mouth water, your body tingle. You knew him, didn’t you? Did you? You don’t know, you’re hungry, voracious.

“Birdie…?” His gravelly, yet sweet voice made you growl. “You in there, lovie…?”

You didn’t – couldn’t – tell who this man was, but the way the sun hit his mask made you even hungrier, made you drool. You thrashed in your bonds, skin at your wrists raw from your struggles. Even from where he stood at the door, you could smell the sweat soaking through his heavy clothes, could smell that sweetness on him that you craved so badly. Your brain was off, your body screaming for him, for that smell, to feel an omega, one of your omegas, take care of you, though you could just barely remember what had just happened, could still taste the rot on the tip of your tongue. You felt as though bile was beginning to rise to the back of your throat as the scent of omega got closer and closer. You felt sick, you were hungry, you felt like lashing out, you wanted to cry out in euphoria. You couldn’t make sense of this – how could you? You’re gone.

You snarled as he got closer. Your mushy, feral brain didn’t register safety and warmth from him, instead only seeing a threat from such a sweet and potent smell. A smell your broken brain registered as poison.

“Darling, it’s me – it’s Simon.” Simon pleaded, but you didn’t relent. Your entire body ached; whatever they gassed you with was still in your system, still making your body ache, your lungs burn, inner thighs so stupidly slick with arousal. You’re fairly certain the bed was soaked from how soaked you were.

You thrashed again, the straps starting to cut into your wrists, as Simon took another step closer. You wanted him, the omega, wanted to sink your teeth into him. You knew that sweet smell of omega would drive you insane, further insane, knew whatever vestiges of sanity you had left would slip through your hands like sand. If you had any left, that is.

God, you ached, wanted him to touch you, wanted to hear both of your cries, wanted to feel him split you open and tear you apart. You had no control, could barely talk, could barely think and only wanted one thing – or several things. Your body betrayed any sense of reservation the old You would have had – the old You would have held back until you physically couldn’t – this. This wasn’t you. But how would you know? You’re mad, insane, feral, dripping with need and desire and could only smell an omega nearing his heat.

Simon steeled his nerves, tried to make sense of the situation beyond his own raging pheromones, tried to think past the need and desire to make you cry out his name. He tried to think – think, think – tried to find a way that would bring you back to them, that would make You come back. Simon needed You back, not the feral alpha that had taken over. He wanted to feel his alpha, wanted to feel how you quivered when he kissed you just right, when your legs were wrapped around him, keeping him right where you wanted him to be.

Simon didn’t even notice that he’d crossed the room, stood at the foot of your bed, almost drooling at the prospect of being able to touch you, being able to kiss you, to fuck you. Simon bit back the whine that wanted to tear itself out of his throat, wanted you slotted on his mouth, wanted to take all you had, wanted to hear your mewls and whines for more, more, more.

He wanted things back to the way they were.

He wasn’t about to admit that he was scared, he was terrified, but it didn’t stop him from hovering a hand over your thigh, unflinching when you thrashed in your bonds again. Simon was brave, approaching a feral alpha, but you were their feral alpha, you had always been the 141’s alpha, feral or not, mindless or whole. Simon’s eyes caught how your leg seemed to retreat at the feeling of his touch, as if being touched by fire, but he could smell how your body betrayed you, could taste your arousal on his masked lips.

The whine you released when Simon’s hand sat between your thighs, against your arousal, was utterly delicious to him. He wanted more – more than a whine. He wanted to hear you cry out his name, wanted tears falling down your cheeks from how good you felt, wanted to feel you clench around him, wanted you so full of his come that you’d be leaking by the time he was done with you. There were so many things he wanted from you. His own mind felt like it was twisting about, being so close to you, even in your altered rut – now he knew why the medics warned the 141 away from you. He didn’t care – neither did you, it seemed. He couldn’t stop – didn’t want to stop – you smelled so good, and he could only imagine how fantastic you would taste. So driven by his baser needs, the desire to just have you, to take all you had until you were an incoherent mess was overpowering the rational part of his brain, was silencing the part of him that said this was wrong. He wanted you, God, he needed you. You couldn’t stop him – he couldn’t stop himself.

Your addled brain couldn’t quite make out what he was doing, what he was saying. All you could do was feel what he was doing, and it was nothing short of divine. Each movement of his hand made you buck into it, the restraints keeping you still and allowing Simon full control of a feral alpha.

Simon relished the way you immediately fell apart with his touch, your eyes rolling back, a low rumbly growl deep in your chest that sounded so much like your normal purr, pleased and wanting more. He wondered if you were coming back to him, but your eyes were pinpricks, pupils so skinny he didn’t think anything of You was still in there. Still, he couldn’t stop himself.

