#bury your lesbians i guess

[kingslionheart]

tlk never beating the queer show allegations 🌈 part 3/? | the life of a queen can be somewhat lonely, at least until you find the pious lesbian you are willing to die for

[aroaessidhe]

2024 reads / storygraph

Bury Your Gays

Horror

a scriptwriter in hollywood who’s getting attention & an Oscar nom after working in the industry for years, but is being pressured by algorithm-obsessed producers to kill off the queer characters in the season finale of the show he writes

and when he starts getting stalked by the monsters he wrote (based on traumas of his past) he has to figure out how to survive, along with his best friend and boyfriend

[doctorcurdlejr]

This is from a longer post I wrote about I saw the tv glow but just posting this bit on its own bc of the conversation around the movie I guess:

The point is that this movie is one big glaring trans allegory about how it sucks dog shit to live in the suburbs, and even at our most repressed we find these little snow globes of actualization in the glow of a tv screen that isn't afraid to show you the world you see. I've seen some people say that, like, in this context accepting or coming into your transness is this monumental death of self, which I get, but I feel there lacks a nuance in that because either way Owen is dying. Unlike Maddy who buries herself alive only to come out renewed, Owen doesn't kill himself upon facing the reality that the world is constructed to keep him miserable and the only way out is to take back what it is that the world wants to keep scooped out of him. Instead he just passively lets it drag him to a much more permanent death. This lack of suicide sucks in the kind of way that forces you to sit in your car on the midnight drive home and think to yourself am I letting myself suffocate because at some point knowing the misery became less scary than admitting I've been capable of doing something about it the whole time?

Maddy is an out lesbian who left town to escape the misery and found it strapped to her ankles. She slinks out, an animal pressed against the gymnasium floor, and says "I'm not telling you anything you don't already know." Owen looks into the camera and narrates. He cuts himself open with a box cutter, fully acknowledges what's there, and the movie ends with his suffocating apology parade for the unremarkable inconvenience of his excruciating suffering. You can be gay and trans, you can know it and you can stop repressing it, but you're not going to stop suffocating until you can find a way to destroy the part of you that truly deeply does want to die, reaching for the comforting euthanasia of normalcy. Stop visiting the dream of the life you want and make it into your reality with the same kind of unrepentant conviction seen in some underfunded but wildly ambitious teen television series. In other words: you must try to survive the ego death of being weird. A weirdo, who doesn't fit in and doesn't want to fit in.

[sleepinthrumyalarms]

— a study in demon

pairing: wednesday addams x fem!oni!reader

warnings: smut, lesbian sex, a/b/o dynamics in werewolves and demons, penetration, G!P!reader, it's demon girlcock OKAY, cockwarming, breeding kink, size kink, knotting, all characters are aged-up

summary: an unfortunate turn of events leaves wednesday with a very frustrated, very needy oni demon on her hands. what kind of girlfriend would she be if she didn't take care of her beloved?

word count: 4.5k

a/n: jesus christ, look at those warnings. this fic is a whole declaration of war. i went feral. i have nothing to say for myself. hope you enjoy

The first thing you feel when the annoying buzzing of the alarm pulls you out of your peaceful slumber is the immense heat of your body and the ache somewhere in your lower belly. A groan leaves your throat before you can even blink your eyes fully open, and you blindly reach for your phone to turn the screaming noise off.

You sit up on your bed and squint at the sunlight that streams through the tiny slit in the tightly shut curtains, opening a small calendar app that’s designed specifically for the creatures of your kind – and with a huff you realize your rut is coming in two days.

Damn it. You’ve completely forgotten about it. That certainly explains the aggressiveness and mood swings you’ve been having for the past week.

You open a new text message, sent from your girlfriend at 5:30 AM – not exactly an early riser, but definitely the type to pull an all-nighter on a school night – wishing you the most dreadful morning. You smile to yourself, and the smallest thought of her seems to be enough to motivate you to get out of bed and start the day despite the uncomfortable feeling stirring in your belly.

Thank all the gods almighty – Larissa Weems, especially – that it is still a non-uniform week at the Academy. Sitting in class with that tie wrapped around your throat like a noose would’ve killed you.

You rummage through your wardrobe, pulling out a tee and a pair of jeans, changing hastily, before your gaze falls on a particular item of clothing that definitely doesn’t belong in your closet.

It’s a black baggy zip hoodie, the one Wednesday constantly wears when out of class. It’s a surprise she has forgotten it at your place – your best guess is she must’ve left in one of your sweatshirts instead.

The fabric feels smooth in your grasp. Warm fleece lining. A bit abrasive on the outside.

Just like her.

You lift the hoodie to your face, burying your nose in the softness and inhaling.

Smells just like her, too.

Without a second thought you put it over your frame – though a bit more of a tight fit, it’s still slightly baggy on your shoulders – and zip it up, pulling the hood over your head to take another small whiff of the familiar scent.

That should get you through the day, you think.

And it does. For the first half of it, at least.

You take an extra suppressant pill during lunch, but skip the meal, opting to spend the free time in the quad to ventilate your head.

It feels better. Much, much better. Even though you don’t get to see Wednesday at the canteen.

You’re back inside for your last period – maths, and your mind gets too busy with the complicated equations and formulas to worry about the hormones running wild in your body.

You’re half-way through a very fucked-up problem with roots and sines before a strong aroma suddenly fills up your lungs – an omega’s pheromones, you realize, wide-eyed.

An omega who is in heat.

You lift your head up, giving the students around you a quick once-over – and your gaze meets a pair of golden orbs, a pretty girl with pink plump lips and fiery-red hair tied into a pony tail watches you with interest, her chin propped on her palm. As soon as you make eye-contact, she gives you a smile, revealing a small, adorable gap in the front row of her teeth.

You shake your head and smile back politely before turning back to your paper, but the rest of the class feels like you’re trapped in a suffocating cage of hot arousal that smells of yellow fruit and washed laundry.

As soon as the bell dismisses the students, you hastily pack your bag and bolt out of the door, desperate to lock yourself in your dorm room and just take care of this stupid predicament you’ve found yourself in. You’ve never been more grateful for the lack of a roommate.

“Hey, (Y/n).”

You stop and turn at the sound of your name being called, although the voice is quite unfamiliar – too melodic and gentle to be anyone you know.

“Hey, uh...”

It’s the redhead from maths. She watches you expectantly for a few moments before her face falls slightly, “It’s Dina! I was with the Black Cats last year. We met at the after party? The one Yoko hosted?” She sounds almost offended at the fact that you don’t remember her.

