#I do fall under that umbrella lmao

[iinryer]

i will be back after the strike! 💗

[sweeterthanficstion]

— all the right reasons || l.s.k

pairing: older!rockstar!leon x popstar!fem!reader

tags: music au, set in 2011, leon is a rockstar (obviously), and reader is a popstar (think like, sabrina carpenter type). rivals to lovers, lots and lots of shitty banter, feelings are CAUGHT!, really bad music related puns, MDNI 18+, unprotected p in v, reader rides that dick into next weeeek, vaginal fingering, lots and lots of dirty talk too. sappy ending <3

summary: You're a sugarplum tabloid darling who's making headlines across the globe, he's a tried and true rockstar who's a household name. Leon S. Kennedy was just another thorn in your side. Until he wasn't. He’s older, meaner, and too good with his hands. You’re supposed to hate him. So why do you feel like you’re falling in love?

word count: 8.4k

a/n: omg... so like... hi again... it's been a while!! i dragged myself out of the depressive pit that is trying to date real men and reminded myself of what REALLY matters (writing fanfiction of men who don't exist) so that's how i'm back here, lmao.

also, BIGGEST thank you's to my gorgeous girls vivi and lea for offering to beta read and leaving the silliest, funniest comments and feedback

anyway enjoy asshole-older-rockstar leon, he's stolen my heart and i want to [REDACTED] [REDACTED] [REDACTED]... i've been shot 47 times

playlist⭑masterlist⭑AO3

You never liked Leon Kennedy.

He’s always been bark and bite, broody and callous. All whiskey breath and tired denim and the kind of stubble that looked more like laziness than effort. Too jaded. Too old. His time has come and gone, and still, somehow, he was headlining festivals, charting on billboards, signing tits.

You’d met him twice before you ever really spoke. Once at an awards afterparty, where he didn’t even look at you when you said hi—just brushed past with a half-hearted “sorry, sweetheart,” before disappearing into a crowd of laughing industry men. The second time, backstage at some benefit concert. He’d been in the wings, watched you be hurried past in a blur of glitter and gold, murmured something you can only imagine was unsavoury under his breath.

So yeah. You weren’t exactly dying to be his friend.

Which is why it’s so fucking inconvenient that your first real single is now under the same label as his—why you pass each other in the hallway at Capitol every other week, the scent of his cologne arriving before he does, heavy and heady and masculine.

But you’re not stupid either. You knew who he was long before you ever stood in the same room as him. You knew the album that broke him, the single that went triple platinum, the first stadium he sold out. You knew the way critics talked about his guitar playing like it was something they’d never seen before. You might’ve even had a crumpled tour shirt buried somewhere in your closet from high school, but that was a long time ago. That was before you learned what it meant when people said never meet your heroes.

But still there were moments, little things that made you reconsider. Once, at the label offices, he held the elevator door open for you even though you were halfway across the hallway. He didn’t look at you when you stepped in. Just said, “You gonna hit the button or stand there all night?” but his voice had been warmer than you expected.

And maybe it’s all in your head. Maybe he’s not thinking about you at all. Maybe he’s just that kind of man—coated in disinterest, carved out of concrete. Still, there’s something behind the way he looks at you that you still haven’t quite figured out.

It’s midnight when Leon finds the fork in the road that decides his fate.

It’s the voice of an angel that seals it.

He’s not even supposed to be standing in the liminal space outside your door and wondering if he should go in. He’s not even meant to be thinking about you at all.

He was thinking about the rain. About how he’d failed to remember an umbrella, about how his car smells like mildew and the CD player is still shot. About how he hasn’t written a decent song in six months. His manager had so kindly told him to go home, sleep it off, stop showing up to the label’s building like a ghost to its haunt.

And fuck if he’s already had his fill with the shitty elevator. Leon’s busy jamming the buttons to the ground floor, stuck on the second, when he hears it.

A pretty litany of sun-soaked lyrics that spills into the hallway and the elevator the same way the light from the half-opened door does.

That’s how he finds himself here: standing outside your studio door, staring at the plaque with your name engraved in gold like it’s daring him to knock.

He doesn’t. Just opens it.

“Didn’t know they let you keep the studio past your bedtime.”

It’s a joke. Kinda. He winces halfway through delivery, like he hears it too late. Nose scrunching like he didn’t mean it, and truthfully he doesn’t think he did. God, Kennedy, didn’t anyone teach you to think before you speak?

You flinch—just a little—eyes snapping open as you pull off the headphones. The track dies in your ears, and the silence feels abrupt, almost rude, like it’s been interrupted mid-confession.

You glance over your shoulder. Leon stands in the threshold looking exactly like he always does—leather jacket, dark jeans, stubble that's a little more dirty than charmingly rugged. He could be anywhere else. He should be anywhere else. And yet.

Your brow lifts, unimpressed. “Didn’t know they let you out of the retirement home either. Should I call someone?”

Leon scoffs. “I’m not geriatric.”

“Sure.” And you turn back to the soundboard like he doesn’t exist.

He stands there, lips pursed like he doesn’t quite know what to do with himself.

“So… what was that?” he asks.

You sigh like it costs you. Slip the headphones off and let them settle around your neck. “A song. You’re familiar, yes?”

Leon rolls his eyes. “Plenty. You’ve got a smart mouth, kid.”

You grin, all teeth. “Thanks.”

He lets that hang in the silence for a beat, then has the bright idea to push off the doorway. He wanders in and makes himself at home in your space. His boot grazes a stack of scribbled sheet music, and he nudges it aside with his toe like he’s being polite. Then he drops onto your couch without asking—moves a cushion, spreads his knees, settles like it’s shared property.

You shoot him a look. “Comfortable?”

Leon shrugs. “Your feng shui needs work.”

“What do you want?” You finally ask, defeated.

He nods toward the board. “Play it.”

You blink. “What?”

“The song. Play it.”

“You’re really bad at this, y’know.”

“At what?”

“Basic human interaction. Hospitality. Small talk.”

He blinks, caught off-guard like he’s never been told that a day in his life.

“Sorry,” you say sweetly. “Too honest?”

“Play the damn song.”

You raise a brow. “Magic word?”

Leon just stares.

You sigh, press spacebar. The track tumbles out of the speakers, raw and half-finished. It holds for a moment, teeters, then collapses—unfinished and unsatisfying. You pull your headphones off with a huff. Leon thinks it's cute.

The weight of his gaze burns a hole into your back, makes heat crawl up your spine. You glance at him when it gets too much. “What?”

“I didn’t say anything,” he hums.

“Felt like you wanted to.”

He laughs a little then, like the meekness to your voice is amusing. “I was just gonna say it’s close.” He murmurs, “But it’s stuck.”

You exhale through your nose, lean back in your chair, swivel from left to right. “No shit.”

You don’t see him move as much as you hear him, the creak of the aged leather couch, before there’s the familiar dull ring of your guitar.

“You don’t mind, do you?” He asks as he slips into the second chair next to yours, you try to ignore the way your skin prickles when his knee knocks yours.

“Mi casa, su casa,” you sigh defeatedly, his lips quirk and you find yourself smiling against your will.

Leon decides your song just needs some weight to it. Typical of him. All his music has weight. A smoky, heady bass, a sexy guitar, heavy drums, but what he plays for you is none of that.

Yes, it holds weight, but a different one to what you pinned him for. It carries something gentler, softer chords that fill your lungs with exactly the type of yearning you were aiming for. 

You pause. “That’s…”

“Exactly what you wanted?”

You nudge his knee with your own, hit record on the soundboard, “do it again.”

And so it begins. 

You find that Leon isn’t so bad when he’s writing music with you. In fact, within the four soundproof walls of your studio, he’s almost nice. He listens when you tell him to change a chord. He lets you needle him, prod at his composure like you’re tuning a guitar string too tight just to hear it snap.

Most nights you’re in the studio until the twilight hours before sunrise. You stay until your voice is worn ragged, fingers blistered from overuse. Until your limbs give out and you’ve passed out in the swivel chair, curled up like a cat in the glow of LED strips and mixing boards. You always wake to something left behind—a lukewarm cup of coffee, a half-drunk energy drink, sometimes the old throw blanket draped over your shoulders. It’s a rhythm now, syncopated and strange, yet something you’ve grown fond of.

It’s only inevitable, the way you grow closer with time. 

“Don’t lie sweetheart,” he murmurs one night in the hush of your studio, “I think I’m growing on you.”

“Like black mold.” you shoot back, but the grin tugging at your lips betrays you.

And it’s just all too easy to think about him when he's not there.

You remember watching his set from the wings at that summer festival—the first time you’d shared a stage. The downpour had been terrible and insistent his entire performance, rain slicking his thread-bare shirt to his skin, turning his hair dark and wild. He’d looked like straight up sex appeal, sweat and storm and strobe lights, and you’d had to physically stop yourself from reaching for him when he walked offstage.

He’d smelt like a thunderstorm, heady as he’d squeezed your shoulders like he was grateful, damp and buzzing with leftover adrenaline. “How’d I do?”

“Not bad, rockstar,” you’d said, but your voice had come out all soft.

Now he lives in your notebooks.

That’s the real inevitability of it, you think. Unreleased verses tucked between grocery lists and studio appointments. Lyrics written in the haze of 2 a.m., voice notes left half-sung on your phone, songs you’ll never show him during your secret writing sessions.

They’re not the kind of songs you should be writing.

They’re laced with want—velvet and teeth, obsessive and desperate. They don’t sound like you, not the way your label wants you to. They’re darker, sultrier, leave you flushed when you play them back. 

It’s not like you mean to write them about him. They just come out that way. Something about the way his voice sounds when he's two glasses of whiskey in and recounting a silent film he’d watched three fortnights ago. They’re all pent up tension—the way he pretty much knows his way around your apartment now, well enough to find where you keep the good wine anyway, the way his fingers move over the fretboard of his Paul Reed Smith with a guitar pick between his teeth, the phantom weight of his palm on your lower back when he passes by you.

You bottle every look, every breathy half-laugh, every fleeting moment where you wonder what his hands would feel like if they dipped lower.

Your songs are about him, yes, and they’re for him, in all the infuriating ways you wish they weren’t.

So naturally, the smartest thing to do is keep them buried—demo files hidden in unlabeled folders, notebooks tucked behind equipment cases. Off-limits. Confidential. A bomb waiting to go off. 

At least, until tonight.

You’re curled up on the studio couch, Leon’s out at some fancy party tonight, said he couldn't write. There’s a half-empty bottle of wine and the glow of your laptop screen to keep you company, but it’s not enough not the same without him.

There’s a particular song that haunts you. It’s a confession wrapped in delicate ribbons of sultry melodies. Your voice a touch away from a moan, lyrics that dance around his name.

You shouldn’t have written it. 

Definitely shouldn’t have recorded it either.

And now you find yourself hovering over the file like it’s taunting you.

Maybe you can blame it on the buzz in your veins, or the way you’d caught his eye earlier that morning in the breakroom. He’d looked at you over the rim of his mug, winked at you like he could read you. You curse yourself under your breath at the memory. He totally knows he’s getting to you. You’d dropped the I-hate-you act three moves back.

So you drag-and-drop the demo. Chew your lip. Hit send.

Check and mate.

But by the time you’ve sobered up enough to panic, it’s already much too late.

Seven minutes. He texts back, and it sounds nearly like a threat.

Bad, bad, bad idea. No, actually, bad doesn’t even begin to encapsulate how horrific of an idea that was. A category-five hurricane of a mistake. 

What were you thinking? 

Well, clearly you weren’t.

You clamber to your feet, pace barefoot on the studio carpet, wearing a frantic path into the fibres. Back and forth, back and forth. Damage control is like a roulette wheel spinning in your mind, you could delete the message, a phone malfunction, yes, totally. Your label leaked it by accident, or it’s just one big elaborate joke.

Or, or— and this is the best one yet, you could change your name, dye your hair, move to another country where six-time award winning rockstars with stupid voices and stupid fingers on guitars don’t exist.

You’re halfway through plotting your escape through the window when the door clicks open exactly seven minutes later.

You startle like a deer in headlights, eyes wide when they snap up to the man of the hour—to Leon— and your stomach drops clean through the floor.

“You drive fast,” is what you manage. Leon clicks the door shut behind him.

His hair’s an artful mess, like he’s either run his hand through it a million times on the drive here, or just rolled out of bed. You like the former option so you pretend it’s that. His shoulders look tense, jaw tight, and his eyes—dark, sharp, dragging over you like he’s trying to see right through you.

His eyes flick to the littered coffee table, your notebook, the bottle of wine that looks at least a quarter drained.

Something strange flickers in his gaze, and for a minute you paint him as disappointed. 

Oh. You realise, with startling clarity, that he thinks you’re wasted.

It’s like a light at the end of the tunnel, a saving grace. It’d be an easy way out, wouldn’t it? Oops, Leon, sorry, wasn’t in my right mind, don’t even remember sending it, haha, how embarrassing!

But you’re not, at least not anymore, you’re standing in front of him with unfortunate sobriety. 

“Are you drunk?” He asks, voice low and rough around the edges.

Your mouth falls open, as if you’ve been scandalised. “Uh, rude?” You gesture wildly to the wine, then yourself. “I had two drinks, max. I am perfectly—” you take a dramatic step forward, stop, then another, arms out like you're proving a sobriety test, “—-fine.”

Leon doesn’t budge, stands there with his brows cinched like he’s in deep thought. It gives you space to take the upper hand back, if it was ever yours in the first place. “You, on the other hand,” you point an accusatory finger across the room, “are looking at me like I crashed your car or something.”