Simon hesitated, only slightly, leaning forward, closer, closer, closer, his face at your neck, close enough for you to bite, to lash out and attack, but you were so pliant in his hands, fingers toying with your entrance as your hole clenched uselessly around nothing. Your legs shook with all he did. He could see how you bit your lip to keep from making any noise, could see how you tried to close your legs – God, you were delicious to him.

Your breaths were low and heady, heavy, wanting and yearning, and so fucking desperate.

Simon hovered over you, one hand between your thighs, teasing you, toying with you, the other hand tangled in the locks of your hair, tugging your head back and exposing that delicious throat of yours to him. He knew he should stop, knew that this was wrong, but even Simon himself was having a difficult time controlling his baser desires.

Something about you smelled off, different, not like you, not like the intense warmth they were so used to. You smelled like something burning, yet still warm, smelled intense, yet angry. It wasn’t you, but at the same time, it was. You were. Whatever they’d gassed you with changed you, no form of recognition behind your eyes, hands trembling in both anger and need.

Simon’s lips pressed against as much skin as he could, fervent, reverent, yearning, hungry, fucking starved, all but tearing the hospital gown off you and exposing yourself to him. He wanted to see you – he didn’t care what the nurses and doctors would think, what they would say – they couldn’t deny him this, deny him you. Not again, not now, never again. You were here, and he wasn’t about to let you slip through his hands again.  He couldn’t – not after what happened.

The groan that fell from his lips when he finally had you slotted on him was sinful and delicious – he didn’t ignore how your legs shook around him, your soft thighs acting like earmuffs for him as he ate and devoured. He could feel how you bucked yourself against his face, aching for more than just his tongue, more than his fingers pumping in and out of you. As voracious as he was, he wasn’t about to hurt you before you were prepped for him.

No, he’d make you come on his tongue and fingers a few times, he’d undo the restraints keeping your arms and legs down. He’d feel your hands in his hair, feel how your legs shook as he brought you to the edge and drew back just before you tipped over.

So lost in the feeling of Simon’s mouth on you that you didn’t notice the rest of your pack had entered the room.

Kyle was on you in seconds, mouth tracing every square inch of you, licking at your sweat-soaked skin. Simon had riled you up and left you on the edge more times than you could count with his hands and mouth alone, your body and mind now begging for more, more, more.

“So pretty like this, Birdie…” John whispered in your ear, fingers pumping in and out of you, your arousal and Simon’s spit coating his fingers. While your feral mind fought against everything, wanting to lash out in defence rather than allow them to do this, your body, or theirs, wouldn’t listen.

They were just as hungry as you were, taking all you had to offer and more. Their sharp smiles only seemed to grow to a razor point when you cried out, your sudden orgasm leaving little white spots in your vision, limbs shaking as their movements did not let up. You tried to close your legs, tried to catch your breath and push yourself away, but whatever resistance you had was forgotten when your eyes rolled back.

You tried to shake your head, tried to move away, overstimulated to the near point of being fucked stupid, and none of them had even put their cocks in you.

Kyle had come on you twice; Johnny, three times. Simon and John both insisted on waiting until they were buried deep in you, wanted to wait until you were stuffed so deeply in them.

Simon’s hand gripped your jaw, forcing you to look at him while Kyle fucked Johnny within an inch of his life, the Scotsman’s moans making your hole twitch. “Look at me, Birdie.” Simon mumbled before moving his lips to your ear. “Come back to us, lovie…” He pleaded.

His voice was such a soft thing, despite the intense grip he had on your face. The intensity in his eyes matched your own insanity, the desperation to bring you back to them was almost overwhelming. You struggled to comprehend what was even happening.

You still didn’t know, were still hungry, still wanted to lash out, but the deep brownness to his eyes made you think. ‘Am I safe here?’

Before your thoughts could go any further, your head threatened to roll back as Simon finally thrust into you, the low groan and the squelching noise that followed was almost embarrassing, were it not for how full you finally fucking felt. Simon held your face, forcing you to keep eye contact with him, relishing in how your eyes rolled back, mouth wide open and drooling like the mindless mutt you were.

He gave you little to no time to adjust to his size before he pulled back and snapped his hips back into you a second later, setting a relentless and feverish pace. He pistoned out of you like something mad, like Simon was the feral one, like he had been gassed with whatever you had been gassed with. “Fuckin’ delicious, s-so fuckin’ good for me…” He slobbered against your throat, chasing his own pleasure rather than making you feel good, rather than bringing you back to them.

The moment your moans filled the room, Kyle’s mouth was on yours, his long fingers toying and teasing you, making you whine and writhe under Simon, elegant yet scarred digits making you twitch, pulling at your nipples. Kyle always liked to touch you, to hold you, to make you shiver under his expert caresses. You might have been their alpha, the one to protect them and make sure they were satisfied, but you were always a puddle at their feet when they worked their magic on you.