“Oh. Oh, right. Dina. Sorry. I’m really bad with names.” You smile apologetically.

“It’s fine. I’d be surprised if you remembered me, actually. This academy holds way too many ginger werewolves,” Dina chuckles, and falls in step with you to continue walking down the hall. “So, you up to anything right now?”

“No, not really. Just hoping to get back to the dorms and sleep my awful headache off. Been bugging me all day.”

It’s only a half-lie – your temples are still throbbing like crazy, and the pheromones you’ve smelled in class did nothing to help your case.

The werewolf tilts her head, pursing her plump lips, “Hmm... That’s too bad, because, actually...”

The smaller girl suddenly grabs your hips and pushes you – unprepared, you stumble to the side and right through the door of some random classroom. Barely able to catch your balance at Dina’s abrupt movement, your hands grasp at her forearms, desperately trying to steady the rest of your body.

“I was thinking I could help you relieve that pain of yours.”

She looks up at you, tilts her chin up slightly. The smell of citron and fresh linen suddenly fills your nose.

The same one you’ve felt in class.

The omega in heat.

Fuck.

The werewolf in front of you settles with pumping her pheromones at you wildly, her palms flitting from your hips down to your thighs, slowly closing in on your center – you do nothing to stop her, your own hands reaching behind you to grip the edge of the desk. Her eyes are glinting red now, slitted pupils never breaking eye contact with yours.

She presses her nose against your scent gland, and you feel her grin against your neck.

“I don’t smell an omega on you...” Shit. Of course Wednesday’s hoodie doesn’t smell like anything but her usual dark resins and woods scent. As much as it is alluring and recognizable to you, it’s not pheromones. “You haven’t mated with one yet? That’s just criminal... An alpha like you should spend all her ruts with a pretty omega impaled on her cock.”

You take a sharp inhale through your nose, feeling yourself throb treacherously at her words. Dina giggles softly, pressing her lips to your jaw, her mouth now inches away from yours.

“You know…” she starts sultry, voice heavy with unadulterated lust in a way that only an omega’s can sound to the ears of a rutting alpha, “I’ve never taken an oni’s knot before…”

You feel the werewolf squeeze your thighs, bare her claws in a sharp movement, “I wonder what it feels like.”

Your head is heavy, cloudy – you’re practically unable to resist, tusked mouth hanging open with small puffs of vapors fluttering out. The urge to bend the small werewolf over the desk and pound her into the wood feels even harder to resist, too.

An unpleasant feeling rattles through your chest, unbearable and disgusting. An image of dark-brown eyes and soft lips painted burgundy flashes through your mind.

You feel like you’re going to puke.

“No,” you rasp, pushing the werewolf away. “Get off me.”

Before the startled girl can retort, you stumble out of the classroom and slam the door closed, turning the key that has been left in the keyhole by some clumsy substitute.

You stumble for a moment, lifting a clawed palm to grasp at your head that has suddenly turned cloudy and heavy, and make your way towards the ladies’ restroom.

She must’ve felt the rut closing on you, and her own heat triggered it prematurely.

With shaky hands you pull out your phone, opening the messages app and texting the first person that comes to your clouded mind.

enid

bro you gotta ditch

it’s an emergency

i just stumbled into a girl

uhh dina?

she’s from ophelia hall

anyways i think she needs… help

yk

from a fellow omega wolf

i think she hasn’t been taking her suppressants

for some fucking reason

and yk it’s not like me to live a lady in distress

but i really had to dip

i was doing her a favor by dipping actually

i locked her up on the 2nd floor

202

i really had to leave

Pressing your back against one of the bathroom stalls, you wait anxiously as three gray dots dance on the screen.

The device dingles in your hands.

oooohh

its okay

i gotchu

u should totes find weds tho

im sure she can help u out ;))

You hide your phone in your pocket and open the tap to splash your face with cold water. It eases the flush of your face, but doesn’t calm the raging beast inside.

Your fingers grasp onto the edges of the sink tightly, almost making the marble crack.

As you walk through the corridors and up the stairs of Ophelia Hall, the only thought that occupies your mind is Wednesday. Wednesday and her dark eyes and her lips and her touch and the beautiful curve of her slender hips and everything that is your mate.

You don’t bother knocking, urgently swinging the door open.

And there it is. Your (f/c) sweater, no doubt one of her monochrome striped shirts under it.

Your palms are sweating. Claws digging into your pant legs, tusks into your lip.

The small ravenette turns in her seat to look at you, her fingers stilling over the keys of her typewriter.

Her braided hair looks pristine and untouched, her posture unmatched, the image perfect even when out of public sight.

“Ma bête,” she addresses softly, brows slightly raised in question. “You’re back. And you look… a trifle uncomfortable.”

Does she not know? There’s no way she doesn’t. Such details could never slip Wednesday’s unhealthily constantly alerted mind.

“Is something wrong?”

Fuck. Of course. There it is, that cruel glint in her eyes. You should’ve known.

She wants you to say it.

You shift on your feet. The temperature is becoming almost unbearable.

“I’m…”

Wednesday watches you, tilts her head just a tiny bit forward — dark, haunted eyes deadpan, staring you down, her jaw tightening slightly and relaxing in a way that is barely noticeable but has your gaze flicking down to the enticing slant of her neck.

“I’m… in a rut.” You admit, finally.

Wednesday’s eyes widen slightly — her posture straightens even more, the glint in her eyes turning dangerous, “Oh.” Yes, oh, as if she wasn’t aware. “Why are the suppressants not working?”

Should you admit that the small encounter with the horny omega has sent your hormones spiraling?

Wednesday is by no means a normal human, yet her nose lacks the capability of sensing alpha pheromones. Nevertheless, she can read you like a book, and she probably was aware of your coming rut long before you were. She simply likes abusing the knowledge.

“It must be bad then, if it has you reduced to such a pathetic state,” the goth tuts, drumming her fingers against her desk. “Pure torture, isn’t it, bête? I wish I could help you…”

Wednesday turns back to her paper, shrugging noncommittally, “Unfortunately, it is my writing hour, and you know how much I would detest an intervention in my schedule.”

You whine as the drumming of her keys resumes – like a kicked puppy, you turn to reach for the doorknob, prepared to return back to the restroom and take care of yourself to the thought of your ever-so beautiful and unyielding girlfriend.

Wednesday’s fingers still on the typewriter.

“But I suppose… We can reach a consensus.”