You might as well have with the way you have his heart hammering up his throat. He hates it, how you make him lose his carefully crafted cool. Being this nonchalant doesn’t come easy.

His tongue swipes over his teeth. And fuck him, because that shouldn’t be so distracting.

“Fine,” he starts, slow, “you wanna play dumb?’

“M’not dumb, it’s called being coy,” you hum, all too self satisfied.

Leon lets out a short breath of laughter, sharp, shakes his head and turns away like he needs to physically remove himself from you before he does something stupid.

And you should leave it there, because his buttons are officially pushed, yet you don’t feel familiar satisfaction curl around your chest like it should. “If this is about the song—”

His head tips, just slightly. “If?”

You swallow. “I mean—”

He scoffs. Sharp. Disbelieving. Runs a thumb over his lips. “If this is about the song,” he repeats, like he can’t believe you even tried that.

You open your mouth, then close it, then open it again. "I—"

“Don’t,” he mutters. “Drop it.”

Your jaw shuts, and it takes less than a second for Leon to close the distance between you, effectively stealing all the air from your lungs. You resist the urge to back away, to give him that satisfaction, even when your body screams at you to. Not out of fear, but because he’s looking at you like he can finally see right through you.

"You sent it to me first," he says, quiet, but sure. His eyes flick down, over your lips, your throat, back up.

Your stomach turns, and you force yourself to bite back your words, despite how hard they are to swallow.

“And I wanted to believe you were drunk when you sent it,” he says, voice rougher now than before, “would’ve been easier that way.”

You shift your weight, but don’t bow your head. “Easier?”

Your gaze flickers to where his jaw flexes. "Would’ve been a mistake, then. Would’ve meant I could just forget about it."

Forget about it. That shouldn’t sting.

You shrug, aiming for nonchalance, but your voice comes out quieter than you mean it to. "So forget about it."

His voice, that stupid calibre of his, drops to something even lower, something  barely above a whisper. 

"You really want me to?"

Your breath stutters. He takes your loss of words as an answer.

His fingers brush against your wrist, deft hands circle around the bone, his thumb brushing up against your pulse. Your skin burns where his finger’s graze. His other hand skims up your other arm, brushes against your jaw, and it’s so soft, tentative in a way that makes you shudder, an oxymoron to the storm brewing in his eyes. 

“Tell me,” he murmurs, “if I kiss you right now, are you gonna pretend you don’t want it?”

The question hangs in the space between, thick like tar.

It’s only when his thumb brushes against your cheek, that you feel your restraint, thin as hair, give. Slowly—so slowly—you tilt your chin up, just a fraction, just enough to close the distance so that your lips ghost over his, an echo of a kiss, but not quite one. Your move, rockstar.

It’s a thread-thin dangerous thing that sets his jaw tight, he inhales sharply, and you swear you see him tremble. 

You laugh softly at that, sweet as ever.

Leon caves.

His hand shifts, curls around the nape of your neck, pulls you flush and slots his lips against yours. 

The press of his mouth is warm, wanting, firm and demanding. 

But then you smile against his lips—satisfied, smug, victorious—and he groans something devastated.

It’s a low, deep, wrecked sort of sound, something that comes right from his chest, heavy with everything unsaid. His other hand finds your waist, squeezes tight, feels your skin give under his hold, like you’re finally his to keep and he can’t quite get enough. 

“Minx,” he mutters, breathless frustration bleeding into his words.

You revel in it, your skin erupting in goosebumps.

His hand tightens around the back of your neck, tilting your head just so—like he’s determined to kiss that satisfaction right off your lips.

Spoiler: he won’t.

Because you kiss him back just as fiercely, just as insistently, pressing up on your toes like you need to get closer, like you could crawl inside his skin if he let you. 

Your hands curl around his shoulders, move up to the junction where they meet the column of his throat, tangle in the hair at the nape of his neck. You tug and he lets out something that sounds dangerously close to a moan.

And you wonder if he hates this, how easily he unravels for you, how easily you undo him. It’s like you’ve been sent right from heaven to torture him.

His hands find the curve of your waist, skate down the warmth of your skin, the swell of your hips, the back of your thighs, until he’s pressing in, guiding you backward—steady, steady—until the backs of your knees hit the couch. 

Your balance wavers.

“Careful,” he murmurs, half-amused like this is funny to him.

He doesn’t give you the grace of finding your footing, pressing forward until you’ve sunk into the cushions.

Leon stands there for a second, looking down at you, eyes heavy-lidded, dark with something that makes heat coil in your stomach. He drags a hand over his mouth, like he’s trying to wipe away whatever impulse is written across his face. Like it might be something reckless, ruining. 

Then, he exhales. Sharp and quiet, he sinks to his knees in the space between your legs, a sight so devastating you forget to breathe. 

Broad hands wrap around the plush of your thighs, fingers pressing half-moon divots into your skin. 

“Look at you,” he murmurs, half to himself, half to you, something dangerously close to adoration lacing his words. His thumb brushes absently along the sensitive skin just above your knee, gaze tracking the way your breath shudders. Ruining, indeed.

And then—oh, then— his palm slips to hook underneath your knee, pulls your leg over his shoulder. You suck in a sharp breath, unable to tear your gaze away from his; bright blue eyes that sparkle something wondrous in the low light. 

You try to handle yourself, lest he watch you fall apart from a simple look. “If you think I’m just gonna melt the second you put your hands on me, you’re—” Your breath unfortunately hitches the second his grip tightens around your thigh, makes your pulse jump.

He raises a brow, infuriatingly smug, like he’s daring you to finish that sentence.

You clear your throat. “—you’re sorely mistaken.”

Leon huffs out a laugh, low and knowing. “Sorely?”

You fruitlessly dig your heel into his back, a half-attempt at a kick, a half-attempt at saving some of your dignity. “Yes, sorely.”

His hands slide up in a wordless answer—dragging his nails back down your thigh, nosing at the soft fat, pressing his mouth against the skin. The brush of his lips alone unravels you enough that you can’t muster an appropriate response, shivering, sighing instead.

“Someone’s quiet,” he muses lazily, drags his teeth just barely along your skin before soothing the spot with his tongue. “Where’d all that attitude go?”

You scowl before you can stop yourself. “It’s recalculating.”

A shit-eating smirk tugs at the corner of his mouth, “Yeah?” He does it again, open-mouthed this time, sucks supple flesh between his lips, bites, pulls away. “Let me know when it’s back."

Your chest feels like it’s on fire, so instead, your hands find the broad line of his shoulders, curl into the fabric of his shirt, and pull him up by the collar. He follows without much give, your thigh falls off his shoulder when he climbs up to press you into the plush cushion, cages you in. And fuck—you don’t think you should be this turned on by his weight atop you, by the heat of him, by that look in his eyes.

You can hear the way your heart pounds, blood rushing in your ears. Can feel it in your fingertips when you drag them down his chest, his stomach, until they catch the hem of his shirt. You push it up enough to reveal the hard muscle of his abdomen. He shudders atop you.

Leon’s lips are back on yours before you can even think to be smug about it, before the teasing grin can curl at the corner of your lips. It’s hotter now, deeper, tongue sliding against yours like he’s trying to drown you. And in the heat of it, his knee presses between your thighs. You’re not sure if he does it on purpose, if it’s a brilliant accident, but either way it makes you keen, a gasp of pleasant surprise tumbling from your lips.

He groans into your mouth, one hand tightening on your hip. “You sound better than I imagined,” he breathes heavily, and heat floods your face.

You swallow hard. Shut up, shut up, shut up. 

Your heart jumps at the thought of him having imagined this. Having imagined how you sounded, how he would’ve imagined you falling apart. It does horrible things to your head and even worse things to the slick heat between your thighs.

You should have a response by now, something sharp and devastatingly witty, but all you can really focus on is the way he looks at you. Like he’d let you ruin him and call it a privilege. And then he moves, pressing closer, knee pressing up between your thighs more purposefully than before, and whatever witty remark you had queued up promptly exits the premises.

The sound that leaves your mouth is embarrassing. Mortifying, even.

“Oh,” Leon murmurs, voice all smoke and velvet, “there it is.”

You absolutely despise how much you like that, refuse to let him have it. Can’t. Won’t. His ego is slowly swelling to the size of a stadium, and the last thing you need is for him to think he has you all figured out.

So, you do what any self-respecting, prideful person in your position would do: you take the liberty to push at his shoulders, and when he leans back, you seize the opportunity. Grip the front of his shirt, and push him down against the couch. He lets you, laughing under his breath, hands settling easy against your thighs as you straddle his lap.

“Don’t look so smug,” you warn, fingers sliding down, slow and deliberate. His stomach tenses beneath your touch.

“I’m not smug,” he argues, but he’s smiling something devilish—lazy, lopsided, thoroughly enjoying himself. His hands flex against your legs, and you let yourself believe he needs it to ground himself. “Just waiting to see what you’ve got planned.”

Your pulse thrums in your throat, but you play nonchalance better than he gives you credit for. “You got a request?”

“Don’t think I need one,” he says, watching as your hands dip lower, brushing over his belt buckle. “You wrote a song about it, m’sure you have ideas.”

If looks could kill he would be dead, because you’re glaring at him like he’s said something horrific. He is right, but you don’t let him have the satisfaction of hearing you admit it.

Instead, you hook your fingers under the leather, tug just enough to make him suck in a harsh breath. His eyes darken, and it’s thrilling—watching him unravel, shift beneath you.

“Aw, is that all it took?” You coo, pleased beyond words, leaning in close to brush your lips against his jaw. “Usually so put together, doesn’t take much to get you like this, does it?”

Leon huffs a laugh, but goes willingly, tilts his head to let you mouth down his throat. “You wanna talk about falling apart? What was that sound you made just a minute ago?”

You bite down, enough to make him hiss. “Stop talking.”

You can picture the smile that tugs at his thin lips, feel the way his warm, broad palms skim up, under your shirt, pressing into your back, fingers tracing the curve of your spine, slipping under the band of bra.

His belt slips free with a quiet clink, and you savour the way his muscles jump under your hands as you undo the button of his jeans, the steady sound of his shallow breathing when your fingers brush against the sharp line of his hip bone. 

He tries not to push, but you can just about feel the restraining in him, the way his fingers twitch where they rest against your thighs, jaw clenched, muscles tight like a wire pulled taut.

You drag your nails lightly over the plane of his stomach, card your fingers through the thin trail of hair that leads down from his navel, just to see what he does when you do.

Leon sucks in a sharp breath, his head tipping back against the couch, and the sound he makes—low and barely restrained—sends a rush of heat straight through you.

“You’re trying to kill me.” He swears, voice beyond wrecked, and for a second you think he might start begging for mercy. 

“No,” you hum, tilting your head, hands running up his chest, under his shirt. “Just having fun.”

Leon laughs—all breathless, shaky around the edges. But there’s something desperate in the way he exhales, in the way his hips shift up just barely like he’s fighting every instinct to meet you halfway.

There must be a devil on your shoulder, he thinks, because you make it worse.

Your hips roll down, testing, barely any pressure, but enough he feels it. His breath punches out of him like you’ve knocked the wind from his lungs. His fingers dig into your thighs, desperation in his grip.

His head falls forward, eyes flicking up to meet yours, and fuck, you really weren’t prepared for how he looks at you—half-lidded, dark with something simmering just beneath the surface.

“You enjoying yourself?” he asks, voice low and rough, like it pains him to think too hard.

A grin stretches across your lips, heart thrumming with satisfaction, you’ve won, you think, made him fall to pieces without even touching him properly. 

But then he exhales sharply through his nose, takes your hand.

He presses it to his chest, right over his heart—fast, heavy, pounding. 

“You feel that?” His voice is low, his other hand, still on your back, coaxes you closer. Close enough your lips brush. “You did that.”

You let out a shaky breath, Leon curses because he thinks he finally has you breaking.

You didn’t expect him to do that, to let his walls come down and show you just how much you affect him. Didn’t think he’d pull the rug from under your feet and admit defeat in one fell swoop. He looks at you like he actually wants you, not just the game of it, not just for the win.

He wants you. 

…You want him.

Leon watches your face like he’s waiting for you to stop him, but when you don’t, when your lips part like you’re about to ask for something, maybe even beg—he decides.

He leans up, closes the short space between you, and kisses you deep and slow. Like you’re the best thing he’s ever had the pleasure of tasting. He doesn’t rush, nor does he fumble. Just touches you like he means it. Like he really has thought about this more than he’s willing to admit.

His fingers push at the hem of your shirt, sliding up your ribs, pulls the fabric off like it’s nothing. And when your body trembles against his, he swears to himself he’d do just about anything for you.

He lets you tug his jeans lower, helps you. His hands are steady, careful when he presses against the fabric of your underwear.

Leon watches your face, watches the way your lips fall open, breath uneven, the way your fingers tighten in his shirt, and then—

Then you make a sound so sweet, so utterly wrecked that his resolve snaps like a thread pulled too tight.

“Christ,” he mutters, like it physically pains him, and then he’s kissing you twice as hard as before, deep and wanting, swallowing every breath, every soft noise, every shaky exhale.

His fingers press firmer, so, so eager, willing to coax any sound out of you that you’ll let him. Your hands curl at his shoulders, hips bucking deftly against his palm.

“Leon, Leon, Leon,” you murmur, breathless and shaking, spilling his name into his own mouth.

He stills just barely, and fuck, it wrecks him—he doesn’t know if it’s the way you say it, like he’s something sacred, or the fact that you’re coming undone just for him.