You moaned into each hot and heady kiss Kyle left you, the sounds you made swallowed by his mouth for a moment before Simon smashed his lips against Kyle’s, drawing his attention for a split second. The sergeant’s eyes rolled shut at the taste of you on Simon’s lips. God, you tasted so fucking good to them, even as altered and feral and fucked up as you were.

Your entire body tensed, gut feeling like a coil would snap at any given moment. You felt your legs shaking, cheeks wet with tears that you didn’t know were falling. The sight of your tears made Simon’s pace quicken, his groans loud as he stuffed his face against your neck, nose pressed against your scent gland and taking in every altered scent you uncovered.

“Fucking take it…” He huffed, his thrusts growing erratic, hips stuttering. “It’s all yours, just… fucking take it…” His groan was long and languid, finally chasing his release and painting your walls white.

So hungry were you, so starved for such a pretty omega, that you didn’t think, not that you could, before sinking your teeth into his scent gland. Your nose was immediately filled with omega in heat, sweet alluring, and so fucking overpowering and overwhelmingly Simon, so intense you almost tore his throat open.

You were still shaking, hole clenching around nothing as Simon pulled out, cheeks and chest flushed, freckled chest heaving and gently pink. Glowing as he smiled at you, neck red and raw from your bite.

“P…” You huffed, still craving more, as if you’d die if you didn’t have Kyle’s cock in you. “Please…” God you were starved, still so fucking hungry, so famished. All you could do was beg, eyes wide and aimed so prettily at Kyle.

He wasted no time, slotted between your thighs and thrusting himself into you, hissing as you clenched so tightly around him. “F-Fuck, lovie…” He mumbled. The piercings along the underside of his cock felt so fucking good, and you lost yourself, becoming even more so of a drooling mess, your mouth wide open.

John smiled as he walked over, the sight of his heavy cock making you shiver as you opened wide like the cock drunk alpha you were.

“So bloody needy…” He chuffed, sighing deeply when the warm wetness of your mouth wrapped around him. He timed his thrusts into your mouth with Kyle’s near relentless pace, leaving you gagging around him, eyes watering with the tip of his cock practically punching the back of your throat. But shit did you feel so good.

Your eyes shut tight as another orgasm ripped through your system, so sudden, so intense that John pulled away.

“Fuck, Kyle…!” You cried out his name, your voice so clear, so You that it made Kyle come so hard, so much that he near passed out on your chest. His body shook as Johnny licked his way up his legs, followed by your own.

You had no idea what had happened, were so blissfully unaware of the state of the room, failed to notice how John had painted your face white.

It took Johnny no time at all to practically shove Kyle out of the way to lap at your hole, a white sticky mess that made him only drink deeper. You whined, brows furrowed and far too overstimulated to respond. Your hands tangled in his hair, keeping him right where you wanted him to be. A wordless scream made your back arch, eyes rolling into the back of your head as Johnny worked you up to another orgasm, slowly working you down, taking all he could possibly get before lining himself up and pushing himself in. You clenched around him so tightly, so deliciously that he could barely manage a handful of thrusts before he filled you to the brim, cum leaking out of you and onto the sheets. He didn’t care – you certainly didn’t.

Your brain had effectively shut down, unable to process Kyle’s words as he kissed you with such fervor.

“Welcome back, Birdie…”

[stuffeddrawer]

This is so niche.

[stuffeddrawer]

part 2 to this

cw: sex pollen, insanity, smut, omegaverse reader is a sub alpha, tf141 are dom omegas bc i say so word count: 3885 MINORS AND AGELESS BLOGS DO NOT INTERACT.

(divider by @cafekitsune)

If it hadn’t been for Simon, Johnny would have gladly offered his throat to you first.

“They’ll kill you right now…” Simon murmured, his voice laced with his own anger with what had been done to you. He knew you shouldn’t have gone in alone, knew you should have had back-up. He tried to get Price to let at least one of the team go with you, but with your talents, how fantastic you were with stealth, it was hard to argue – anyone else going would have just gotten in the way. It made sense, but it didn’t sit right in Simon’s stomach, not when he still felt responsible.

It took all they had to give you a wide berth, your potent alpha scent driving all four of them insane with need and want. They all wanted to devour you, wanted you to devour them, wanted you to mark them up, wanted to make sure no other omega got anywhere near you. It drove them insane.

You were hungry, starving, feral, but they couldn’t risk getting near you, even if they were able to restrain you. You were volatile, no sense of You left.

John had been in a meeting with Laswell nearly the entire time, trying to figure out what to do with you. The last resort had been to… remove you, but even Laswell was against that idea. It wasn’t scrapped, but they had no incentive to kill their alpha, even if you were feral. You were theirs and they were yours. There had to be a way to fix you, to break you out of that feral state. Sex, the smell of a beta, another alpha, tea, coffee, something sour, anything.