The legs of her chair scrape against the hardwood floor, and you turn to find Wednesday standing next to the desk, palm resting on the back of the seat invitingly.

“Come here.”

You’re beside Wednesday before the whole command can escape her mouth, and she gives a small, amused huff that almost has you howling and gnawing at furniture, then gestures at the chair, “Sit. Unbutton your pants, underwear off.”

You reach to do as told, pulling at a pant-leg to finally discard the constricting garment before the ravenette slaps your hand, “Just the button and the zipper, (Y/n). Do not make me repeat myself.”

You gulp and take a seat at her desk, tugging the elastic of your boxers down to free the hard shaft.

The dark, intense gaze Wednesday is watching you with makes you blush and throb, excitement and arousal mixing with the slightest of embarrassments only her presence can induce.

“Good girl,” she hums, circling the chair like a hunting lioness. “I will allow you to be inside me, just this once. I will not allow you to touch me in any other way. If I feel any movement, internal or external, you will be punished. And by no means are you allowed to cum. Not without my permission. Are the instructions clear, beast? Nod your empty little head if affirmative.”

You nod with a small whimper at the derogatory words, though they do nothing to soothe the aching hardness between your legs.

“Good, good. Well, since the terms are settled, I shall get started.”

Before you can respond, Wednesday steps closer to the desk, slightly flipping her skirt with a quick movement of her hand and letting you catch the smallest of glimpses of her pretty pussy – the show is over before you can marvel though, and the seer sits on your lap, your length pressing against her lower back.

Like this, with no distance left between you, her scent is encompassing your whole being. No pheromones can compare to the way Wednesday smells, the rich, woodsy notes of a forest soaked in rainwater luring you in as you take a small inhale.

You bite back a growl, but a small noise of frustration still manages to reach the ravenette’s sharp hearing.

“Quiet, beast.” She scolds, her tone of voice far from playful, and reaches to straighten her skirt carefully, flicking the non-existing dust off the garment in a graceful movement of her palm.

Then, before you can downright keen with impatience, the same hand moves behind to wrap around your hard member, giving it a squeeze so light it is almost torturous –  Wednesday lifts her hips and presses the head against the warmth of her entrance.

That first contact feels like electricity and fire in your belly, worsened when you feel your cock split her lips open, stretching her taut around it, and the smallest worry that you might just not fit passes through your rut-clouded mind.

Then again, Wednesday might not even be merciful enough to sheathe you fully inside her, but the thought of being too big to be properly seated in her cunt is tantalizing and excruciating at the same time.

A small, relieved sigh escapes Wednesday’s lips –  the sensation of being filled up with you is like no other, and she can’t help but relish in it despite her aggravation. She takes her time, feeling every inch push deeper inside her and stretch her out, the thick shaft splitting her open, then her thighs press into yours and she stills completely.

If she had to, the goth would put all the time and work in to stretch herself out with your girth, to take all of you inside her like she was molded just for that single purpose. It’s not like Wednesday has something to prove to anyone – or maybe she has, to you, that no one else at Nevermore could take you so well and make all your resolve, might and dominance provided to you by nature, or by gods, or by whatever entity has created such a delectable beast as you crumble under her and make it natural for you to submit to the seer.

And oh does submissiveness look good on you, too – or at least it sounds good, if your heavy breathing mixed with quiet whines hitting her ear is anything to go by.

Wednesday is reminded of her goal suddenly when she feels your hips buck instinctually into her, and the ravenette has to hold back a sound of pleasure at the movement, because she can’t fight how incredible the pressure feels, making her velvet walls flutter. She’s still holding the reins when she tightens her pussy around your throbbing dick purposefully, a trace of a small smirk on her plush burgundy lips at the needy and wanton groan that escapes your mouth.

That was a good enough treat, she thinks. Now to the sticks.

Wednesday kicks you in the shin with the side of her loafer, pulling you out of your pleasure-induced trance and making you flinch.

“Move closer to the desk, beast. I need to be able to reach the keys in order to type.”

You grunt, shuffling the chair closer with your weight, nudging Wednesday’s body forward, and the slightest shift makes you hiss — she slides a few inches up your shaft before she’s at the base again, seated nice and snug, her thighs resting on yours. Your hands fall to grapple at them, and you receive another painful kick.

“No. Hands off. If you are unable to control yourself, I will shun you out.” Wednesday scolds, though has to hide the effect the feeling of your claws curling around her have, and fails. Her voice sounds more breathless than she has intended.

She has a hard time admitting to herself how torturous this is for her, too. The seer sneaks a glance down to where the thick shaft splits her open, so tight she can practically feel it throbbing against her clit. A small bead of precum runs down, skirting one of the throbbing veins.

Wednesday’s restraint is laudable.

“Messy creature,” she murmurs, her tone surprisingly soft, before the paper in front of her takes over her attention again. Straightening her back, the ravenette goes back to her writing as if she’s not full of demon cock right now.

You try to focus on the rapid clatter of the keys, on the way Wednesday’s elegant fingers dance over the typewriter, maybe try and catch a glance of the words the girl is printing on the paper. Anything to pull your mind away from the tight warmth hugging your aching cock, from weight of the small body pressed against you.

The demon inside of you is raging, howling, salivating between huge tusks. The monster is not as prejudiced as the fellow oni of your clan are – it doesn’t care if it’s another demon or a human you’re nestled inside. It demands the frail body pressed against your own is filled up and bred, demands the goth takes all of you, stretching around your swollen knot before it's barely able to slip inside.

Not just any body. Or some omega. Wednesday. Wednesday who isn’t even a part of that animalistic system, but the beast begs for more, wants all of her more, more with each passing second.

A growl mixed with a whimper escapes your mouth – you have no idea what to do with your hands, so you press them into the edge of the table on either side of Wednesday’s typewriter, claws digging into the dark wood. The involuntarily display of strength has the small female tightening around you with a gentle hitch of her breath, making you groan.

“Wednesday,” you rasp through clenched teeth. “I can’t. Please. I’m losing control.”

“O-oh, are you?” The goth inquires mockingly, hoping you don’t take notice of her slight stutter.

“Mhm,” you nod dumbly. “Wanna take you so bad. Wanna fuck you full of me.”

Wednesday can’t fight the way her pussy constricts around you again, though the determination not to lose control remains, strong as ever. She abandons the keys to reach a hand into your hair, grabbing a fistful of (h/c) locks to pull and make you meet her gaze, “Whose is it, (Y/n)?”

You furrow your brows in confusion, making Wednesday’s frown deepen – a hint for the right answer comes in the form of the seer’s hips lifting and rocking back down, the friction making you hiss.