“C’mon, sweetheart,” he whispers, pulling away even if it kills him, pressing warm lips against your jaw. “Gotta use your words.”

You blink up at him, dazed. “Don’t baby me.”

His mouth twitches. “You don’t want me to baby you?”

You want to tell him everything. That you want him to touch you like this, and talk to you like that, but also see you, really see you. Want him to want all of it—not just your body, not just the thrill of it, but the gentler parts too. The parts of you that ache when he leaves the room. The parts that want to believe someone like him could care that deeply.

“I want—” you start, then stop, teeth sinking into your lip.

He softens. Just a bit. Just enough. 

“Alright, sweetheart,” he murmurs. “Tell me how you want it.”

Your throat works around the words. You reach down, let your fingers trace along the waistband of his boxers, and look him dead in the eyes.

“Wanna ride you.” You whisper, voice is thin with adrenaline and want.

Leon groans like it’s been punched out of him. “Fuck. Jesus. Shit.”

You grin, all teeth, trying to ease the gravity in your chest. “Oh, c’mon, rockstar. I’m sure that’s not the first time you’ve had a girl say that before.”

He huffs out something like a laugh. “S’different,” he says quietly.

You’re too scared to ask how.

So instead, you kiss him like it’ll shut out the question. Like you can pour your want into his mouth and he’ll take it, keep it, like your secret's tucked somewhere between your teeth and if he’s patient enough, if he presses hard enough, he’ll find it there.

Leon groans into it, hands dragging along the curve of your waist, your hips. His palms are firm there, like he’s claiming something, like he’s grounding you both.

“You ride me,” he murmurs against your lips, “and I swear I’m not gonna last long.”

“Aw,” you tease, all syrup and heat, brushing your nose against his, “poor baby.”

He bites your bottom lip in retaliation, gentle but pointed, and you gasp.

“I’ll make it worth your while,” you whisper, fingers curling in the fabric of his shirt before finally, finally, dragging it up, over his head, revealing sweat-warmed skin that you wish you could lick clean with your tongue.

Unfortunately, there doesn’t seem to be much more time to waste. Leon’s handsiness, you’ve discovered, is both a curse and a gift—he can’t seem to stop touching you, and you’re in no hurry to make him. 

He helps you shimmy out of your underwear, breath catching when you’re bare before him. He drinks you in, staring like a man praying for patience. Then you sit back slightly, thighs spread over his lap, and he does it again, that mouth of his.

“God, look at you,” he mutters, like he can’t believe his luck. “You’re unreal.”

It makes your head swim, the way he says it.

In hindsight, you should’ve taken more time, wish you’d used your hand to stroke his length until he was begging for more, but the heady haze of sex-soup your brain is swimming in doesn’t leave you much choice. You’ll get him next time, you decide.

So instead you hide the flush of your cheeks with the sink of your hips, and you think it just about does it. Leon groans like it knocks the wind from him, his head tips back against the couch, throat bared, lashes fluttering.

The stretch is deep, thick, just shy of overwhelming. It steals your breath and then your balance, and you fall forward, catching yourself on his chest. He’s warm there. Bare skin and heart beneath your palms, his pulse kicking against your fingertips like it might leap out and run to you.

“Fuck— God you’re warm. You’re so warm,” he mumbles, and it’s so hot and heavy it makes you blush hard enough you feel it in your ears, your chest, your thighs.

“Romantic,” you breathe against his jaw, trying for wit but inevitably melting into the moment.

He huffs out a laugh, half-amused, half-ruined. “Mouth on you.”

“You like it.”

“Unfortunately,” he grits out, squeezing your thighs. “You gonna move or just sit there lookin’ pretty?”

He feels you grin against the column of his throat first, then feels you roll your hips sickeningly slowly second.

“Christ,” he moans obscenely, fingers digging into your skin. “You’re—fuck. This is a bad idea.”

You pant, shake your head. “I think we’re way past bad ideas.”

Leon’s hand slides up your back, catches at the nape of your neck, forces your mouth back to his like he needs to taste your smugness. You feel him twitch inside you when you moan into the kiss—high and desperate, something wild climbing up your throat.

“You sound so sweet when you’re full of me,” he murmurs against your lips, and it’s awful, the way your body clenches down at the filth of it. “All that smartass attitude, but now you’re just—” he cuts himself off with a groan, “—fuckin’ whimpering.”

“Shut up.”

“Make me.”

Your hand finds the back of his neck, you tighten your grip in his hair and drop your hips again, slower this time, grinding until he groans like you’ve punched the air out of him. You want to crawl inside him, disappear beneath his skin.

“Pretty girl,” he says, low and reverent. “You sound so fuckin’ sweet.”

You whimper at that. Your rhythm stutters.

Leon finds it really doesn’t take much to melt your poor brain. You’re already gone—thighs trembling, mouth open, whimpering nonsense between the slick drag of your hips. He takes advantage where he can, thrusts up into you with a force that makes you hiccup on a wet moan. Cute, cute, cute. 

“Leon,” you whisper, voice thin and cracked and ruined. You’re not sure what you’re asking for. More? Less? Everything?

“Yeah, baby,” he breathes, eyes glassy as they flick between your face and where your bodies meet. “Feels good, huh?”

God, his voice. You want to drown in the low timber that rattles through your head when he speaks like that. And of course, you nod. Desperate, mindless, somewhere between obsession and devotion. Your nails dig half-moons into the meat of his shoulders, your hips rocking pitifully.

“Can’t—can’t think,” you admit, a choked sound riding the edge of a sob.

Leon lets out a sharp breath through his nose, swears under it. “Good.” His voice is hoarse, fraying at the edges. “Don’t wanna hear you think. Just wanna hear you come.”

“Yours,” you whisper without thinking, tears burning and cresting your pretty lashes. “Yours, yours, yours—”

“That’s it,” he groans, “My girl.”

Your head jerks slightly, like the words ripple straight through you.

“Your girl?” you echo, dazed, like it floated up out of your mouth before your brain could catch it.

He doesn’t answer—not with words. Just thrusts up into you slow and deep, like he can fuck the truth back into you. Kisses you like you’ve ruined him completely. 

And just like that, it’s all too much.

The rhythm you’ve managed to keep starts to splinter, your movements losing precision. You’re clinging to him, breath coming in hot, wet gasps, thighs shaking, body screaming for that last push.

Leon feels it. Sees it in your face.

“You gonna come for me?” he pants, hands sliding down, down, gripping the back of your thighs as you lift and drop, roll and press. “You gonna soak my cock like a good fuckin’ girl?”

“Don’t wanna yet,” you whisper, but it’s fragile, a lie at best. You’re already falling apart.

He groans like you’ve stabbed him. “Jesus, you’re killing me. I haven’t fucked you stupid enough yet, huh?”

His hand slides down, fingers finding your clit, circling slow and punishing.

You arch into him with a cry, loud and unfiltered, every inch of you unraveling.

“There she is,” he breathes, reverent and wild-eyed, watching you fall to pieces on top of him. “God, baby. Just like that.”

“You’re bein’ mean,” You whine, words all slurred, as the tears begin to well and dribble down the pretty apples of your cheeks.

“Oh, angel,” He coos, and god you really do hate how smug he gets. “Me? Mean? You wound me, pretty.”

“Shut up,” you pant, whining high and rutting hopelessly against him. 

“C’mon,” he pants, thumb still working lazy circles against the throb of your clit, “I wanna feel you beg for it.”

It’s cruel. Cruel, the way he says it—rasped out like a curse, like it’s the last thing he’ll ever ask for. His hand is steady even as his breath breaks apart. He’s wrecked. Close. You can feel it in the way he shakes under you, in the stutter of his hips against yours. 

You giggle helplessly into the crook of his neck.

His thumb presses firmer, tight figure eights.

“Leon—!” your voice catches on a sob, you’re so close it’s dizzying, so wet and full and tense that your whole body tightens like a string about to snap. “Can’t—too much—”

“Too much?” he echoes, low and amused, and god, it shouldn’t sound so tender. “Thought you said you didn’t wanna come yet. Changed your mind?”

You nod before you can stop yourself, head lolling as your hips rut down in frantic little circles, chasing the friction.

He groans at the sight, palm spreading wide across your spine like he’s trying to hold you together. “Fuckin’ knew it. Talk big, but look at you now—makin’ a mess on me.”

One arm tightens around your waist, locking you down, and the other braces at your back as he thrusts up into you again—deeper now, sharper, fucking the air right out of your lungs.

You keen, and he laughs—breathy and soft and so fucking fond that it breaks you open.

“Look at you.” He noses at your cheek. “You’re outta your mind.”

You are. You really are. And it’s all him. The heat of him, the rough scrape of his voice, the way he touches you like you’re something to worship and ruin in the same breath.

“Gonna come,” you choke out, breath hitching as your thighs start to shake. “Please—Leon, please—”

“Fuck,” he groans, and his hips stutter. “Go on, baby. Let go. You’ve been so good for me.”

That’s all it takes. The words hit like a match to gasoline. Your whole body seizes—tight and trembling and gasping as your climax crashes over you like a wave, dragging a whine out of your throat that doesn’t sound human.

Leon holds you through it, rocking you through every pulse, every shudder. He murmurs something into your skin, something quiet and unintelligible, and then he follows—his body locking up beneath you, his breath catching.

“Fuck—fuck,” he hisses, head tipped back, mouth open. You feel the heat of him inside you, feel the full-body tremor that wrecks him. He’s still buried deep, still gripping you like he’ll fall apart if he lets go.

It’s a long moment before either of you moves.

You can feel his heartbeat against your chest, wild and unsteady. 

“You alright?” he asks after a minute, voice low and rough around the edges.

You nod, cheek resting heavy against his shoulder, still trembling even when he eases you back. Your body feels like it’s been rung out, soaked in sugar, nerves singing somewhere between pleasure and disbelief.

Your fingers twitch where they rest against his chest, and you murmur something against his neck—something nonsensical, vowels dragging like honey.

“What was that?” he asks, voice hoarse but amused, his hand smoothing over your back, tracing your spine like a secret.

“Dunno,” you mumble, “I think I saw God.”

Leon huffs a laugh. “You talk a lot.”

You don’t respond, just hum again, lost in the float of it—too far gone to be embarrassed, too fucked out to pretend you’re not still clenching around him. You feel him begin to shift, and what starts as a delighted little hum, turns to protest, a whimper slipping from your lips before you can think to stop it when you realise he’s pulling out.

“No,” you whisper, eyes glassy, fingers curling weakly at his wrist like maybe you could keep him there. “Wait—Leon—mmph.”

His laugh is breathy, wrecked. “That good, huh?”

You glare, or try to. It’s weak at best. “Don’t—don’t be mean to me.”

“You’re the one whining.”

“You made me whine,” you grumble, but it comes out slurred, a little dreamy.

Leon grins like he’s won the lottery. He’s still so close, and maybe the way his hands are smoothing over your thighs, up your hips, dragging the touch out like he can’t stand to stop can make up for how empty you feel now.

He has no shame when he cups between your thighs again and presses two fingers there, slow and lazy, you jolt. “Leon—”

He hums, smug. “Messy,” he murmurs, fingers slipping between your folds. “Look at what you let me do to you.”

You shiver hard, half from oversensitivity, half from the way his voice drips with possessiveness. You’re too blissed out to argue, too soft to push him away. Especially when he slides one of those fingers back in, just enough.

You gasp. “Ohhhhh,” you sigh, all delight and dazed affection.

You squirm against him a little helplessly, make a face when you feel him push a little deeper, like he’s guiding what’s left of himself back into you. Your head tips back with a helpless sound.

“Leon—what the fuck?”

He has the audacity to look smug. “What? Can’t let any of it go to waste.”

“Gross,” you whine, trying and failing to wiggle away. He keeps you right there, hands firm but fond, and you know, deep in your bones, that you don’t really want to go anywhere but where he is.

He offers you a real clean-up after your thighs have stopped shaking, drives you back to your place and walks you to the door like a gentleman. It feels all too sweet for the type of night you’ve had, and every part of you wishes this won’t be the last of them.

You half expect him to say something—to ask to come in, or kiss you goodnight, or at least promise to see you again.

But he just smiles. Nods. Taps two fingers to his temple in a lazy salute.

“Night, sweetheart.”

Then he’s gone.

And in the warm lull of dawn, with your sheets still cold and your heart beating somewhere between your ribs and your throat, you wonder what to do with the ache of him still lingering under your skin.

So when morning properly comes—sun high, coffee half-sipped, hair still tangled from the night before—you call.

Just to see if he’ll pick up. Just to hear the line connect.

It rings once.

Twice.

And then you hang up in a panic.

You curse under your breath. Call yourself a hundred kinds of idiot. Your thumb is still hovering over the screen when your phone buzzes in your hand.

Leon Kennedy is calling you.

Shit, shit, shit! You muster whatever dignity you have left, swallow, and answer.

“Sweetheart?” His voice is all sleepy, a little hoarse with morning, makes your heart bloom with warmth. You sink deeper into your mattress at the sound of it, curl into your pillow like it’s his chest.

“Yeah?” you say, like you’re afraid you’ve imagined the whole thing.

“You alright?”

“Mhm.”

“You called?”

“Yeah.”

“Wanna say something?”

You pause to worry your lip between your teeth.

“…No.”

He huffs a quiet laugh. You can hear the rustle of sheets over the line, the sleepy shift of his weight. You picture him in bed—bare chest, tousled hair, phone pressed to his ear, eyes still half-lidded with sleep.