They were told, at least the ones close to their heat, to stay away, that perhaps the smell of an omega after being gassed with the scent of one would only trigger a regression – as if there was anything to regress to.

“There’s something we can do, right?” Kyle asked, desperately ignoring that ache in his bones to just comfort you, to keep you close and soothe that angry alpha, how he wanted to kiss every square inch of you. Kyle had been told to stay away specifically, him and Simon both, their heats so close and would likely cause a problem. They both had a difficult time following that order, the heated glances Kyle would shoot towards Simon were nothing short of lewd. The intense stares, the plain longing looks Simon would send towards Kyle were thinly veiled.

Johnny watched as John sat down next to him with a huff, habitually throwing a leg over the Scotsman’s own leg.

“Dunno.” Price mumbled, chewing on his lip in thought. His eyes seemed unfocused, distracted by Kyle’s and Simon’s sweet scents, a candle that burned and reminded them of you – black cherry merlot, Simon insisted, something rich and intense – and what happened with you. He’d been pouring over the information that led you into that situation over and over again until those tiny little words all blended together into one big blob. He couldn’t figure out where he went wrong. He didn’t want to admit that he was angry, that he was upset – a captain wasn’t supposed to get like this, but you were theirs, and it hurt more. Their hearts belonged to you, and yours to them – having you hurt like this, forced into something that smelled so unnatural made every synapse in his brain spark and ache.

“Don’t even know if we can get our Bird’s mind back to what it was – God knows ours ain’t much better.” He huffed again, angry, frustrated, so utterly distracted by your forced cycle and it wasn’t even your fault. He was so angry on your behalf.

John didn’t want to think about how much it must hurt, not when all four of them were aching to take care of you, wanted you to growl their names as you came undone, limbs trembling and body shaking, mind empty in a blissful way and fully and completely spent.

Something in Johnny’s chest growled – he just wanted to see you, wanted to take care of his alpha, wanted to purr your name until you were crying out his. He stood, making John’s leg thump to the ground and catching Simon’s attention, the Scotsman pacing as his stomach bubbled with anxiety. Being told to stay away from you was like telling someone they weren’t allowed to breathe. You were – are – their fresh air, they were your heart and soul. You helped with John’s paperwork, made sure Johnny’s explosives were stocked full. You made sure Simon had company when training baby-faced recruits, and you were Kyle’s refuge from the world when it got too much, too loud, too chaotic. Your hands were sent from the heavens themselves, and they were told not to touch.

Even in your broken, delirious, feral mind, your body still craved their touch, refusing to let nurses and doctors anywhere near you. You didn’t trust them – they weren’t yours. You nipped at any one of them who got too close. You couldn’t make out what they were saying, the blood rushing in your ears too loud for you to make anything out. You didn’t care.

Your hands had been restrained to the bed, your ankles too. It would have been fun if your mind wasn’t mush and if this wasn’t humiliating. Your body still shook, limbs still ached, and you could still smell that sweet inviting scent of an omega. It still smelled so wrong, nothing like what you should be diving headfirst into, but you still craved it, still drove you mad, and it still sent shockwaves of arousal through your system.

The room you were forced into, were trapped in, was heavy and thick with potent yet altered alpha pheromones, and you wanted so desperately to dive into someone of yours, your pretty omegas. You whined, softly, before releasing a low, hungry growl, slick only growing between your legs and making a wet, sticky mess. You tried to grind your legs together, to try and ease some of the tension, to try and make it ache just a little less but with how your ankles were restrained, it was near impossible. The most you could do was wiggle your arse against the sheets beneath you and it wasn’t enough.

You were going mad, you wanted to devour and be devoured, so much so that you swore you were hallucinating when you thought someone, an omega – your omega? – was standing there.

He smelled divine, his scent making your mouth water, your body tingle. You knew him, didn’t you? Did you? You don’t know, you’re hungry, voracious.

“Birdie…?” His gravelly, yet sweet voice made you growl. “You in there, lovie…?”

You didn’t – couldn’t – tell who this man was, but the way the sun hit his mask made you even hungrier, made you drool. You thrashed in your bonds, skin at your wrists raw from your struggles. Even from where he stood at the door, you could smell the sweat soaking through his heavy clothes, could smell that sweetness on him that you craved so badly. Your brain was off, your body screaming for him, for that smell, to feel an omega, one of your omegas, take care of you, though you could just barely remember what had just happened, could still taste the rot on the tip of your tongue. You felt as though bile was beginning to rise to the back of your throat as the scent of omega got closer and closer. You felt sick, you were hungry, you felt like lashing out, you wanted to cry out in euphoria. You couldn’t make sense of this – how could you? You’re gone.