“Answer me.”

“Yours.” You swallow. “Yours, Wednesday. Every- every inch is.”

“Good. Good girl.” She coos, easing her hold on you to rake her short nails down the back of your neck, making goosebumps litter your body. “Bed, beast. Now.”

A low growl rumbling in your chest and vibrating against her back is the only warning Wednesday gets before she’s lifted into the air sharply.

In a rough, barely controlled movement you stand up so fast you topple the chair over, flipping the girl with ease and walking a couple of steps to press her against the bed, the ravenette’s cunt still snug around your shaft. A clawed hand reaches for a pillow hastily to cushion Wednesday’s head, the last resemblance of caring gentleness in your actions before you pull out to the tip and buck back inside.

Wednesday’s head snaps back, mouth falling open in pleasure as you pin her down into the mattress, fucking hard into the welcoming, tight warmth of her pussy. Despite the dynamics of oni demons still being fairly alien to Wednesday – not as alien apparently, as she knows the frequency and signs of your rut better than you do and isn’t opposed to using it against you – she now seems to understand the appeal of being absolutely destroyed by an alpha that omegas in heat are so partial to.

As delectable as the thought is, it rekindles the spark of possessiveness that she thought has almost been extinguished. The goth wraps her arms around your shoulders, pulling your bodies flush together.

Hers. No one else’s.

Not some other depraved omega girl’s so desperate to get a taste of you.

“You foolish brute.” She pants as if it’s your fault you seem to be irresistible to other women, voice trembling slightly, her breath completely pushed out of her lungs with each of your thrusts. “You better make good on your promise and breed me like a good alpha should.”

The monster inside you roars at the proposition that is so obviously supposed to be taunting. Your palms slide down the girl’s waist, thumbs brushing against the protruding hipbones to dip into the supple flesh sitting low under her navel, holding her tightly, almost hard enough to bruise and match the brutal pace of your hips rutting into Wednesday, your cock splitting her open deliciously in a toe-curling sensation that has Wednesday’s head falling back against the dark pillows.

The sight under you has you growling savagely – your tongue lolls out to lick a thick stripe up the exposed skin of the ravenette’s neck before you bite down, huge tusks clasping around her throat and keeping Wednesday in place completely, her pulse wild against the rough surface of your muscle. Her pussy constricts around your cock, clamping down hard in an attempt to keep the thick shaft buried to the hilt every time you pull out and quivering when you slam back inside and fill her up enough for the tip to kiss the entrance of her womb, never letting the small female catch her breath.

The lustful fog of ardent fervor clouding Wednesday’s brain doesn’t numb her to the sensation of a swelling at the base of your shaft nudging against her opening every time your hips meet hers. It threatens to push in, catches deliciously on Wednesday’s clit with each thrust and she can feel herself getting painfully close.

But she will not. For the sake of the one thing she wants more than anything else, the goth will deprive herself.

“Knot me.” She rasps into your ear, her feet pushing into your lower back to urge you deeper inside. “Mia bestia, mia alfa. Dentro. Ven dentro di mi.”

You’d have no clue what she has just said on a normal day, and you have zero idea right now, buried eight inches deep inside of her, but the breathless, desperate pants of Italian have you turning feral. In one last brutal thrust the knot slips past Wednesday’s tight lips and inside, stretching and filling her so thoroughly and impossibly delicious it has her eyes rolling into the back of her head. A spill of wetness from her own release rushing forth as she clamps down on your cock lubes her aching walls, helping the bulging slide in firmly.

Your lips gravitate to hers, pulled to her like a magnet, and you growl into her mouth as your cum spills hotly, taking up any remaining space inside the small female and her walls ripple, begging for more. Wednesday's arms tighten around your shoulders and legs squeeze around your hips to keep you close.

You throb with sated completion, press lazy kisses to the seer’s brow and flushed cheeks, and watch as her eyes flutter open to meet yours, her chest heavy with steamy breaths.

“Too hot, huh?” You ask, jaw slack slightly.

Wednesday gives a weak nod, and you reach to tug the sweater off her shoulders, then unzip her skirt to slip it down her pale legs, leaving the girl in just her striped shirt. The newly exposed skin provides better contact for you to revel in – you purr in satisfaction and move to join the seer on the bed, careful not to crush her, and maneuver her small body in your palms to pull her on top of you.

Wednesday huffs but doesn’t resist, nudging at your neck with her nose and pressing a soft kiss to your jugular in an uncharacteristic display of affection.

“How did you find out?” You murmur, lifting your hands to start undoing one of the ravenette’s loosened braids leisurely.

“I have my ways.”

You hum at the vague reply, now certain that the disembodied hand following you around the whole day wasn’t just your imagination playing tricks, “I hope you know I had no intention to lie to you or anything. You just- you didn’t exactly give me a chance to speak.”

“Your explanation wasn’t necessary. I’m well aware of what happened.” The movement of the seer’s plush lips tickles your skin pleasantly, her voice now void of its previous detachment.

You smile softly, finished with unbraiding her hair, your fingers threading through the silky raven locks, careful not to give an accidental tug. Wednesday closes her eyes at your touch, and the tranquility of the moment has you feeling like a cat basking in warm sunlight, despite the object of your passions being a complete opposite to it.

“I’ll have to consult Enid on the topic of which herbs are the deadliest to werewolves.”

“Wednesday.”

[xxxdreamscapexxx]

Unspoken desires

Wanda Maximoff x Fem!Reader

Word count: 7.8k

Summary: Some things are hard to say out loud. Some desires are just too great to be left buried and sometimes the best way to express them is to write them down, hoping that you’ll be able to get them out of your mind. And that’s what you do. You write. Until one night your girlfriend finds you in your study and it sparks a curiosity inside her. What will happen when she finds your little secret?