“Alright,” he murmurs.

And then he hangs up.

You stare at your phone, wide-eyed like you can’t believe he really did it. Then you hit call again before you can talk yourself out of it. He answers right away.

“Hi,” you say.

“Hey,” he breathes, voice quiet and curious like a secret. “Couldn’t stay away, huh?”

You roll onto your back, smiling helplessly at the ceiling. “No.”

He chuckles, quiet and fond. “Me neither. Was already thinkin’ about you.”

You close your eyes. “I liked your voice just now.”

“Yeah?”

“Mhm.”

“I like yours too,” he says, voice thick. “Sound all soft. Like I should be wakin’ up next to you.”

The room feels warm again, like the night before never ended, whatever figurative line that you’ve drawn in the sand between you seems thinner than ever.

“Maybe next time,” you say softly.

There’s a careful pause. You both hang in the quiet, waiting to see if the moment passes.

“Have you…” he starts, then clears his throat. “Have you eaten yet?”

You shake your head although he can’t see. “No.”

“You want me to bring you something?”

The question bowls you over. It’s too sweet, too easy. Like he’s asked it a hundred times before, like this is just what you do.

“You don’t have to,” you whisper, but the fond curl of your lips slips into your voice and gives you away.

“Didn’t say I had to. Just figured you might want it.” A pause. “Something hot and filling.”

Your throat closes up a little, an uncharacteristic flush to your cheeks. “You mean pancakes?”

He huffs a quiet laugh. “Among other things.”

“Leon,” you say his name urgently, too much bubbling to the surface all at once.

“Yeah, sweetheart?”

“You’re being…” You trail off, plucking at the fraying cuff of your sweater, too afraid to name it how it is, to ruin a good thing.

Another pause, you can hear the soft rise and fall of his breath. “I can be soft on you.” He murmurs, “If you let me.”

You press the phone harder to your ear, eyes stinging. “Yeah. I’d like that.”

“Good.” He says finally. Then, “Any coffee left at your place?”

“Only if you make it.”

He chuckles, low and fond. “I’ll be there in twenty.”

likes n reblogs r very much appreciated <3

[kamelika]

match made in berlin

⊹₊ ˚‧︵‿₊୨ ᰔ ୧₊‿︵‧ ˚ ₊⊹

your first meeting with kaiser (tw: abuse mentioned)

Rain falls on the somber city of Berlin. A young boy with blonde hair sits under a canopy of a store, bod curled up, head rested in his arms, shivering. The store owner walked outside not long after and spotted him, recognizing him as the kid who stole his bread a few weeks prior.

"It's you!"

The shopkeeper yelled, which surprised the famished kid, making him jerk up.

"Scram, get 'outta here, kid!"

The child scowled at him but quickly ran away. He was now all alone, under the sky, in a dark alley, with nothing but his trusty football. He looked down at the ground, until suddenly... The rain stopped.

Well, not completely, he supposes, he can still hear the sounds of raindrops striking the ground. He looked up and was met with an umbrella equipped with a drawing of a blue rose. He turned only to be greeted by you, eyes tinted with concerned, a nice, tidy outfit secured onto you.

"Uhm... Are you okay?"

You spoke, voice laced with sympathy.

"What's it to you? Scram, get 'outta here."

You flinched at his words, not being used to people talking like that, his soft blue eyes contradicting his sharp tongue. But who could you blame? Those were the only words he knew, being raised in a harsh environment.

"You're mean... I just wanted to help you!"

You pouted, drawing out some bread from your bag. You were pissed at him now, refusing to look at his face. He hesitantly took the food, not accustomed to such a kind gesture. You still avoided his gaze, hoping he'd say sorry, but it never came, and soon your eyes landed back on him again.

At first, he was hesitant to even take a bite, bater a not even a few seconds later, he ate the bread with glee, barely even chewing on it before swallowing.

"Careful! You might choke!"

You blurted out. He merely replied with a brief stare, before continuing to eat, a bit slower this time. You two chatted back and forth, and you learned his name at last. 'Michael Kaiser'. Such a mesmerizing name.

"Michael."

You mumble his name, letting it roll of your tongue.

"Eh, that's so hard to say. Can I just call you Mihya?"

He raises an eyebrow, exerting a face of 'what kind of abbreviation is that???', but quickly shrugs it off with a nod. He finishes the bread, and you two stayed and chatted together, umbrella still above his head. You two took turns holding the umbrella, since your hand got tired. The both of you chatted until the rain came to an end.

"That's a cool ball."

"I know."

"Can you play?"

"Yeah."

"Awesome! Can I see you play?"

"Fine, I guess..."

You two walked to somewhere with more space. He set the ball on the ground and he showed you a brief trick sorry guys I don't know soccer well lmao, i cant really explain football parts in full detail, in which you were easily amazed by. You didn't know how a kid that young was so talented.

"W-Woah. You're good!!!"

"Uhm, yeah. I know."

You two continued chatting for hours on end, and he showed you a few more tricks before you had to go.

That spot quickly became a usual meet up spot for you two. It was an unspoken routine for you to stop by there after school ended.

Whenever he was harmed by his dad, you would treat his wounds, and overall make his day much brighter and enjoyable. You always made sure to eat only half your lunch to share the rest with him. You were the anchor of his life.

⊹₊ ˚‧︵‿₊୨ ᰔ ୧₊‿︵‧ ˚ ₊⊹

Suddenly, he stopped appearing. You quickly learned that he was arrested, and you tried your best, but couldn't do anything about it. You begged and begged the officers, but they merely ignored you, seeing you as an immature child. You knew Michael didn't do that. Sure, he stole, but you could swear with your life he wasn't the perpetrator.

Years flew by and you grew older, maturing and slowly forgetting about Michael. Just as you completely forgot about his existence, you were walking to high school, passing by the place you and Michael used to meet before spotting a familiar figure. You took a good minute before finally recognizing him. It was Kaiser, but taller, with 2 rattails sticking out on the back of his head, equipped with blue ends. You couldn't bring yourself to talk to him. You figured he'd left everything in the past behind, knowing about how wounding it was. You know you'd at least have to say 'hi', but no matter what, the words wouldn't come out, and you were so frustrated with yourself because you didn't know why you couldn't greet him. You hesitantly walk away, hoping he'll stop by again tomorrow and you'll greet him then. As soon as you walked into his view, he called out.

"Y/n?"

You froze. Honestly, you were kind of relived he was the one who spoke out first. You slowly turned to face him. You gulped.

"Mihya."

[next>]

⊹₊ ˚‧︵‿₊୨ ᰔ ୧₊‿︵‧ ˚ ₊⊹

a/n: my writing style is inconsistent lol

requests r open bbgs

[fairlyang]

Summer Lovin’ 🕷️

in which you have a little summer romance fling

w/c: 3.9K

pairing: greaser!miguel x f!reader

tags: 18+ smut. exhibitionism, making out, sucking on tits, eating out, fingering, praise kink, blowjob. mention of face sitting, overstimulation, 69, eating pussy underwater (LMAO), spilling the tea x2

notes: reposting my precious baby, my fav, my grease au series!! might post part two after this idk but I’m writing part 3 and I’m excited :D 🤝🏼

part two — part three

You had spent almost your entire summer in California, and being from the Midwest you took advantage of the hot weather and beaches.

You had stayed at your aunt's house along with your parents but not your older sister who apparently didn't wanna "burn to a crisp" but you didn't mind. In fact you loved feeling the sun on your skin and spent most of your days on the beach.

Your sister had teased you about a summer fling and maybe you'd meet someone but won't be able to bring them back. You called bullshit and said you weren't out searching for that kinda thing.

That was until you met him.

Miguel O'Hara.

One day you were reading a book on the beach under an umbrella when a guy came up to you and you were a little shell shocked looking at him. He was gorgeous. So handsome.

He asked what you were reading which made you laugh because he did not look like the reading type. He wore a black leather jacket and his hair slicked back, you can imagine reading is not one of his things.

And who the hell wears a leather jacket in the hot weather?

But nonetheless you still answered and he just nodded along probably pretending he knew what you were talking about.

"Well I came over because I thought you were gorgeous." He says giving you a wide smile, showing off his crooked pearly whites.

You chuckle and close your book, leaving it on your lap, "oh I bet a guy like you says that to all the girls." You say playfully rolling your eyes and he shakes his head.

"Only to the really special ones." He responds sweetly and you felt a shiver run down your spine.

And with that you were sold.

Almost too easy.

But it felt real.

Genuine.

You had spent the first three weeks of August with Miguel. Splashing around, building many sand castles, playing volleyball. Tanned while getting to know each other, had little picnic dates on the beach.

It was so surreal to you and he was such a gentleman.

But on the third week was when he was more flirty than usual, always touching you subtly like grabbing your hand or having his arm around your waist.

He would even twirl you around as you walked along the sand which just had you laughing as you tried not to fall.

One specific time he wrapped his arms around you as you watched the sun set, the waves lightly hitting your feet. He gently trailed his fingers along your waist making you turn to look at him, he was already looking at you, with a mischievous look on his face if anything.

He then leaned down, letting his forehead lean against yours, "you're so beautiful."

You smile and feel your body grow warm, "you're not too bad yourself Miggy."

He then let go of you and stood in front of you, bringing a hand up to gently cup your cheek. His eyes were sparkling and he just looked so handsome up close.

The pink, orange, and yellow rays of the sun hitting the sides of your faces as he looked down at your lips. He couldn't help himself.

And he knew he'd never see you again after this considering you'd have to fly back home so what's a little fun on your last week here?

You wrapped your arms around his neck, pulling him closer which only makes him chuckle, "no patience huh?" He teased and you shrugged.

"We only live once... and we might as well while we're young.." you say and lean up, pretty eyes boring into his.

He was quite shocked that you were the one making the moves but he wanted to be the one to actually do it.

So he did.

He leaned in and kissed you gently, you instantly kissed back and you swore you could feel fireworks erupting in your stomach. It felt so right. So nice.

He nipped on your bottom lip to which you then return as you feel his hands exploring your body. You felt them snake their way down your back then staying by your lower back.

Then you felt them slowly trickling lower to which you had to pull away and shake your head, "eager hm? No patience huh?" You mock and he snickers.

"Couldn't help myself doll." He murmurs and pecks your lips softly.

You melted back into his arms and kissed back before he pulled away and then leaned in to peck your lips again. He repeated this until you burst into fits of giggles which had Miguel ignoring the effect it made on him and pulled away, grabbing you by the hand as you went back to walking on the sand.

Things only progressed throughout your last week.

He snatched more kisses from you until the sun was gone and you had to go home.

The next day he had you on his lap and making out with you while his hand was trailing around your thigh. Only testing the waters.

But also playing around with you.

You were a good girl, not ever looking for trouble like this. But it seemed to have found its way to you.

And you couldn't help but want to open yourself up more to him, maybe not just kisses.

At least those were your thoughts when you were in bed, daydreaming about him.

You met up again on the third day and decided to maybe go a little further. Just a tiny bit.

So you were on his lap again, making out when you start to slowly grind yourself on him. He moaned into your mouth and it only made you grow more excited but you didn't want to push yourself too much.

And he was okay with that.

His hands were on your waist helping you move as his tongue explored your mouth. Gotta love a man that can multitask.

You moved faster and could feel his bulge grow hard beneath you. It made your skin feel hot and deep down you wanted to take it forward but also knew you probably shouldn't.

"Miguel-" you breathed out and pulled away but he latched his lips on your neck, kissing harshly against your skin.

You bite your lip and he made you continue your movements as he hummer onto your skin. "I- I-I think- maybe we s-should st- fuck-" you stutter and moan as he sucks on your neck then pulls away peppering the hickey in kisses.

"What were you saying doll?" He asks and kisses down your chest.

That day you decided to wear a bikini top with some shorts, clearly he appreciated that right now as he kissed your cleavage, bringing a hand up to squeeze your left breast. You moan and feel your eyes flutter, already losing your train of thought.

"W-We shouldn't do this here-" you breathe out but it didn't matter, he was already pulling your bikini top up.

"Miguel!" You squealed trying to cover yourself and looking around but it was vacant.

"There's nobody out here, you know we've been having this side of the beach all to ourselves for weeks." He murmurs and gently moves your hands away.

"So beautiful." He murmurs before squeezing both tits and latching on to your left nipple.

You bit your lip and held onto his head, you couldn't even blame yourself. You knew you wanted this. And that heat going straight to your core was the proof.

He pulled away and immediately sucked on your right breast, pinching your left nipple making you shift on his lap. He moaned against you and you almost forgot he was already hard. Almost.

It was kind of hard to forget since you were directly on him.

So you began to slowly grind on him again making him groan as you moved your hips back and forth. He pulled away and breathed out, "Just like that angel."

Your face flushed and you put your hands on his shoulders to steady yourself as you continued your pace. "Good, good girl." He murmurs before sucking on your left breast, leaving yet another mark.

A moaned escaped your lips and you can see a smirk on his when he pulled away. He looked up at you and pecks your lips before pulling away and taking you off his lap and setting you to his right side on the shared blanket.

He then moved down your body, hands already undoing the button and zipper of your shorts. You lift your ass up and he slides your shorts off setting them to the side.

He then gets between your legs, kissing and squeezing your thighs and he neared where you so desperately needed him. He kissed your left inner thigh then moved to the right side to do the same.

He then went down and looked at the soaked spot on your panties, nearly drooling. "Look at you doll, already so wet." He murmurs looking up at you before leaning in and leaving the softest kiss on your clit.