You snarled as he got closer. Your mushy, feral brain didn’t register safety and warmth from him, instead only seeing a threat from such a sweet and potent smell. A smell your broken brain registered as poison.

“Darling, it’s me – it’s Simon.” Simon pleaded, but you didn’t relent. Your entire body ached; whatever they gassed you with was still in your system, still making your body ache, your lungs burn, inner thighs so stupidly slick with arousal. You’re fairly certain the bed was soaked from how soaked you were.

You thrashed again, the straps starting to cut into your wrists, as Simon took another step closer. You wanted him, the omega, wanted to sink your teeth into him. You knew that sweet smell of omega would drive you insane, further insane, knew whatever vestiges of sanity you had left would slip through your hands like sand. If you had any left, that is.

God, you ached, wanted him to touch you, wanted to hear both of your cries, wanted to feel him split you open and tear you apart. You had no control, could barely talk, could barely think and only wanted one thing – or several things. Your body betrayed any sense of reservation the old You would have had – the old You would have held back until you physically couldn’t – this. This wasn’t you. But how would you know? You’re mad, insane, feral, dripping with need and desire and could only smell an omega nearing his heat.

Simon steeled his nerves, tried to make sense of the situation beyond his own raging pheromones, tried to think past the need and desire to make you cry out his name. He tried to think – think, think – tried to find a way that would bring you back to them, that would make You come back. Simon needed You back, not the feral alpha that had taken over. He wanted to feel his alpha, wanted to feel how you quivered when he kissed you just right, when your legs were wrapped around him, keeping him right where you wanted him to be.

Simon didn’t even notice that he’d crossed the room, stood at the foot of your bed, almost drooling at the prospect of being able to touch you, being able to kiss you, to fuck you. Simon bit back the whine that wanted to tear itself out of his throat, wanted you slotted on his mouth, wanted to take all you had, wanted to hear your mewls and whines for more, more, more.

He wanted things back to the way they were.

He wasn’t about to admit that he was scared, he was terrified, but it didn’t stop him from hovering a hand over your thigh, unflinching when you thrashed in your bonds again. Simon was brave, approaching a feral alpha, but you were their feral alpha, you had always been the 141’s alpha, feral or not, mindless or whole. Simon’s eyes caught how your leg seemed to retreat at the feeling of his touch, as if being touched by fire, but he could smell how your body betrayed you, could taste your arousal on his masked lips.

The whine you released when Simon’s hand sat between your thighs, against your arousal, was utterly delicious to him. He wanted more – more than a whine. He wanted to hear you cry out his name, wanted tears falling down your cheeks from how good you felt, wanted to feel you clench around him, wanted you so full of his come that you’d be leaking by the time he was done with you. There were so many things he wanted from you. His own mind felt like it was twisting about, being so close to you, even in your altered rut – now he knew why the medics warned the 141 away from you. He didn’t care – neither did you, it seemed. He couldn’t stop – didn’t want to stop – you smelled so good, and he could only imagine how fantastic you would taste. So driven by his baser needs, the desire to just have you, to take all you had until you were an incoherent mess was overpowering the rational part of his brain, was silencing the part of him that said this was wrong. He wanted you, God, he needed you. You couldn’t stop him – he couldn’t stop himself.

Your addled brain couldn’t quite make out what he was doing, what he was saying. All you could do was feel what he was doing, and it was nothing short of divine. Each movement of his hand made you buck into it, the restraints keeping you still and allowing Simon full control of a feral alpha.

Simon relished the way you immediately fell apart with his touch, your eyes rolling back, a low rumbly growl deep in your chest that sounded so much like your normal purr, pleased and wanting more. He wondered if you were coming back to him, but your eyes were pinpricks, pupils so skinny he didn’t think anything of You was still in there. Still, he couldn’t stop himself.

Simon hesitated, only slightly, leaning forward, closer, closer, closer, his face at your neck, close enough for you to bite, to lash out and attack, but you were so pliant in his hands, fingers toying with your entrance as your hole clenched uselessly around nothing. Your legs shook with all he did. He could see how you bit your lip to keep from making any noise, could see how you tried to close your legs – God, you were delicious to him.

Your breaths were low and heady, heavy, wanting and yearning, and so fucking desperate.

Simon hovered over you, one hand between your thighs, teasing you, toying with you, the other hand tangled in the locks of your hair, tugging your head back and exposing that delicious throat of yours to him. He knew he should stop, knew that this was wrong, but even Simon himself was having a difficult time controlling his baser desires.

Something about you smelled off, different, not like you, not like the intense warmth they were so used to. You smelled like something burning, yet still warm, smelled intense, yet angry. It wasn’t you, but at the same time, it was. You were. Whatever they’d gassed you with changed you, no form of recognition behind your eyes, hands trembling in both anger and need.