Warning: NSFW, 18+, lesbian relationship, oral, fingering, magic use, magical restraints, R being gagged, finger sucking, strap on sex, oral to a strap, a bit of an oral fixation? Mommy!Kink, top!Wanda, Bottom!Reader Masterlist with all my works.                    Part 2: I love taming you 18+

                                                             Wanda woke up in the middle of the night, startled by your absence. She had tried to drape her hand over you in her sleep, only for it to land on empty space, where your body should have been, the sheets devoid of your warmth, which told her you had been up for a while. It pulled her out of her drowsiness and she blinked a few times, her eyes scanning the dark room for you, but she already knew she was alone. She sighed, pushing herself up to a sitting position. She hoped that you were in the bathroom and she waited a few minutes, but no sound actually came from anywhere and she found herself worried, her feet blindly searching for her slippers, before she walked out of your shared bedroom. She peaked in the direction of the bathroom just in case, but the door was slightly ajar and the space dark and empty, just as she suspected it will be and she descended the stairs with deliberate slowness, refusing to work herself into a panic. You love her. You’re happy with her. You wouldn’t just leave her in the middle of the night without a word. There would be a rational explanation for all of this. With a steadying breath she used her powers to scan your home for your presence and she quickly found it. Your energy signature showed you were in the study, which, thinking more clearly, now that she was calmer, Wanda should have guessed. Your heart was beating calmly, your mind active, but not loud, so Wanda approached the room in that same deliberate slowness she forced in her step. The room glowed in soft yellow light that spilled from the doorway and she saw you on your favourite office chair behind your marble desk, head bowed over a notebook as you wrote something. The moment she pushed the door, it creaked and you suddenly snapped your head up in surprise, your eyes landing on your girlfriend and you forced yourself to smile at her as she walked closer. “What are you doing up, honey?” You asked, leaving the fountain pen you were holding. “I should ask you the same thing.” Your girlfriend countered, getting even closer to you, now almost in front of your desk, her eyes landing on your stylish handwriting, but unable to make out the words you had written. You looked down at your notebook, at the pretty way your hand had written each word, which tortured your mind and you paused for a moment, wondering how to explain what it said. But there was just so much to say that you honestly had no idea where to start and your mind scrambled for a way to explain, thinking it would be best to just give it to her and let her read for herself, but she spoke before you could. “Are they overworking you at the office again?” She asked with concern, her green eyes softening as they studied you. “You shouldn’t stay up so long, love.” She added, stepping even closer and an impulse inside you made you stand from your spot to meet her. “You should have told me you needed to finish something. I would have given you some space after dinner.” Wanda assured and you circled the desk. “You shouldn’t hide like that from me.” She chastised you a little. She hated that you sneaked out of bed for such a thing. Your heart hammered in your chest at her words, at how close she came to finding your little secret, at the horrible prospect of lying to her. You never wanted to lie to Wanda. But you could never find the strength in you to say the things you so easily wrote. “I’m sorry, Wanda.” You spoke, your voice rough, the secret choking you inside. “Come to bed, baby.” She hugged you, pulling you close to her chest, her nimble fingers running through your hair soothingly. She pulled you out of the study, turning off the lights and guiding you back to the bedroom, where she tucked you in, nestling behind you and circling her arms around you. She held you close, providing much needed warmth and comfort, soon falling asleep with the knowledge that you were exactly where you should be. In her loving embrace.                                                 *             *             * The next day started as it often did in your household, with coffee and breakfast and a pleasant conversation. The two of you made plans for after work, discussed the groceries, cleaned up the table together, took a shower together, your hands hardly leaving the other’s body as you kissed. With your back pressed against the tiles, Wanda made quick work of unravelling you, her long fingers buried deep inside you. You did the same, mirroring her, so you’d come together, treasuring the way her forehead was pressed against yours, low, pleasured moans filling the small space. Getting ready, you left the house together, eager for the moment when you’d come back. But the day was stretched long for you, your calendar packed with meetings, your lunch forgotten next to you on the desk and you just knew you’d be home late that day. Wanda had a much calmer schedule and walked into your shared home in the early afternoon. She texted you, checking in, but decided not to pressure you to come home, remembering how late she’d found you working. With no other things to do, she thought to read a book and she entered the study as the space reminded her so much of you and she breathed in the smell of books. She already knew where to find that book you recently finished and claimed was amazing, but before she could get it, her eyes landed on your desk and the beautiful notebook on top of it. It was the Paperblanks hardcover journal dedicated to Edgar Allan Poe that she got you as a gift. The one she saw you writing in last night. Had you forgotten it? Wouldn’t you need it for work? Curious, she went over to the desk, stopping herself from picking it up, the open pages mocking her. She knew it was wrong to look through your things, that it was a complete betrayal of your trust, a violation of your privacy. But if it was work, why would you mind her seeing it? And if it wasn’t? What could keep you up so late? What could make you sneak out of bed in the middle of the night? What could be haunting you so much? She stood there, frozen for a few moments longer, her mind racing with possibilities and her chest tightening with insecurity and fear that she might be losing you. Her precious girl. Her everything. The unknown was killing her. Her own thoughts tearing her up inside as she thought of all the things that could have went wrong. Was she too possessive? Too jealous perhaps? Did she hold on too tight? Or had you fallen into the arms of another? Is that why you’d be staying late tonight? To be with some clueless bitch you’d met at the office? Would you let her kiss you, the way only Wanda had the right to? Let her touch you… Wanda shook her head. No, you would never do such a thing. She knew you. You were loyal. Shy and sweet and so utterly hers. You’d never betray Wanda in such a way. She was being irrational again, too fearful of loss. She was letting her fear dictate her actions, she could tell and she pushed back the invasive thoughts as they swirled around in her head, replacing them with the very real memories she had with you. The memory of last night, when you lay your head in her lap as the two of you watched TV, a content smile on your face as she stroked your hair gently. The image of your body splayed underneath her on the bed upstairs, back arching as she made you cum for the third time that night, her face buried between your legs. The feeling of pure bliss as she herself fell off the edge just minutes later, your cute face hiding in the crook of her neck, because you were so shy of all her praises as she told you how well you were pleasing her. Even this morning… Your pussy twitched and pulsated around her fingers, desperate for her. Wanda took care of you often and well. From the first time she was allowed the privilege, she made sure to keep you satisfied, so she did her best to calm herself down, but the more she thought about it, the more the scene from last night