You moaned and bucked your hips forward but his strong arms kept you in place which only made you whine. But he didn't care.

He was going to go at his own pace. Just like you did when you were on his lap.

Even if he technically was making you a move a bit.

But still.

He gently moved your panties to his right side as you squirmed, whining above him but he ignored you to pay all his undivided attention to your gorgeous sopping cunt. "Oh baby this all for me?" He murmurs and you feverishly nod.

He tuts and smirks looking up at you, "such a dirty girl. Thought you were a sweet innocent good girl?" He teases only making you grow more wet by the second.

"God you're so perfect." He coos before diving full on in to your cunt, immediately getting a taste of how sweet you are.

You moan and bring a hand down to pull his closer already. You needed him so badly and didn't want to waste more time.

And he could tell.

He didn't mind, given how he started lapping at your folds and his nose practically buried in your clit. "Miguel-“ You moan out and he hums sending a vibration of pleasure curse through your body.

You look down at him and buck your hips forward, this time he doesn't stop you, letting you grind your perfect cunt against his mouth. His mouth went up and down your slit, slurping up your juices as you continued your melody of pretty moans for him.

He looked into your ears as he came up and flicked his tongue on your clit earning himself more moans. He brought his hands up and intertwined them with yours as you bucked your hips against his face, grinding yourself against his tongue. "Shit- feels so good Miggy." You moan and he hums against your cunt.

He moans and lets go of your left hand, bringing his right hand to start teasing your hole with the tip of his finger. He pulls away, lips glistening from your slick making you smile as he licks your arousal off. "Need more doll?" He coos and you nod.

"Yes- yes please Miguel." You whimper and he nods, shoving his middle finger inside you.

You groan and your walls clench against his digits as he starts fucking you hard. "Oh fuck!" You moan and grip your right hand against his.

"Feel good angel?" He asks softly and you nod with an almost drunken smile.

"So pretty baby." He mutters and then slides in his second finger immediately pounding his digits into you.

You let out a loud moan and try to close your legs but he quickly let go of your hand and spread them open. "Too much already doll?" He mocks making you whimper.

His fingers were much thicker than yours and you haven't had any other fingers inside you besides your own. At least in a long time.

"Look at you taking them so well." He says and looking at your cunt just sucking his fingers in.

He then shuts up and brings his mouth back to your clit, tongue flicking on your nub while his mouth sucks harshly. Your body was getting hotter and your legs were shaking as you kept them wide open for him. "Fuck!"

His praises only continued and drove your mind wild, and just like that you found out you had a praise kink. And he used that to his advantage.

Mumbling as many praises to you seeing just how much more wet you'd get for him as well seeing how long it'd take for you to just cum off his praise.

And it didn't take long for you to feel your orgasm approach before quickly taking over and your climax hit as he was calling you his good girl.

You let out cries as you came and clenched on his fingers, entire body shaking as he fucked you slowly letting you ride your high.

As soon as your breathing calmed down and he slipped his fingers out of you, you sat up and got him to sit in your position. "C'mon your turn pretty boy." You coo and he chuckles but moves so anyway.

And without another word you laid down between his knees and undid his shorts as fast as you could. You slid them off his legs and left them on top of yours before slipping his cock out of his boxers. You left those on and just started stroking him.

You lean in and lick his tip, tasting his precum and swallowing every drip then spit on the tip and letting it drip down before stroking him again. He let out a shaky breath and you looked up at him with innocent eyes that drove hims absolutely insane. "You look so pretty." He murmurs making you squeeze your thighs together.   

You then took him in your mouth, slowly bringing your head down at first not thinking you'd be able to take all of him considering how thick he was but you were slowly getting there. Only took a few minutes to take half of him before he put his hands on your head and made you take him deeper.

You were gagging against him which only made him thrust his hips into your mouth making you take all of him. You closed your eyes already feeling them fill with tears but you fought through it and took him all the way feeling his happy trail hit your nose.

You pulled away and gasped, panting but then slipped him back into your mouth and letting him do it again but for a longer period of time.

Soon enough you felt him twitch in your mouth as he was deep in your throat. You closed your eyes, breathed through your nose and prayed for the best.

He groaned and his legs shook beneath you as he shoots his load down your throat. You swallowed as much as you could but it was too much so you pulled away and let it fall in his thighs. You start stroking him slowly which makes him whine as his cock twitched at the sudden contact but yet more cum continued shooting out.

"Oh fuck!" He moans as you stroke him and go down to clean it up with your tongue.

You made sure to lick off every drop before finally taking your hand off him and taking notice he was breathing heavily. "Holy shit-" he mutters and grabs your face, bringing you in for a kiss.

You kiss back and he slides his tongue into your mouth, getting a taste of himself which only made you weak in the knees.

He then pulled away and gave you a sheepish grin, "that was- do you really have to leave?" He says and you laugh.

"Sadly. But I still have a few days left!" You say and he chuckles before bringing you into his chest as you both looked up and see a few twinkling stars above you.

And you used those days up to the best of your ability.

Now you told him the one exception was you didn't want to fuck, not there at least.

So the following day he had you wear a dress and made you sit on his face. And he made sure to emphasize "sitting down" because he wanted to feel all your weight on him.

You were scared you'd crush him but he said that'd just be the most badass way to die which only made you slap his arm. But you ended up sitting on his face and it was the best thing you'd ever tried.

You ended up like that for a good few hours before your poor pussy grew tired and you were just so overstimulated.

So you ended up making out until the sun set and you gave him a handjob as well.

The next day was your second to last day before you'd leave and he wanted to try out 69-ing to which you didn't complain about. He had already grown so use to eating you out and did not grow tired of it at all. And he loved hearing your moans, feeling your body shaking.

So he couldn't complain either.

That same day he had the brilliant idea of trying to eat you out underwater, you told him he'd actually die if he did that but he claimed he could hold his breath for a while.

Well it felt weird for both parties and he nearly drowned so that wasn't worth it. But you then stroked him while hiding behind a big rock then you got down to your knees so he could cum on your face.

And finally on your last day you sat next to each other and touched each other until you both came at the same time.

Prior to that you were just spending time together for the final time. He wanted you both to cum as the sun set. How romantic.

As you both got up and got dressed you sighed, sad that your little summer fling would come to an end.

And unfortunately never getting the chance to actually have him fuck you. But nothing lasted forever.

So after the final make out session you both pulled away breathless and you felt sad. But also happy it happened at all. And that you got to meet him.

"If it's meant to be I'm sure you'll get to go all the way in the future." You joked making him laugh and smile.

"Hopefully doll, I'm sure you feel absolutely amazing." He murmurs and you slap his arm before shrugging and giving him a sly wink finally walking away to never see him again.

Or so you think.

Your parents ended up giving you the grand surprise that you weren't actually leaving. You were moving to California.

And the reason your sister didn't come was because they actually gave her the house and her boyfriend was going to move in.

Why they didn't think of telling you before? Who knows but now you were gonna be living here and they made you enroll in the nearest university.

Somehow you got in just in time for classes to start to. You didn't have high hopes in seeing Miguel considering he'd told you a couple times he didn't really like university and wasn't really thinking about going back.

And you weren't sure in telling him you weren't going back after all. Especially considering you just had a couple good summer nights together.

So you didn't give it a second thought and just decided that's all it would be. A summer fling.

Not like you had much choice considering you didn't have any way of contacting him anyway.

You ended up going to your first day of uni and met two lovely girls outside who immediately helped you out. Frenchy and Sandy.

They were so sweet and led you to your classes, even having a few with both of them surprisingly.

You ended up having the same schedule layout and you all ended up going to the large dining hall to get something to eat.

You were then introduced to their other three girl friends, Rizzo, Marty, and Jan. Frenchy explained their little group were called the pink ladies which you thought was cute. They all had matching jackets as well.

Suddenly a girl named Patty comes along and the trio roll their eyes and groan. You pretend you don't notice and just take a bite out of the macaroni you got before she sat down next to you and started blabbing about who knows what.

Then Frenchy, a godsend angel, turned to you and asked you how your summer was.

"It was good! Spend most of my time at the beach. Might've met someone there..." you say and Patty beside you giggles but Rizzo just scoffs.

"Laying all your eggs in one basket? For some guy?" She asks and you shrug.

"He was... special." You say and she gives you a fake smile.

"There is no such thing hun." She says and you sigh looking at Patty. "It was so romantic."

On the other end of campus, on some bleachers, the self proclaimed 'T-Birds' were also asking Miguel how his summer went. But he had already told them that he met a girl.

But unlike your reminiscing of the romantic portion of your days together, his friends' immediate thoughts went to the more explicit portion...

"You don't wanna hear all the horny details." Miguel teases and all the guys gather around him yelling at him that they absolutely do.

So you both ended up spilling what you wanted to reveal except you kept your mouth shut on your exhibitions, not wanting to say too much about that.

On the other hand Miguel gave them every dirty detail possible. But for him he couldn't bring himself to tell his friends about the romantic side of how things went.

No way in hell was he going to admit those kinds of feelings in front of the guys. And mostly because they all just fucked around. Even though he knew he felt something besides just when things switched to the dirty side.

And thus you both reminisced on your favorite parts of your time together not knowing you were both on the same campus. Soon enough you'd both run into each other shocked but for now you stayed in your respective friend group.

As you walked out of the dining hall and to your last class Jan asked, "so what was his name?"

"Miguel O'Hara." You replied and her eyes widened as her and Marty burst into giggles but Rizzo smacks them to shut up.

"If you believe in miracles I'm sure Prince Charming will show up again some day. Somewhere unexpected." She says and gives you a smile.

"Think so?" You ask and she nods, grinning ear to ear as the other two girls follow her giggling their heads off.

"Oh you think so Frenchy?" You ask turning to the redhead and she avoids your gaze, awkwardly laughing and grabbing your arm.

She gives Sandy a look before Sandy links with your other arm, "how about we get to class yeah?" She says to you and you nod, questioning what the hell was going on.

[frostyhelltime]

Alastor Realizes He Has Feelings For You Part 2 Preview

AN: I'm having a lot of fun writing the part two, which is already longer than the first. Whoops. I've seen some authors doing little previews of upcoming fics and thought the idea was super fun! So I thought I might share a small blurb of the upcoming fic. Hope you all like it!!

LINK TO PART ONE

UPDATE: PART 2 IS POSTED.

Alastor Realizes He Has Feelings For You Part 2 Preview

Alastor x GN!Reader

AN: I consider myself ace, personally. Demisexual to be specific. Demisexual falls under the ace umbrella technically, so I do tend to write Alastor from a more demisexual lens if it helps to kind of know what to expect. Hope you all enjoy! Also by this point Alastor has been using French pet names because he sees it flusters the reader but the reader has no idea what the hell he's calling them lmao

----------

“I feel like I'm going crazy…” He watched you mutter and it only made him smile more. So his actions were effective after all. You were just trying very hard to be respectful and polite to him since you knew his nature so well…an endearing gesture that just made him want to sink his claws deeper into you.

Knowing his actions affect you just emboldens him. When you share coffee in the morning with him and the two of you chat, tucked away in whatever room seemed to strike your fancy that day, he notices you seem to be avoiding his eyes, your head tilted down.

He tuts a moment, putting his coffee down and using one claw to tilt your head upward to face him, using his other hand to brush your hair away from your face to stop obscuring his attempts to look at you.

“There we are. Much better.” He smiles brightly at you, even as he sees the crimson rush to your cheeks. He lets his hands linger a little longer before he releases you and picks his coffee cup back up again, as if what he's done wasn't abnormal in the slightest.

“A-Alastor…?” He hears you ask tentatively, and he thinks his patience is finally going to pay off.

“Yes mon cœur?” He asks, tilting his head to the side in an innocent manner that is a laughable contrast to what you know of the radio demon's legacy and reputation.

“I..” He leans forward slightly, eager for your expected confession, his eyes drifting down to your throat as he watches you swallow thickly from nerves.

[saturnsag3]

The Lead Up - will smith x macklin celebrini

summary: from my Erase Me series, mack gets a little insecure and starts to push will away

part 1 here, part 2 here, part 3 here, part 4 here

wc: 1,171

It wasn’t anything specific.

Just little things. Barely even things, really.

Will had picked up extra hours at the writing center to help pay for a summer course he wanted to take. It meant his schedule shifted a bit—some nights he stayed late, tutoring first-years who needed last-minute essay help. Sometimes he’d text, “Hey, I’m wiped—mind if we reschedule dinner?” or “Totally forgot I promised this kid I’d look over their midterm draft. Can we do tomorrow?”

It wasn’t weird.

Mack told himself that again and again. It’s not weird. You knew he’d get busy.

But still—he noticed.

The pauses between texts grew longer. The late-night phone calls they used to fall asleep to became more sporadic. There were new names mentioned in passing—coworkers and classmates, nothing serious—but they stuck in Mack’s mind.

He didn’t say anything. It would sound ridiculous. Jealous of a classmate? Over a name?

Still, it sat under his skin.

There was one night Will was in the kitchen making tea, his phone lighting up beside Mack on the couch. Just a text. A flash of a name Mack didn’t recognize. Nothing overt—just:

> i was just thinking abt what you said earlier and started laughing out loud LMAO

> ppl were looking at me crazy

Mack didn’t even know who it was from. He didn’t look. But he didn’t not notice, either.

And Will?

Will came back, handed him the tea like nothing was wrong, kissed the side of his head, and sat down like always.

That was the worst part. He was being normal.

And Mack kept waiting for the other shoe to drop.