Simon’s lips pressed against as much skin as he could, fervent, reverent, yearning, hungry, fucking starved, all but tearing the hospital gown off you and exposing yourself to him. He wanted to see you – he didn’t care what the nurses and doctors would think, what they would say – they couldn’t deny him this, deny him you. Not again, not now, never again. You were here, and he wasn’t about to let you slip through his hands again.  He couldn’t – not after what happened.

The groan that fell from his lips when he finally had you slotted on him was sinful and delicious – he didn’t ignore how your legs shook around him, your soft thighs acting like earmuffs for him as he ate and devoured. He could feel how you bucked yourself against his face, aching for more than just his tongue, more than his fingers pumping in and out of you. As voracious as he was, he wasn’t about to hurt you before you were prepped for him.

No, he’d make you come on his tongue and fingers a few times, he’d undo the restraints keeping your arms and legs down. He’d feel your hands in his hair, feel how your legs shook as he brought you to the edge and drew back just before you tipped over.

So lost in the feeling of Simon’s mouth on you that you didn’t notice the rest of your pack had entered the room.

Kyle was on you in seconds, mouth tracing every square inch of you, licking at your sweat-soaked skin. Simon had riled you up and left you on the edge more times than you could count with his hands and mouth alone, your body and mind now begging for more, more, more.

“So pretty like this, Birdie…” John whispered in your ear, fingers pumping in and out of you, your arousal and Simon’s spit coating his fingers. While your feral mind fought against everything, wanting to lash out in defence rather than allow them to do this, your body, or theirs, wouldn’t listen.

They were just as hungry as you were, taking all you had to offer and more. Their sharp smiles only seemed to grow to a razor point when you cried out, your sudden orgasm leaving little white spots in your vision, limbs shaking as their movements did not let up. You tried to close your legs, tried to catch your breath and push yourself away, but whatever resistance you had was forgotten when your eyes rolled back.

You tried to shake your head, tried to move away, overstimulated to the near point of being fucked stupid, and none of them had even put their cocks in you.

Kyle had come on you twice; Johnny, three times. Simon and John both insisted on waiting until they were buried deep in you, wanted to wait until you were stuffed so deeply in them.

Simon’s hand gripped your jaw, forcing you to look at him while Kyle fucked Johnny within an inch of his life, the Scotsman’s moans making your hole twitch. “Look at me, Birdie.” Simon mumbled before moving his lips to your ear. “Come back to us, lovie…” He pleaded.

His voice was such a soft thing, despite the intense grip he had on your face. The intensity in his eyes matched your own insanity, the desperation to bring you back to them was almost overwhelming. You struggled to comprehend what was even happening.

You still didn’t know, were still hungry, still wanted to lash out, but the deep brownness to his eyes made you think. ‘Am I safe here?’

Before your thoughts could go any further, your head threatened to roll back as Simon finally thrust into you, the low groan and the squelching noise that followed was almost embarrassing, were it not for how full you finally fucking felt. Simon held your face, forcing you to keep eye contact with him, relishing in how your eyes rolled back, mouth wide open and drooling like the mindless mutt you were.

He gave you little to no time to adjust to his size before he pulled back and snapped his hips back into you a second later, setting a relentless and feverish pace. He pistoned out of you like something mad, like Simon was the feral one, like he had been gassed with whatever you had been gassed with. “Fuckin’ delicious, s-so fuckin’ good for me…” He slobbered against your throat, chasing his own pleasure rather than making you feel good, rather than bringing you back to them.

The moment your moans filled the room, Kyle’s mouth was on yours, his long fingers toying and teasing you, making you whine and writhe under Simon, elegant yet scarred digits making you twitch, pulling at your nipples. Kyle always liked to touch you, to hold you, to make you shiver under his expert caresses. You might have been their alpha, the one to protect them and make sure they were satisfied, but you were always a puddle at their feet when they worked their magic on you.

You moaned into each hot and heady kiss Kyle left you, the sounds you made swallowed by his mouth for a moment before Simon smashed his lips against Kyle’s, drawing his attention for a split second. The sergeant’s eyes rolled shut at the taste of you on Simon’s lips. God, you tasted so fucking good to them, even as altered and feral and fucked up as you were.

Your entire body tensed, gut feeling like a coil would snap at any given moment. You felt your legs shaking, cheeks wet with tears that you didn’t know were falling. The sight of your tears made Simon’s pace quicken, his groans loud as he stuffed his face against your neck, nose pressed against your scent gland and taking in every altered scent you uncovered.

“Fucking take it…” He huffed, his thrusts growing erratic, hips stuttering. “It’s all yours, just… fucking take it…” His groan was long and languid, finally chasing his release and painting your walls white.