disturbed her. The initial shock on your face, the way your hands trembled at the sight of her, the way the blood drained from your face when she asked you why you’re up… You were hiding something. She saw it clearly now. You left your chair, so you’d stop her from getting closer to the desk, to stop her from seeing the things you had written. You never said it was work. She just assumed. But as those thoughts crossed her mind, she could no longer assume and she made a conscious decision, sitting on the comfy office chair and pulling herself closer to the desk, her eyes running over the pages in front of her. It was a confession of sorts, but not the type she expected. There was no betrayal, no scheme behind it, no reason for jealousy. As she read through the opened page, she realized it was the ending of a story. The words were so clearly yours, she could hear your voice as she read them, but they weren’t enough for her to understand the concept or the plot. The knowledge instantly calmed her nerves and with a sigh Wanda flipped over to the first page and read the title you had chosen. “Unspoken desires” was written in your signature calligraphy style, the letters twisting beautifully and she took the notebook, relaxing her back against the leather of the chair. The words stuck to her like honey, sweet as they spread over her mind and painted the most sinful pictures. They spoke of things you wanted, but were too shy to say. The things you craved so badly you couldn’t sleep at night. The dreams that bled into your conscious mind and filled you with need. And God, it was hot! Fuck, they were filling her with liquid desire as she read through them, page after page, until her underwear was so soaked with arousal that she was ready to take care of it right there and then, the thought of sneaking her hand into her pants and making herself cum to your fantasies so unbearably tempting. It was so good, that it would be almost like having you. But she wanted you. She wanted to make you clean up the mess you made of her. She wanted to give you exactly what you needed from her. Finishing the last page, Wanda sighed, her legs crossed and squeezing together. Your words still swirled in her mind and she looked at the clock. It was still early, you wouldn’t be home for a few more hours and she had to fight yet another urge to take care of the ache you caused between her legs and she quickly got up, choosing to busy herself with preparations for the moment you’d come home, groaning at the uncomfortable way her underwear stuck to her. Busy with dinner and some preparations she wanted to make, Wanda managed to pass the time without allowing her will to give way to her urges. She even had the time to take a nice, relaxing shower and she welcomed you into your home with a smile. She wasn’t angry at you. She knew you were timid, knew it was harder for you to speak about your desires and she wasn’t going to let you think that she’d be anything other than supportive and understanding, so Wanda took you in her warm embrace and had dinner with you, letting you unwind after your long day. She watched you eat with a quiet admiration, your beauty leaving her awestruck and, thinking on it, she could see you in the setting of those fantasies, all pretty and submissive. Wanting you relaxed, Wanda helped you into the shower next, letting you wash away the troubles of the day, while she put away the food and she settled into your shared bedroom, waiting for you to come out. You were truly spectacular with your towel wrapped around your body and a smaller one in your hands, drying your hair. So naturally seductive and you didn’t even know it. She traced your elegant shoulders and collarbones with her eyes, saw the outline of your breasts under the towel, your exposed legs still covered in little droplets of water… How can you not know what you were doing to her? But that was ok, Wanda was going to show you. She was going to make all your dreams come true. She’d give you everything you fantasized about and so much more. Unable to wait anymore, she got off the bed, approaching you and circling her arms around you. She watched with amazement the way you smiled at the gesture, putting away the smaller towel and resting your arms on her shoulders. “You’re so beautiful.” Wanda purred, pulling you closer until your body was flush against hers. “I’m going to get you all wet.” You giggled in response, trying to pull away, but she held you tightly. “You already have.” Your girlfriend smirked, innuendo laced with her words and making you blush. “I guess I should take care of it then.” You suggested, reaching to help her take off her shirt, but she wouldn’t let you. Wanda spun you around, walking you backwords until the backs of your legs hit the bed and she smirked as she held you at the tipping point of falling. Her right hand settled firmly between your shoulder blades, while the other reached between your bodies, taking the towel and pulling it off your body with a smug expression and unneeded flair, exposing your beauty to her hungry eyes. “That’s not what you’ll be doing.” She explained, letting the words sink in, before she lowered you on the bed, crawling over you slowly and helping you up, until you settled over the pillows. “You won’t be doing anything tonight without my permission.” She added, her eyes drinking you in. She could see it now. That spark in your eyes at her words, the faint pink on your cheeks at the thought and the way your legs squeezed together, betraying you. Fuck, she should have known. “I know your little secret.” She whispered next, studying you and instantly seeing the realization on your face. You hurried to defend yourself, to tell her that it was just a story, a fantasy, that she didn’t need to do any of what she had read, but she spoke first. “You should have told me earlier, little kitten. I’ve treated you so softly, so gently… Holding back, so I could spare my precious girl…” She trailed off, her hand caressing your cheek, feeling the warmth of it against her palm. For a brief moment she imagined slapping you, just so she would know what it felt like, but held back, deciding to leave it for another time. “I should have known you’d love to submit to me. I should have known that you’d be perfect.” “You don’t have to…” You stuttered out, looking up at her. “Have to?” She almost laughed, her smile turning predatory. “Oh, baby, I’ve been wanting to have you at my mercy since the day I met you.” And before you could utter a single word, she wrapped her lips around one of your nipples, playfully teasing it with her teeth, before she soothed it with her tongue. “Oh, you like that, don’t you?” She smiled wickedly, before doing the same to your other breast. She used a little more force this time. Adding a little sting to her ministrations, before she sucked on your sensitive flesh, all the while drinking in the little moans and whimpers that left your lips. “Fuck, you’re so beautiful!” She muttered as she climbed up your body, one of her hands slowly wrapping around your throat as she settled above you. “You’re just perfect.” She practically growled against you, putting the slightest pressure on your windpipe and watching you fight the urge to squirm in her hold. “Oh, and so responsive. Is that all it takes, baby? I wonder what you’ll do when I leave you truly breathless.” She mused, squeezing a little harder, but still allowing you to breathe. To your shame, your body responded before you could, your legs trying to close on their own, so you’d feel some relief from the arousal that was starting to build within you, only to be stopped by invisible bonds, the red tendrils of her magic wrapping around you and holding you in place. Your thighs, your ankles, your wrists, all tied up and spread wide, leaving you open to her hungry gaze. “Oh, no, baby… Mommy’s been waiting for you all afternoon with no relief… Trust me when I say, you won’t be getting any either. Not unless I decide you’ve earned it.” She promised with a sultry tone, leaning down to kiss you, her title making a shaver pass through your body. You loved it when she would refer to herself like that. Her lips stole the last of your breath and her hand easily tightened around your throat as she devoured