—

He started pulling away without meaning to.

Not drastically—just small things. Letting his texts go unanswered for a bit longer. Turning his head when Will tried to kiss him hello. Pretending to be busy. He didn’t know why he was doing it. Some kind of defense mechanism. If something was coming—some betrayal or break or fallout—he wanted to be ahead of it.

Will noticed. Of course he did.

One night he texted:

> u okay baby? you seem off lately 

Mack stared at it, typing, deleting, retyping. He almost wrote something real. Something raw. But instead, he sent:

> i’m okay :) just tired 

Another lie. And Will, being Will, didn’t push.

But that only made it worse. The space. The patience. The way Will was still showing up—checking in, making plans, brushing hair off Mack’s forehead like none of this paranoia was real.

Mack’s brain kept spinning:

If he is hiding something, he’s good at it.

If he’s not—why do I still feel like this?

It was like trying to hold a mirror up to fog. Nothing looked clear.

Then one rainy Friday afternoon, Will came through the door soaked and laughing—something about the buses being late and almost getting tackled by someone’s umbrella—and Mack just stared at him, heart pounding. Because how is he this calm? How is he this happy if something’s wrong?

The words came out before he could stop them.

“Where were you?”

Will blinked, mid-laugh. “What? I told you—class ran late. We had that guest speaker I mentioned earlier?”

Mack nodded once, too quickly. “Right. Of course. Totally forgot. Guess that explains everything.”

Will’s face changed then—confusion twisting into concern. “Huh? What’s going on?”

And just like that, it snapped. The restraint. The months of anxiety. The half-swallowed suspicions.

Mack exhaled, sharp and bitter. “I don’t know, Will. You tell me.”

“Mack what?—“

“You tell me, Will,” Macklin repeated, harsher this time. “You’re the one sneaking around.”

Will stepped back slightly. “What?”

“You’re lying to me.”

“About— about what?” 

Will’s voice cracked slightly at the end, jacket still soaked and dripping on the carpet, the smile from earlier completely gone now. “What the hell could I possibly lying to you about, Mack?”

“I don’t know.” Mack’s arms folded tight across his chest like they were the only thing holding him upright. “Late nights. New friends. Texts you don’t mention. Names I don’t recognize.”

Will’s mouth opened, closed. “Mack—what are you—”

“I saw that text,” Mack snapped. “The one from whoever that was. “Laughing my ass off,” or whatever. “Thinking about what you said.”Like I’m not supposed to notice that kind of thing?”

Will blinked, stunned. “Are you serious right now?”

“Do I look like I’m joking?”

Will let out a shaky breath, dragging a hand down his face. “Mack. That was Ruby. She’s in my film analysis class. We were talking about some dumb short movie we watched in class” 

“Oh, so now I get names.”

“You could’ve asked!” Will’s voice was climbing now, equal parts disbelief and panic. “You could’ve asked, Mack, and I would’ve told you. But instead you’re standing here acting like I—” He stopped short, his chest heaving. “Like I cheated on you? You really think I’d do that to you?”

Mack didn’t respond right away. His jaw clenched.

And then, quiet, deadly:

“Well, you’ve done worse.”

Will flinched like he’d been slapped.

For a long, terrible second, neither of them moved.

“You think this is the same?” Will finally asked, voice low. “You think this—now—is the same as before?”

“I don’t know what this is,” Mack bit out. “Because it doesn’t feel like before, and it doesn’t feel like now, either. It just feels like I’m waiting for everything to fall apart again.”

“Then why are you here?” Will asked, not cruelly, just desperate. “Why did you say yes? Why did you let me fall back in love with you if you were just gonna assume the worst the second I got busy?”

Mack looked away, breathing hard.

Will’s voice cracked again, softer this time. “I’ve been showing up for you. Every day. I text, I call, I check in. I’m not perfect, but I’ve been trying, Mack. Really fucking trying. But I can’t keep proving I’m not the guy I was.”

Mack swallowed thickly. “It’s not about you being perfect.”

“Then what is it about?”

“It’s about me not knowing how to trust that this is real.” Mack’s voice dropped to almost nothing. “Because it doesn’t matter how good things are when there’s a part of me always waiting for you to leave.”

Will stepped closer, cautiously, like he was approaching a wounded animal. “I’m not going anywhere, baby” 

Mack didn’t answer.

“I’m not,” Will repeated, firmer this time. “You wanna check my phone? You want me to text everyone I’ve ever spoken to in front of you? I’ll do it. Right now. But this—this distance, this second-guessing—I can’t fix that unless you let me.”

Mack’s voice wavered. “I’m scared.”

Will’s expression softened. “I know.”

“Its just like.. when I lov— when I feel strongly about something, I wait for it to disappear, because good things never happen to me, the second I let myself get comfortable they leave so— I don’t fuckin know, Will” 

Will’s throat bobbed. “I’m not going anywhere,” he said again, gentler now. “You don’t have to believe it yet. But I’ll keep saying it until you do.”

Macklin’s eyes were glassy now, but he didn’t look away. And Will—soaking wet Will—reached out slowly, resting his hands on Mack’s waist.

“You don’t have to be ready overnight,” Will murmured. “But don’t push me away because your brain’s feeding you bullshit.”

Mack let out a shaky exhale. “Okay.”

“Okay?”

“I don’t know how to fix it yet,” Mack whispered, “but I want to.”

Will nodded, eyes a little glossy, too. “We’ll figure it out.”

And Mack let himself lean in—just barely—forehead resting against Will’s.

Will’s breath caught, soft and warm against Mack’s skin.

They stood there for a long moment, rain pattering against the windows, the sharp edge of the argument dulled by the quiet that came after.

And then, softly—barely more than a whisper:

“I love you,” Will said.

Mack paused.

Will didn’t pull back. He didn’t rush to fill the silence. He just let the words hang there, patient and sure.

Mack’s heart was pounding so hard it hurt. He could feel Will’s hands still resting on his waist, steady. Solid. Everything in him was bracing for a fall—but Will was still there. Still here.

He pulled back enough to look Will in the eyes.

“I love you too,” Mack said, quiet and certain, like he’d just figured it out in real time. “God, I love you.”

Will smiled, and it was the softest thing Mack had ever seen.

But then, of course—because he was Will—he added, “Can’t believe your first ‘I love you’ is after an argument about me cheating on you.”

Mack groaned, pulling his face into Will’s shoulder. “Stop it. I’m embarrassed.”

Will laughed into his hair. “You should be.”

“Shut up,” Mack muttered, muffled by Will’s shirt. “I was spiraling.”

“I noticed.”

“You were supposed to lie and say I was being normal.”

“Not when you accuse me of running around with Ruby the Film Major.”

“She texted you!”

“She texted about a squirrel documentary, babe.”

Mack groaned louder. “I’m never recovering from this.”

Will pulled him in tighter, chin resting against Mack’s head. “You don’t need to. We’re good.”

Mack leaned in, exhaling slow.

“Yeah,” he whispered. “We’re good.”

Will kissed the top of his head, still smiling. “Say it again.”

“What?”

Will tilted his head down until Mack met his eyes. “The part where you love me.”

Mack rolled his eyes, cheeks pink. “You’re annoying.”

Will grinned. “And?”

Mack hesitated, lips twitching. Then he mumbled, “I love you.”

Will beamed. “There it is.”

And just like that, Mack believed it—at least a little. Maybe enough to stop waiting for the worst.

Because Will was still here.

And he wasn’t going anywhere.

sages thoughts⋆˙⟡: i’ve actually had this sitting in my drafts for like two weeks i just didn’t know when to post it lol, pls enjoy!!

[sky-forest-inn]

i dont really know anything abt systems and i am not one myself

i was under the assumption that the . formation??? of a system can only occur due to childhood trauma but past that point anything goes.

that's probably wrong but idk where to get actual information on this bc i genuinely know nothing

Welcome to systemhood which is the most under-researched thing ever. It can be formed in many different was, most commonly from childhood trauma. Due to how under researched systems are, it’s certainly difficult to find info of them. Your best bet is just learning from systems themselves and their personal experiences. It’s different for ALL systems, so you cant rely solely on One (1) system to tell you the info. I’ll share what I know though!!

I AM NOT A PROFESSIONAL IN ANY WAY AT ALL, I AM JUST SHARING KNOWLEDGE IVE BEEN GIVEN THROUGHOUT THE SPAN OF FIVE YEARS OF RESEARCHING AND LEARNING!!! Anyone (in GOOD FAITH) is free to correct me if i say anything wrong. I am on mobile (and only just woke up) so i cant provide real evidence as im speaking

(Didn’t expect to say so much but i did to the point i need a Read More bracket OOPS lmao)

The most well known systems as of now are CDD (complex dissociative disorder) systems, such as DID (dissociative identity disorder), OSDD (other specified identity disorder) and one other i cannot remember the name for. These ones are frequently (NOT ALWAYS) formed from trauma, typically at a young age and often repetitive or severe

At a very young age, your brain is often split in several parts as it is developing. Often why children tend to switch moods very quickly. As you grow up, your brain slowly pieces itself together into your true personality, however, trauma can cause your brain to remain fragmented, leaving those fragments into being parts/alters/headmates. This is a coping mechanism created by the brain so certain parts can handle unsafe situations

Aside from CDDs, there’s two terms, traumagenic and endogenic. Traumagenic is self explanatory and CDDs will typically fall under there. Endogenic is a umbrella term of MANY formations of systemhod. Spiritual, natural (it just happened some day), willogenic (willed into existence on purpose) and so much more. Some can be both, traumaendo, mixed-origin etc! CDDs can even be endogenic in some way too :]

You can have a trauma formed system, but also have willogenic headmates! You can have a naturally formed system, but also have trauma formed headmates! Hell, some systems will not even know their origin and that’s okay!!!! You do not need a label for your system!!

Both terms were coined by a traumagenic system i believe??? Who is also pro-endogenic, so anyone who is antiendo using those terms, do remember that (:3

——————————————

Alters/headmates/parts can be different just as much as systems can be. Some can just be emotional states, some can be voices, some can be fragments, some can be completely unique and (mostly) complete individuals. Even in one system alone, alters can differ between all of these! Some systems can only have 2 headmates, some have some between 10-30, some can have 100+, some can even have 1000+

There are also alters that are called introjects, who are formed from a certain someone/something (very often out of their control). They can be a factive (formed from a real life person), fictive (formed from a fictional character), songtive (formed from a song) and soooo much more!!! Some can even be mixed, some can have more than one source!

A common misconception is that introjects will form from comforting sources, or sources the system holds really closely, but quite a lot of systems actually have introjects from things they hate, or hell, are even triggered by. Introjects are very often formed from things they dont want to be formed from, and do not act the exact same way as their sources

Proof? We have a fictive of a shapeshifter from an among us series. Source is a heartless and evil killer who manipulates people. Our fictive though? Genuine sweetheart, often shy and anxious but loves her sourcemates so very much! Hell, Juli (💎) is with me right now and is a good example. Her source (julian arcane odyssey) is a genuine asshole with extremely high ego and brags to hell and back about his accomplishments. Juli here is just a girl trying to live and play games while being silly with her QPP and her friends!

That being said though, some introjects WILL act almost exactly like their sources, and this is okay!!! Even those split from absolute asshole of a person. Systemhood is often a part of healing, and that includes from individual headmates too. Recovery is different for all headmates and systems and it’s best to let them figure out how they should handle their struggles and the such

——————————————

Systemhood is extremely complex, it differs from system to system, and headmate to headmate. Some prefer plural or collective, some prefer parts, headmates, alters, personalities. Some CDDs will even prefer MPD (multiple personality disorder) [known to being an outdated term] instead of DID or OSDD and that’s okay!!

Everyone will have divided opinions over how systemhood works, but the MOST IMPORTANT thing to understand is, it’s NEVER black and white, there will ALWAYS be nuance, and honestly my #1 thing to remember is: if it’s in good faith, live and let live

Sharing terminology isn’t stealing. Sharing resources isn’t stealing. It’s called SHARING, and everyone deserves resources that can help understand themselves better and live an easier and better life. It’s good to interact with a diverse amount of systems, to share different perspectives, to understand each other, and show compassion and support for one another

It’s why, while i can understand many systems wishing for seperate spaces, it’s also good to share some spaces once a while. You don’t HAVE TO be in shared spaces, but i feel as though it will genuinely help in the long run. But as always, live and let live, and do what you feel is safe for you so long as it’s not harming anyone else

——————————————

With that aside, we ourselves are an OSDD-1b system! While we’re not safe sharing our trauma, i (💛aristris) am one of the trauma holders for some of our worst years of our life. While many CDDs typically experience memory amnesia/barriers, we don’t. Instead, memory is perceived differently from headmate to headmate. Many will remember my trauma more vaguely, fuzzy or blurry (but still remember them happening), while I can remember it clear as day, almost as though it only happened last week.

We often experience emotional amnesia more. One fronter will be absolutely pissed off upset, another fronter takes over while they cool off and can be the chillest and sweetest person ever. We tend to act really “mood swingy” because of this, especially when unmasked

We’ve recently surpassed 100 headmates lately, and we’re incredibly diverse in terms of such. Majority of us are mostly formed, though some are still fragmented or hard to see/communicate with. We’ve grown to enjoy each others’ company, though we still have a few bad apples we have to keep an eye on

Our fronting style can actually differ and never sticks to one method. Sometimes it feels like the clap of a hand switch, sometimes we meld into each other a bit before one takes over, very often we can see each other in frontspace and take turns (though that often causes a headache)

We have like two outer brainspaces. One’s our headspace which consists of a copy of the Upturned Inn from The Upturned and a pretty forest beside it, and the other is… the void. But we dont talk about that!!!