So hungry were you, so starved for such a pretty omega, that you didn’t think, not that you could, before sinking your teeth into his scent gland. Your nose was immediately filled with omega in heat, sweet alluring, and so fucking overpowering and overwhelmingly Simon, so intense you almost tore his throat open.

You were still shaking, hole clenching around nothing as Simon pulled out, cheeks and chest flushed, freckled chest heaving and gently pink. Glowing as he smiled at you, neck red and raw from your bite.

“P…” You huffed, still craving more, as if you’d die if you didn’t have Kyle’s cock in you. “Please…” God you were starved, still so fucking hungry, so famished. All you could do was beg, eyes wide and aimed so prettily at Kyle.

He wasted no time, slotted between your thighs and thrusting himself into you, hissing as you clenched so tightly around him. “F-Fuck, lovie…” He mumbled. The piercings along the underside of his cock felt so fucking good, and you lost yourself, becoming even more so of a drooling mess, your mouth wide open.

John smiled as he walked over, the sight of his heavy cock making you shiver as you opened wide like the cock drunk alpha you were.

“So bloody needy…” He chuffed, sighing deeply when the warm wetness of your mouth wrapped around him. He timed his thrusts into your mouth with Kyle’s near relentless pace, leaving you gagging around him, eyes watering with the tip of his cock practically punching the back of your throat. But shit did you feel so good.

Your eyes shut tight as another orgasm ripped through your system, so sudden, so intense that John pulled away.

“Fuck, Kyle…!” You cried out his name, your voice so clear, so You that it made Kyle come so hard, so much that he near passed out on your chest. His body shook as Johnny licked his way up his legs, followed by your own.

You had no idea what had happened, were so blissfully unaware of the state of the room, failed to notice how John had painted your face white.

It took Johnny no time at all to practically shove Kyle out of the way to lap at your hole, a white sticky mess that made him only drink deeper. You whined, brows furrowed and far too overstimulated to respond. Your hands tangled in his hair, keeping him right where you wanted him to be. A wordless scream made your back arch, eyes rolling into the back of your head as Johnny worked you up to another orgasm, slowly working you down, taking all he could possibly get before lining himself up and pushing himself in. You clenched around him so tightly, so deliciously that he could barely manage a handful of thrusts before he filled you to the brim, cum leaking out of you and onto the sheets. He didn’t care – you certainly didn’t.

Your brain had effectively shut down, unable to process Kyle’s words as he kissed you with such fervor.

“Welcome back, Birdie…”

[stuffeddrawer]

(elys anon)

Ik this is probably unrealistic but I'm imagining that some of the fae in court and the staff got a crush on the WONDEROUS miss duchess bc if why prey shaped why does she have those distracting assets, it's not even a pervy way me thinks most of fae are used to sharp edges and cruel smiles but the duchess no matter how hard she hides it is soft, she has a round and soft plush body that bounces in the very right places iykwim and GODDAMMIT those idiot king and his husband's don't just see what a beauty landed in their hands??!??????? Unacceptable truly (no I am not projecting to the aforementioned fae folk no I'm not wdym)

the longer i wrote this, the more it escaped me 😭 this is a softer, happier approach in general, so it’s not totally “canon” compliant to the fae au || masterlist

It began, as all dangerous fascinations do in the fae court, not with a spell or a spectacle, but with a glance.

A too-long, too-still glance.

One of the green-moss Ladies who worked often in the the western wing- nose always in the air, tongue always sharper than sense- was the first to nearly walk into a marble pillar during a meeting because she’d been watching you descend the steps to the throne.

You hadn’t even done anything. Simply walked. But the fabric of your gown had clung and swayed in just the right way, the stitching pulled ever so slightly across the softness of your hips, your bodice gently curved from the press of plush breasts, your arms round and warm where fae tended toward the sharp and sinewy. Even your hands, gloved in dark lace and shiny steel, looked gentle. Prey-shaped.

“Ridiculous,” she muttered later, nose red from the bump, elongated ears still pink. “Completely inappropriate. Distracting. Utterly- unacceptable.”

And yet the looks didn’t stop.

They’d grown up among creatures who wore their cruelty like pearls. Beauty in the fae realm was meant to be honed like a blade- razor-edged cheekbones, teeth like opals, bodies willowy and cold and pulled taut by ancient glamours. There was a particular kind of aesthetic expected of queens: cold-fire lips, bone-thin limbs, voices like thorns against silk. Certainly, the Queen Mother embodied such beauty.

And then there was you.

Oh, you could wield thorns- no one denied that. But you were still so unbearably, unfairly soft inspite of everything the Queen Mother ordered for you to be dressed in. You had hips that swayed like music and a stomach that curved just enough to tempt wonder. The soft pudge of your thighs peeked from split skirts like promises. Your collarbone rose and fell with breath, and not even your fae-trained posture could hide the bounce in your step or the plush sway of your figure when you moved.