you, watching your eyes glaze over and start to tear up at the strange sensation. Your brain screamed for you to fight back, to push her away, to reclaim your breath again, but you didn’t, forcing yourself to remain still in her hold and let her do as she pleased… As you begged… Because you have. In your story you had asked for this and now that you were getting it, it was making arousal pool between your thighs and drip onto the sheets. And just when you thought that you couldn’t take anymore, she let you go. “Breathe, baby. You’re ok. My pretty girl is ok, isn’t she?” “Yes, Mommy, I’m ok.” You rasped, trying to take in steady breaths and Wanda’s smile widened. “Good. Such a good girl.” She praised softly as she removed a strand of hair from your face. “God, you’re so pretty!” She mused as she looked down at you with hungry eyes. “I can’t wait to ravage this gorgeous body of yours. I’m going to ruin you.” She promised, her eyes glowing a faint red at the words. “You want that, don’t you?” She received a happy nod from you, too shy to speak up and it brought to memory a flashback of your story, giving her a wicked idea. “Open up for me.” She demanded, running her thumb over your lips and wasting no time in slipping it inside your mouth. She kept the pressure light and gentle, allowing you to tease her with your tongue, pulling her in as far as her finger could go. Your eyelids fluttered closed at the action and Wanda allowed herself to enjoy the moment with you a bit longer, her pussy throbbing with need at the feeling of your skilled mouth. God, she loved your mouth and she was craving you so badly that this simple action was driving her wild. “Time to let go, baby girl.” She whispered softly, pulling out her digit from your mouth and smiling gently at you when you whined at the absence you now felt. “I have something else for you.” She whispered, like she has a secret to tell you. “Something I wanted to try for a while now.” She added, speaking mostly to herself. “Something I think you’ll like very much.” Wanda stood from the bed, hurrying to get rid of her clothes, before sauntering her way to the drawer full of toys. It was her special collection, toys she used far more sporadically, some of which you hadn’t even been curious enough to see yet. Something you now regretted, because if you had, perhaps you’d feel far more inclined to tell her your fantasies. When she found what she was looking for, smiling fondly, she turned to you, purposefully keeping the object behind her back, so you wouldn’t see it as she walked towards you. “You know you have such a pretty mouth.” She mused, getting closer. “And it’s always so eager to take anything I offer.” She added with a sultry tone. “You just love to eat my pussy, don’t you? Love to have my fingers or my cock in there… Well, I have something else I want to put in there.” She said with delight, climbing on the bed and on top of you in one smooth motion, before she showed you the toy she had retrieved, almost making you gasp when you saw it. When she first started walking towards you, the glimpses of leather straps helped you guess that she’d end up gagging you and you were more than happy to let her. You’ve wanted to try for such a long time. What you didn’t expect however was the fact that she would pull out a lockable dildo shaped gag. The silicone toy was smooth and unlike other versions you had seen, this one had no attachment at the back. She was going to stuff your mouth full simply for her amusement and the sight of it made you gasp, despite the fact that it was actually quite small and clearly designed to be used comfortably and you shifted under her as a fresh wave of desire washed through you. “Oh, I knew you’d love it.” She admired you with pride in her eyes. “Let’s put that where it belongs, shall we baby?” She offered, taking the leather straps in her hold and waiting for you to open your mouth, so she could adjust the toy and lock it around your neck. “There. That’s perfect. And if you need to tell Mommy something, just think about it, ok? I’ll hear you.” She reassured you softly, wanting you to know that you were safe in her hands. You could feel the small object fit snugly in your mouth, feeling nice and heavy against your tongue, without causing any discomfort for you, letting you relax almost instantly. You could run your tongue under it freely, which proved far more arousing than you ever suspected and you repeated the action, while Wanda watched you from above. “How does that feel, honey?” She asked a little cockily, adjusting your hair gently and helping you settle against the pillows. “Good?” She asked with so much fake pity in her voice it was melting you. “Well don’t have too much fun with it. Mommy will have something bigger for you in just a while.” She promised teasingly. “But for now, I just want to play with your pretty pussy. I bet it’s all soaked by now.” To confirm her words, she sneaked a hand between your bodies, her fingers finding your wet folds instantly. And your poor pussy was so slick, so desperate for her already, she almost gave in to her desire to just slip in. You were clearly ready for it. But she only teased your clit with the tip of a single finger, loving the way your hips canted up to meet her touch. “Oh, look at that! You’re dripping, baby.” She exclaimed, feigning surprise. “Well, let me take care of that for you.” She suggested with a happy smile, quickly moving to lie between your legs, so she can see the mess you made, feeling pride swell in her chest at the knowledge that she was the one who did this to you. “I have just one little rule for you tonight. You can handle that, right baby? One thing?” She asked, watching you nod enthusiastically above her, your eyes meeting hers expectantly. “No cumming.” She said firmly, watching your eyes go wide in shock and fear. “Not without Mommy’s permission.”  She added smugly and a little more lightly, but waited for you to show her you understand, before her attention returned to your needy pussy. Despite your obvious arousal and desperation, Wanda was more than happy to take her time, licking slow stripes over your wet pussy, cleaning you of your arousal in gentle strokes and making you grow even more impatient for her touch, but eventually, she gave in. Her skilled mouth and tongue working you up, drawing circles around your clit that drove you crazy, dipping inside your opening with slow precision, teasing you into releasing muffled moans around the gag. “You’re such a good girl.” Wanda praised, detaching herself from you just long enough to speak. “Do you want Mommy’s fingers inside you too, honey?” She asked sweetly, already knowing the answer. You wanted everything. She entered you slowly, just as soon as you had given her a happy nod, your thoughts a litany of “Yes, please, yes, need you inside.”, making a proud smile appear on her face. You were so tight, your walls pulsing around her fingers and begging her to just fuck you already. And Wanda could never refuse such an invitation. The combination of her tongue and fingers was divine, the delicious stretch pushing you even closer to the edge. You were going to fall apart soon and she knew it. Your thoughts were getting scrambled and distant and your muscles tightened in expectation of that blissful moment, your hips canting up and grinding against her face even more, helping her hit your perfect spot every time. God, it was right there, you just needed her to flick her tongue one more time… And then it was gone. Her mouth retracting and her fingers slowing down to an almost complete stop as she looked at you expectantly. The near-orgasm made your insides burn with need and you moaned pitifully around your gag, your cheeks hollowing out and your tongue running over it to soothe yourself as you waited for the edge to pass. “You’re disappointing Mommy, honey.” She said in a low voice. “I gave you one rule. Just one. And you were about to break it.” She said, tilting her head to the side and giving you a glare. “Let’s try that again… If you don’t want to get punished, you’ll remember to ask permission this time.” She stated with a little edge of a threat in her voice, before she lowered herself and wrapped her lips around your clit again. The second