Our headspace memories actually tend to be really vague upon joining front. Some remember headspace memories better than others. And sometimes front memories can get really blurred upon joining. Our headmates have to wait quite a bit for our memory to relog and catch up with us, hah

We’ve known about systems for five whole years now, and two and a half of those years, we denied ourselves ENTIRELY. We were constantly surrounded by gatekeepy systems who were antiendo and would lose their shit over a system having even a Slightly Different experience than they do. Hell, weve seen COUNTLESS CALLOUT POSTS just for suspected sysfaking. It was a dangerous space for us and because of it, we refused to ever accept the idea we were a system

After all that time, we met who is now our partner system, the Lucky Clover Collective, who were the first ever pro-endo traumagenic (or mixed origin) system we ever met. We got to comfortably discuss systemhood, including endogenic systems, and they gave us the space we needed to at least give systemhood a go. In almost 2 weeks, it will be the first year anniversary of when we finally embraced our systemhood!!

Systemhood has a hell lot of struggles. Trauma relapses, headaches, difficult headmates, emotional disregulation, but we’d never trade our systemhood for anything in the world. This system has saved us so many times, made us feel safer and embrace ourselves for who we are easier. I used to hate everyone here, being a former persecutor, but ive learnt to love my headmates as much as they love me and i couldnt be happier with how we grew finally embracing systemhood

… i hope all thats shares enough!! haha, sorry i yapped so much, i think i may have gotten overly passionate, hah. I hope you can learn from this and from many others too, and most importantly, take care of yourself!!! Thanks for reading lol

[stardustlin]

beach day with the spidey gang

inspo because i’m at the beach right now and it’s HOT ASL

miguel o’hara would probably be the most stressed trying to have everyone situated but everyone’s doing their own thing—LMAO, LMAO he would be soooo pissed and he would holler at everyone to pay attention

gwen stacy and margo would be the ones to actually get everyone to settle down, while peter b. parker is struggling to put the umbrella INTO the dirt but it flies off—so he has MILES chase after it but he eats “shit” getting sand into his mouth 😭 so hobie catches it saying“light work no reaction.”

pav is busy taking care of the food and drinks while miguel is trying to gather everyone under the umbrella to set up the seats and stuff but hobie ignores miguel’s instructions so that sets him off 🧍🏽‍♀️

at last everyone is settled having set up everything such as the umbrellas, mats, seats, coolers & towels!! miguel finally thinks he can unwind and sit down from getting a beer from the cooler when all of a sudden miles and pav take his seat from underneath and miguel FALLS 💀 YK damn well he’s gonna get up and chase them on all fours and HE DOESNT CARE IF OTHER PEOPLE SEE HIM

miles and pav run away seeing miguel chase them while gwen and hobie record them + peter b. is focused on entertaining mayday who’s trying to chew on a toy shovel 😭

margo is the type of person to just go for a swim and be by herself while the whole group is being chaotic LMAO (she loves them regardless)

miles definitely likes to give gwen piggy bank rides or carry her in bridal style in the water or along the beach :,)

hobie and pav like to go in and out of the water to eat and cool off or to bother miguel who usually the type of person to chill to sit back and observe

HOBIE AND MILES SING THEIR ASSES OFF BLASTING MUSIC AT THE BEACH AND THAT GETS UNDER MIGUEL’S SKIN LOL “CAN YOU LOWER THE VOLUME! DAMN.”

gwen and margo would keep to their selves while they go sunbathe AWAY from the boys + they usually like to look after mayday at the beach to let peter unwind (he needs me time)

miguel cusses and complains how hot the weather is at while he’s dunking himself with cold water….like dude the ocean water is right there just go from a swim 🙄

despite the fact the group can be very chaotic everyone does end up having a good time and spending quality time together <33

i would like to think that miguel would take mayday in his arms and introduce her to the ocean water while PETER takes PICS AND RECORDS :p

definitely going to be group pictures and recordings of miguel getting PISSED—LYLA would share those pictures and videos to the rest of the spider society 😭😭😭

———

a/n: some of the things i’ve mentioned HAPPENED but not the miguel chasing 😪

tags 🏷️: @sabcandoit @kairiscorner

[helloarchivist]

I would love to read more about your shanks headcanons, i absolutely love this blog

- bananon🍌

BANANON. Oh that's excellent what a fantastic signature!!

; u ; that's so kind and lovely of you to ask, I will do my best!! gonna have to readmore it as always bc I'm yammering so. Headcanons (general and romantic) under the cut!

His crew are as much a tight-knit band of dedicated men who look up to and respect Shanks as their captain and friend as they are his personal Greek chorus that follows him around making mouth sounds whenever anything at all happens with lmao. If you take the example of him falling in love, they're so happy for him to actually be reaching for something for himself for a change but they're also standing behind him like. Waiting for him to sigh wistfully so 3-5 of them can also sigh wistfully but Louder. He opens his mouth and they say helpful things like "boss is sappy 😊" He has threatened them (toothlessly) with mutiny charges many times. They are undeterred.

He's very wiggly/dancey on normal days! If he's going to grab a snack, if he's gotta make his way from one end of the deck or another for any reason, if Benn has a hangover he thinks he can make worse, if someone has offered him a fruity little umbrella drink. Wiggle wiggle, hips don't lie, cha-cha real smooth etc etc. Music desired but not required!

Speaking of umbrella drinks (and full disclosure this is something I was talking to a buddy of mine about), I think he collects his favorite little drink decorations from places he's been. He's got his jewelry and accessories just kind of around on his desk and nightstand and places, but then a keepsake box that has various pretty little umbrellas and light-up jewels and things that he's liked in his drinks.

Beneath these things in the keepsake box are two folded up wanted posters: one that he managed to save of Roger's, and Buggy's first ever wanted poster.

I think he's very people watchy basically all the time. He's genuinely very light-hearted and silly and fun, but I think a lot of his time when he's not Entertaining or Captaining is spent kicked back kind of. Watching the way his crewmates interact. Watching the ebb and flow of activity in whatever bar they're at. Watching the way people just exist in markets or down by the port or in parks or wherever he is. I think he's really keenly curious about everything, and I also think he feels really disconnected from the world a lot of the time, so being able to see that flurry of human activity all around him makes him feel a little more grounded. imo.

This one isn't groundbreaking or anything but I think he loves seeing his darling wear his clothes. Sleeping or lounging around in one of his linen shirts, or stealing a pair of those patterned pants and having to find creative ways to cinch them because he's actually a decent-sized guy. One time you come out with one of his sashes repurposed into a bandana of sorts and he about collapses to the deck. The fact that you're comfortable sharing things like that with him, the intimacy of his clothes covering and warming you when he can't, the fact that he thinks you're the most beautiful thing he's ever seen even when you're not incorporating pieces of himself into your look, just. He loves it all.

He gets a little starry-eyed when you're sassy and playful with him for sure, but I think he goes full jello-mode if you're sassy on his behalf in like. A public setting. He's fully capable of handling rude idiots himself, of course, but I think it really warms his heart when the people he cares about are protective of him. When it's his darling doing it, showing teeth or coldness or wit in his defense, he will sit directly behind them chin in his hands grinning like a kid at Christmas. loves to be cared for, loves to see his darling handling business, loves knowing that at the end of the day he is going to scoop them directly off the floor and take them to bed about it.

LITTLE SPOON. He will hold you and love on you and adores to do it but if you curl around his back, or cradle him in your arms, or let him lay in your lap, it's like his perfect center of peace and warmth in the universe.

[underratedgrapeju1ce]

I need to know your exact thought process while writing In My Restless Dreams right now🩷🩷🩷🩷🩷

hope ur prepared to hear me yap LMAO

i take characterization very seriously so thats always at the forefront of my mind, i want it to feel believable even if it falls under the umbrella of an au.

giovannis a really interesting character to me, as much as i make homophobic goose jokes, his mindset is genuinely rly thought provoking. squeaks knows how to write nuanced characters, i see no reason he would stop at gio. but as of rn i can only speculate

branching off that, this fic is basically a fun way for me to study the character dynamics, esp bucky and gio and bucky and walter, but i dont want the other guys to get left in the dust, which is why i included that scene with stumbler in chapter 3. chapter 7 and 8 especially are gonna go in depth with olive, stumbler and wulf.

imagery/immersion is something i feel like i could improve at, so i try and do little practice one shots and studying my fav writers (both fanfics and normal literature)

i also wanna pace the story well so theres enough suspense to keep people reading, but not too much that its just a bunch of cliffhangers with no substance. i wanna have fun writing, but i also hold myself to a pretty high standard, for better or worse lol

i dont rly do rough drafts? i make a bulleted list of plot points, and then i just. write from there. i usually read it back the next day to fix typos and formatting and stuff. but other than that i just try and go with the flow.

all in all i wanna do the little guys justice, especially bucky, hes a rly special character to me. i have a nightmare written out that i really wanna fit into the story, as well as a pretty big plot point with gio that im still tinkering with. i'm rly glad people are vibing with it ^^

buckle up though, it gets much much worse before it gets better. :)

[noemilivv]

Hello :) I saw you were doing Hazbin Hotel matchups and honestly I would be very excited to see who you would assign to me (no pressure ofc!!!) so I hope this request is finding you at a good time ^^

ABOUT ME: Feel free to just call me Zo! I’m AFAB and I use she/her as my pronouns. While not officially diagnosed due to growing up in a household who treated it as taboo something that I couldn’t “catch” I definitely fall under the umbrella of neurodivergence. From past research I’ve found ADHD symptoms relate to most of my experiences.

SEXUALITY/ROMANTIC TYPE: To be frank, I’ve always internally struggled when it came to my sexual and romantic identity. Found myself craving some sort of connection that traversed the likes of just platonic bonds but the couple times when someone showed interest in me I’d clam up and push them away. The couple crushes I did have always happened to develop after I had built rapport with them, after we had grew close. So for the sake of labels and for this matchup I’d definitely like to say I’m demiromantic? In terms of sexuality all I got for you is that I’m not repulsed by it??? All I know for sure is if I like them, we’d have to have been friends or at least know each other. (In terms of gender I’m fine with either or! I’m just curious to see who fits the box el oh el ^^)

PERSONALITY: Oh boy. Ok so to start off with I’m an INTP 5w4😼…. My hog warts house is Slytherin. My temperament is Melancholic (my sub temperament is tied up between Melancholic sanguine and melancholic phlegmatic). I definitely fall under the umbrella of shyness, however I’ve also noticed that depending on my company I tend to emulate the majority of the vibe. A half hearted defense mechanism in order to fit in is what I assume it be. I’m told I’m a very emotionally intelligent person, and my friends prefer to talk to me about issues and problems due to the fact that while I can comfort I can also hold them accountable and give them solid advice. They also make jokes on how I should’ve been a psychologist if I wasn’t actively getting a degree in early education. I’m terrible when it comes to changing topics which just makes it me all the more unintentionally hilarious. I’m always more funny when I’m not actively trying to be, I just have this unknown charisma that activates when i don’t try hard being funny </3. I struggle when it comes to maintaining my relationships and also most of my responsibilities, maybe it’s a numbness for my own priorities but it’s so easy to help other people in their own slumps, that when I’m forced to face my own issues and problems I can’t help but make myself numb to it and push it on the back burner. Not for lack of care, but more of seemingly frozen in place, it’s all so terrifyingly overwhelming that I just don’t even acknowledge it. Scarily good at doing that while also avoiding spieling my own feelings on personal matters that my friends always believe I have my all together. So ironically enough while I’m good at helping my friends communicate I’m terrible when it comes to communicating about myself (yippee⁉️ #imworkingonitiswear ) more or less I’m laid back, However I did used to be more of a doormat, luckily I don’t bend backwards for every little thing that breathes now LMAO. I do have a bit of a competitive streak when it comes to games (cough uno cough) and I definitely have a penchant of using my mind and other mediums as a form of escapism. Which can be ok, but sometimes I overdo it.

LOOKS: Medium length dark brown hair, round hazel eyes. I have a round face, and here in the future I want to get wispy bangs to compliment my face shape :D. Pale but not too pale skin, I have the pear shape body type, in the sense that my hips are wide, and I have somewhat big thighs but other wise I’m relatively flat. I do have a bit of chub when it comes to my midsection. Oh! I’m like 5’5 (maybe a little taller????)

LIKES: My cats Basil and Mugwort (literally my sons). I prefer more morose weather like rain. I quite like fall compared to the other seasons. I used to draw a lot but now I don’t as much, still a joyful hobby nonetheless. Recently bought a couple new books and am getting back into the grove of loving reading once more. I will absolutely demolish croutons of any kind. Currently really into mlp, it’s those TikTok infection slideshows I swear (I redownloaded the game….) I like to ramble about my interests like animation and its evolution, cats (the breeds, the care, the everything), and much much more.

DISLIKES: I hate beans. The taste. The texture. If I see beans in food it’s an immediate ick. I will gag. Overstimulating events, like I can bear with it and grow accustomed to it, but that’s doesn’t mean I’ll like it every single time. I hate being/feeling like a burden. Oh and not really a dislike and more of an annoyance(?) the fact that ritz cheese and cracker packs don’t come with the little red plastic spatula to spread your cheese anymore. I assume because it could prove to be a choking hazard, but still I’m just like 😞

LOVE LANGUAGES: Had to really scroll through my gallery because I did take an online test before!! Physical Touch was my highest (ie im extremely touch starved but am too awkward to initiate </3) Something in me just yearns for some kind of comforting touch, but I always tend to swallow it back and push it away for fear of rejection. After that focus, intellect, acts, and words of affirmation were literally all tied not even 5% behind phys touch. I’m just a kind of mentally paralyzed overthinking insecure(ish) gal, my bad bro 😎 But on a real note the confirmation that I’m being seen and heard will make me melt.