The palace staff, at the very least those who didn’t hate you on principle, were worse than the courtiers. They adored you, especially those who directly served you long enough for their opinions of you to shift and change. Those who were brought in by Johnny specifically after they’d noticed your old servants skimping on taking care of you also fit right in.

“She’s like something out of a mortal dream,” one of the castle maids whispered and giggled, half-swooning into a pile of enchanted laundry. “Have you seen the way she fills that midnight velvet?”

“She smiled at me once,” one of the palace guards at the east tower confessed. “Nearly dropped my blade. I didn’t even want to blink.”

The tailors added tiny hearts into the hems of your gowns, in silvers and purples and dark reds so the Queen Mother would not glower at and fire them. The flower-couriers argued weekly over who got to deliver arrangements to your quarters- just for the chance to catch a glimpse of your bare arms, your soft eyes, your gentle way of saying “thank you” like it meant something.

And through it all, your husbands remained so stupidly, criminally unaware. Though of course, none would dare say such things outloud.

King John, with his brooding silences and wine-slick muttering. Advisor Simon, who glared too hard to ever look properly. Advisor Johnny, who got never remained long enough to notice. Advisor Kyle, who was too busy standing protectively near you to realize the one he was guarding.

Unacceptable. Truly.

But at least it meant the courtiers could take more and more liberties. Standing too close. Speaking too sweetly. Offering gifts that were a little too personal. There were whispers now in the moonrooms and crystal hall- about what a tragedy it was for something so radiant, so luscious, to be tethered to those oblivious king and advisors.

“They still see her as strategy,” someone murmured once in the bathhouse, where even the tiles eavesdropped. The soft smell of your soaps and oils was like a siren’s song. “Not as beauty.”

But it wasn’t just lust nor just the curve of your body or the warmth of your skin- it was the contradiction of you; a queen who ruled with a sharp tongue and wore gowns that hugged your soft belly. Who could summon thorns with a flick of your wrist but still cried at sad endings in mortal books. Who sat on a throne of obsidian with all the weight of crown and court pressing down- and still smiled kindly at the maid who spilled tea.

You were prey-shaped, yes. No one would ever deny that.

But you were beloved.

And eventually, much to the courtiers’ combined disappointment and relief, your husbands began to notice.

Not because of the murmurs (though they were (getting louder) or the offerings (those had become truly absurd- someone gifted you a custom-carved bathing pool shaped like a swan), and not even because someone visibly was attempting to become a lover of yours, kings and advisors be damned.

No.

It was because you’d started laughing more, smiling softer, and they weren’t the ones causing such changes.

And that- that made the boys very, very stupidly possessive.

But that’s a tale for another day (noona ran out of things to write).

[stuffeddrawer]

River Ward, I Fought the Law

[stuffeddrawer]

Duke(King)dom Fae AU

Beginnings

Continuation

Pets || oneshot || very beautiful art by @just-a-little-nut 💕🫶🏼 || Glowy the Moth

Jealousy

Bathtime

Adored Humanity

[stuffeddrawer]

[stuffeddrawer]

obsessed with simon and boring!reader as apartment neighbors.

you're sure your little lifestyle, which closely resembles that of an elderly woman, could be of no interest to your hulking, brooding punk of a neighbor. meanwhile, simon's always taking his phone calls from gaz and johnny, uncharacteristically loudly, nearly pressed against the wall that separates you. groaning about how he's tired of them invitin' him out to the club. too old for that shit. just want some damn peace- hoping you'll overhear and invite him in for tea and shows some day.

[stuffeddrawer]

They really made the Verdansk trailer for the Price girlies(gn).

[stuffeddrawer]

anyway transforce 141

[stuffeddrawer]

anyway transforce 141

[stuffeddrawer]

Anyway, trans rights are human rights. Terfs and anyone who supports jkr and believes in her very obvious bigotry are not welcome here.

[stuffeddrawer]

[stuffeddrawer]

Devil’s advocate: what if Johnny is just a good boy, loves explosions, shy with women he crushes on, loyal, a puppy dog to his superiors, straight shooter, quick to anger, loves a good brawl, drinks and smokes socially at his fave pub, wears a gold cross to protect him on the field, nice to everyone, loves his mama, loves his country, all around normal guy, and this fandom made him into some kinda oversexed, stalking, foaming, dark, disgusting, filthy, drooling, manslut, frothing, himbo, obsessive, manipulative menace who will weep if his bonnie dares to shave without consulting him?

I said what I said.

why would you say that to the person who started writing him that way? I don’t give a fuck about your opinion LMAO