Alright!!! Hopefully my yapping was coherent and not a chore to read through!! I think it’s really cool you’re doing this and I’m mainly curious to see who it is you’d pair with me! Because I have a favorite character in mind who’d jump with joy to see, but that’s just because of bias 😭😭

And if it’s not too much of a bother is it alright to ask not to pair me with angel dust? It’s mainly personal preference so hopefully it’s not too much of a bother :))🫶🫶🫶

hey zo! this was quite the adventure to read through haha, after some deciding, I decided to go with…

Alastor !!

I can see you and Alastor meshing well together due to your craving of a platonic bond (you both may or not have a QPR? idk)

Alastor takes deep appreciation for not only your charisma and wit, but also your ability to read the room and match everyone’s energy, it’s helpful in certain situations with him

He isn’t the most touchy feely person you’ll meet in Hell, but he does make an effort, you’ll both usually have your arms loops while holding hands, or he’ll let you lay your head in his lap while he reads and he’ll rub your scalp

But Alastor isn’t afraid to tell you how it is, he makes sure you know your worth, and that he sees you all too clearly

[zaptrap]

(part 2)

redesigns of some old ocs! still kinda WIP but i like the direction they're heading. i don't really have in-depth lore/backstories yet but here's what ive got so far:

The Group:

A bunch of Serpentine who -through means unknown at this time- can shapeshift into humans... mostly. There's still some snake features but they can blend in well enough.

Each left or were banished from their respective tribes for one reason or another. Depending on timelines, the Merge may have further disconnected them from their tribes.

"Found family" but the family they found is a bunch of lunatics.

They all fall under that category of "is hundreds of years old, but look in their 20s" lmfao.

Dunno what they're up to in their day to day life besides eating and sleeping and avoiding arrest.

Xyla:

Anacondrai

Likes to toy with people, and LOVES messing with her friends but they're used to it for the most part.

Conveniently, uh, wasn't eaten by Pythor lmao. Maybe she was banished from the tribe before they were entombed.

Likes to hunt and eat people, but hates when it's called cannibalism cuz she's "technically a snake, sooo 😒"

Can turn invisible, which is very useful for the aforementioned hunting.

Not really into "normal" food can still consume it if necessary.

Most likely to get arrested, or would be if she couldn't turn invisible.

Bek (Honorable Mention):

Whatever species the Great Devourer was lmfao.

Peak emo boy vibes except he's legit insane. Was never part of a tribe.

Besties with Xyla. Might be besties with benefits, either way they're really close.

They're both wanted in at least 4 realms for an assortment of crimes (kidnapping people and eating them).

More of strict carnivore, gets sick if he has to eat non-meat too often.

2nd Most likely to get arrested.

Arabella:

Fangpyre

Not as openly antagonistic as Xyla, but can be a bitch when she wants to be.

Basically a vampire-idol LARPer, has an umbrella whenever the sun is out and can sing fairly well.

Is kinda frail/sickly. Not in the best physical condition. Likely abandoned by the other Fangpyre due to this.

Can turn people/objects into snakes via bite. Likes to threaten people with this to scare 'em off.

Likes ordering Goro around lmao, though it's usually simple stuff like errands or chores. They're best friends but...... complicated.

Picky eater, but likes candy and finger foods.

Least likely to get arrested 'cause she can just turn the cops into snakes lmfao.

Goro:

Constrictai

Left the tribe to be with Arabella. She helped him when they were kids and he latched onto her.

He's a little bit... extremely obsessed with everything about her in every way. They're inseparable (they should be separated).

Big puppy vibes but also rabid dog in certain scenarios (if something bad happened to Arabella). Clingly/Simpy/Spineless/you get the idea.

Would be shy/introverted otherwise.

Can burrow or constrict people.

Can and will eat trash, he doesn't give a shit.

Hasn't been arrested..... yet.

But yeah that's what I've got so far, lemme know what u think or if u have any questions !! There's a couple others a haven't really designed yet, but I'm still trying to figure out what I wanna do with 'em lmao.

[sysmedsaresexist]

hi it's me the system who sent in an ask ab your username a few days ago back with yet another syscourse question! (sorry for bothering y'all lmao) what is plurality? ive been seeing a lot of posts on here saying it isn't did and then a lot of posts that say it is and . yeah ! is it different from osddid in some way, or is it like. a subsection of those groups or something else entirely

Once again, it depends on who you ask ): you're not bothering!

I've gotten into it with both sides about what plurality is and if/how it's different. I can only give my personal thoughts on it, but there isn't really an answer at this point. Maybe in the future, but not now.

So.

IMO.

CDDs are trauma-based disorders (fact, not opinion). Trauma during childhood will leave "injuries" on the brain, and these injuries affect every aspect of a CDD system's life. For example, how we experience, store, and retrieve memories, or our emotional processing abilities, to how and why we form alters.

Plurality is... not that.

Plurality is an umbrella for any experience that makes you feel like you're "more than one." It's largely considered an opt-in label these days.

So, throwing this out there now, plurality as a concept was meant to be anti psych when it was created. It was chosen to be the opposite of multiple, referring to MPD, and was meant for people who wanted an unmedicalized experience, for any number of reasons.

"More than one," was used by the TPA to attack systems using parts language-- "Less than one."

This is a touchy topic for many CDD systems, and most endogenic systems don't actually know why we're so mad. I'm willing to bet the "more/less" thing went unnoticed by plurals.

So while some will say that CDDs fall under the plural umbrella, others, like myself, find that being forced under what was meant to be a non medical umbrella for systems that looked down on disordered systems to be incredibly offensive.

I mean, just look at Lancers and Pavilion to see just how cruel that early community was towards trauma based and disordered systems.

That said.

While there are some endogenic systems who will find out they're actually a CDD system, "endo with repressed trauma" doesn't account for all experiences. And neither does "CDD system mistaking normal CDD experiences for plural experiences."

Based on research coming out, we can start to see how it's possible for tulpamancers and religious practitioners to have "not me" experiences that are outside of their conscious control.

And it's different.

Edit to add, because I didn't mean to imply otherwise-- Systems can also choose to label their experiences however they want. Systems can experience more than one type of plurality and label that however they choose. CDD systems can and do use plural. There's nothing wrong with that.

[vixenvtuber]

Hi Vixen, I wanna ask the question for my first TADC AU, like Jazz Swing AU. Sorry if my question kinda silly

Just wondering if Gangle had to play the instruments, which would she choose?

it's not a silly question at all! please don't feel bad about sending me asks

but i'm gonna be so honest with you guys. after 10 years of being in this industry (specifically in anime), i feel reaaaaaally awkward making up too many headcanons about characters i voice. with some companies, you can get in trouble for "taking ownership" of a character you voice too much because they don't technically belong to us as the voice actors, and making up details about them falls under that umbrella of stuff that can get you in trouble

glitch & goose are super cool and i doubt they'd care, but i can't get over this instinctual feeling!

so i basically won't answer questions like these unless there's a scrap of something in canon i can point to to justify my choice lmao

this is also why i tend not to do too many bits on stream in gangle's voice, even though i know it disappoints people

i super encourage you guys to just do what you like with your AUs!!!!!! i am just some lady! you don't need my opinion to just have fun with these characters-- do whatever feels right to you!

[livingthedragonlife]

happy multigender awareness day!! i am aware of you!! have some q's from that ask <3

1, 2, 6, 7, 12, 21, 23, 30 :DD

yay thank you!!!! i am perceived <3

[here is the ask game in question]

1) What are your genders? Either labels/terms or descriptions :)

I’m a bigender man/woman! The double binary! I also like saying I’m a trans man/cis woman. Cistrans manwoman. Tee hee mashing words together

2) Describe your pronouns. What are they, and why?

I use he/him & she/her, and I usually write it fully out like that (instead of he/she or she/he or something) so that nobody gets to ignore one for the sake of the other, or assume it’s a typo or something. I also say it out loud fully too, so no one can mishear me.

6) Do you identify with any umbrella terms that can encompass being multigender, like "trans" or "nonbinary"?

I am trans, but I am not non-binary.

I guess by definition I’m non-binary? Like I technically fall under the umbrella, but I’ve never identified with it. People tend to assume that “non-binary” means “genderless” which is the exact opposite of what I have going on. I’d rather strangers just assume I’m a binary trans man tbh, because at least then they’d be half-right!

7) Are your genders more fluid or more static?

Static! I am 100% a man and 100% a woman at all times. They are inseparable and making out.

12) Does your gender influence your sexual orientation? I’m double gay. All my sex is gay. Get bigender’d, idiot.

Real answer: I figured out I was bisexual way before I figured out I was bigender, and that hasn’t changed. I think since I’ve started transitioning, I’ve allowed myself to connect more with being a queer man attracted to queer men. My attraction to men has always felt queer, and something did feel “missing” from it even when I discovered being bisexual, so I think transitioning has let things click into place a bit more. My attraction to women never felt “incomplete” in that way, probably because being a woman attracted to women was already queer, so I never had to worry about being misinterpreted as a straight person lmao. And of course attraction to other trans/non-binary people feel queer because duh.

21) What are your favorite things about being multigender?

Getting to do both, I guess!! I don’t have to pick one gender and completely sever myself from the other, I can take the things I like from both and use the pieces to build one whole genderful self!

23) What unique parts about your identity are you proud of?

I feel powerful in being opposites. I’m a man and woman, I’m a cis and trans person at the same time, and most people—including other trans people—would view that as contradiction that would default not make sense, one would disqualify the other. But not for me! I contain multitudes and you WILL be confused by me.

30) What do you wish more people knew about being multigender? Well first, that it exists. That it’s easy and it’s free to be two or more genders at once. So many people straight up aren’t aware that such an option exists—except they probably know about being genderfluid. But you don’t have to be fluid to be more than one gender at once, there’s a whole spectrum of options out there. You can do whatever you want forever!

But close second is that it does feel inherently exclusionary in most queer spaces to be multigender. There’s a bisexual meet-up in my city that I’ve never been to (and never will), because they separate people by “women and femme non-binary” and “men and masc non-binary”—oh, but don’t worry, “you can decide which group you feel most comfortable in!” If I show up there, which room would they decide I belong in? This is a good microcosm of being multigender in all cishetero society, but unfortunately, indeed, in the queer community as well.

A LOT of queer spaces are separated by gender, sexuality, or presentation. I’ve had to wonder which places and people are going to be safe for me to interact with as my whole self, and which ones are going to dutifully ignore the half of my identity they like the least. I have to wonder if people are going to feel betrayed when they learn I’m a trans person who’s still cis, and try to deny me my own feelings and how I relate to my gender. I have to wonder if I’m “too woman” to date queer men, or “too man” to date queer women. Especially now that I’m on T—how long before people start assuming I’m exclusively a man instead of exclusively a woman? What’s going to happen when they find out they’re wrong?

So yeah, I wish people would keep this in mind more often.

[dozing--zzz]

intro post :p

HEY FELLOW LOSERS

my name is lee, im seventeen, and a switch in the sfw tickle community.

i view tickles as a fun, silly, bonding activity for friends, lovers, or family, and just a cute part of the human condition. i adore seeing people laughing. i love laughs a lot. maybe a little too much. (again, all nsfw dni)

i love talking with others in the community like me, so never hesitate to dm me or anything. id love to chat and make a few friends here.

*unfurls a long scroll*

fandoms

(bold = currently my favorites, strikethrough = dormant, italics = just got into it)

critical role (mighty nien, bells hells, and now wildmount wildings)

d&d

my ocs + original universe

the lego movie

pokemon (sun/moon, sword/shield, xy, wv2/bv2 are my favorites)

fantasy life (3ds)

the outsiders by s.e. hinton

minecraft

little big planet

sanders sides

hermitcraft

commentary youtube

studio ghibli

harvest moon: tale of two towns

big hero 6

octonauts

wild kratts

gravity falls

delicious In dungeon

acnh

my favorites change a lot, but it's really rare that the list gets longer lol

dni/other iffy things

if you apply to any of the following labels, please do not interact with me or my blog. thanks!

teasing me about my name! not something i can control, and it has gotten super annoying especially when its ppl idk lmao

NFSW or partially NSFW blog

age 30 or older. if i meet you before then and you are a good person and we know eachother when you turn 30, i can make an exception.

feet-centered blog or someone with a foot fetish. you do you, i have no problem with whatever you like, but it is not my thing and makes me uncomfortable.

prefer solely/mostly heavy bondage or tickle torture and/or have a blog centered around it, again, you do you but it scares me lol

homophobic, transphobic, misogynist, sexist, etc. need i explain. i am under the trans umbrella and gay. so if you don't like it fuck off respectfully

proshipper or a proshipping supporter.

a vore enjoyer sexual or nonsexual. sorry and no personal hate to you but that stuff terrifies me

enjoy/create irl tickling content without consent from the people. yes, this includes youtubers, actors, kpop groups, etc. they're real people and i feel that it is weird and icky to make that sort of content without their consent. thats a real person (obv does not include clips of real events, those are always super cute lol)

THANKS FOR READING ALL OF THAT LOL

heres some little intro things i filled out if ur curious :)