build up felt even better than the first. Your nerve-endings alight with sensations that felt even more intensified, now that you had been so close to your release. With how good it felt, you were so eager to please Wanda, to show her how good you can be, so she could grant you this pleasure. You would be her best girl, you vowed, your muscles tightening up again as you got closer. God, how could she be so good at this? She was driving you crazy and you were seconds away from letting go. “Please, Mommy I’m so close!” You spoke in your head, your thoughts loud and frantic as you squirmed under her, back arching as you could almost taste your orgasm. “Please, let me cum!” “Oh, I know.” Wanda said softly, a menacing smile spreading over her face as she pulled away at the last second. “But you don’t want to come. Isn’t it what it said in your cute little story? You don’t want me to let you come.” She reminded, her head tilting as she watched your body writhe with need. “Hold me there, just at the edge. Make me beg. And when I do, deny me again.” She quoted as her fingers stroked your clit softly. Each touch made your pussy twitch, but you didn’t dare to let out a single sound, didn’t dare protest. Wanda was right. It is what you had asked for, what you fantasized about when wrote that story. “Tell me, baby…” Her voice pulled you out of your thoughts. “Have you touched yourself to such thoughts?” She asked as she continued her soft ministrations. “Have you been lying in our bed, thinking of all the things you want me to do to you, touching what’s mine?” Her question pulled a soft whine from you, your voice caught in your throat, the toy behind the gag both soothing you and amplifying your need. You had. When she needed to be away, when the thought of her filled your mind with images so sinful and delicious, you let your hands roam and, in those moments, you allowed yourself to imagine the things you wanted, but could never find the courage to ask of her. Her expectant eyes never left yours, her hand defiantly retracting from your clit as she waited for your answer, even though she knew it already. And when you tried to form some kind of coherent thought, but no words would arrange in the right order, you settled for nodding, a shudder passing through you when you saw the twisted smile that formed on her lips. Satisfied with your response, at least for now, her fingers returned, two of them entering you slowly, while she used her thumb to stroke your clit. She aimed them perfectly and you knew instantly that she’d build another orgasm within you. You also knew she’ll never let you have it, but it didn’t matter. Closing your eyes, you let yourself enjoy the way she got you there, the wonderful feeling building and expanding, coursing though every part of you, until all you could feel was pleasure and you were on the edge once more. “Mommy…” You tried to warn her, but you didn’t have to. She already knew, her fingers retracting slowly and leaving you empty and desperate. Crawling over you, Wanda’s face twisted and she grabbed your neck. “Never touch what’s mine again.” She snarled at you, her eyes turning a faint red, before they returned to the darkened green you’d grown to love. “Do you understand?” She asked more firmly. You nodded again, your eyes attentive, but this time it wasn’t enough for Wanda. She needed to hear you. “I need you to speak to me, baby girl.” She explained, her hand slipping off your neck and moving behind you, so she could unclasp the straps that held the gag inside your mouth. “You have a way with words. That little story of yours had me dripping. Yet, you’re always so shy…” She mused, pulling the toy out of your mouth, studying you and letting your jaw rest after keeping it open for so long. “Don’t worry, baby. Mommy will teach you. But right now, I need you to understand that the pretty little pussy between your legs is mine. All the pleasure you want, anything your heart desires, I will give you gladly, honey.” She said, her passion and devotion for you shining clearly in her gaze. “But it’s mine to give. Mine to draw out of you. Mine to build, mine to ruin if I feel like it. You’re mine to kiss, to touch, to fuck, to edge… Mine to use and to pleasure. Is that clear?” She asked in a growl. “Yes, Mommy.” You rasped, swallowing the lump in your throat and trying to ignore the wave of arousal that passed through you. “Learned your lesson, huh?” She asked condescendingly. “Let’s find out.” She challenged, moving down your body and between your legs again. This time she was unforgiving, her fingers entering you swiftly and curling deliciously against your spot, while her tongue drove you wild with every stroke. She was going to ruin you and you were happy to oblige her, your moans falling freely from your lips this time. “Mommy, you feel so good.” You panted, your voice getting more high-pitched and pleading as you got closer. “Love it when you fuck me!” You exclaimed as she continued her ministrations. “Fuck, please don’t stop! Never stop!” You babbled happily, squirming in your restraints. You were close. So close. Your whole body shaking from the anticipation. “Mommy! Please, can I cum? Please! Please let me cum!” You begged as you reached your peak, ready to fall off of it. “Not just yet, sweetheart.” She rasped, pulling away from you as you writhed. You wanted to cum so badly. You needed it. And you tried to close your legs to add some pressure on your needy pussy, but her bonds held you tightly. She had retracted completely, letting you squirm and fight on the bed, as you fought the disappointment of yet another denied orgasm, while she grabbed a harness and attached a nicely sized dildo to it, her magic swirling around the toy and her fingers stroking it, until she could feel every small movement of her hand. “Mommy, please…” She heard you beg, your pleading voice capturing her attention and she immediately climbed on the bed again, positioning herself between your legs. As much as she enjoyed this whole game, she was getting too impatient, her own body screaming for attention and she knew she wouldn’t last a second longer, without sheathing herself inside your tight little pussy. “What’s the matter, baby girl? Can’t handle Mommy’s teasing?” She asked, her voice dripping with fake pity that just didn’t match her expression. “But you’re the one who asked for this… You wanted to get edged. Isn’t that right?” “I want you more.” You pleaded at her, hands pulling at the restraints that held you down. “You want me or you want to cum?” She asked sternly. “Because I think, that you’re just a needy little girl and all you want is to cum.” She accused, as she played with the slick between your legs, teasing your opening with a single finger. “I want you Mommy, please!” You begged once more and she smirked. “Is that right, honey?” She practically mocked. “Let’s see about that, shall we?” She suggested with a dark glint in her eyes. “Let’s play a little game, you and I.” She started off, holding her cock and starting to rub the head against your wet folds. “I’ll let you have my cock and I’ll fuck you nice and good, just the way you want. If Mommy cums first, you get to choose your reward. If you cum first… Well, then you were lying to Mommy. And you know I’ll have to punish you for that. I mean… What kind of Mommy would I be if I didn’t teach you to be better.” Before you could agree, before you could even utter a word, Wanda was already spreading you open, her cock pushing against your opening and entering you smoothly. “Ugh, you feel so good!” She grunted, barely holding back from slamming her hips into you. “Oh, if only you knew what you do to me, baby!” Wanda worked her strap inside you slowly, letting you take her inch by inch, until she had filled you up entirely, her hips stopping as she pressed herself against you, leaning down, so she could hover over you and gave you a moment to adjust to her, your little moans like music to her ears. “How does that feel, my darling, hm?” She asked softly, kissing the tip of your nose sweetly and watching you blink your eyes open for her. “So good.” You smiled, all cute and your cheeks pink. “You’re so deep inside me. Stretching me out so much. I love it.” You admitted, wishing you could wrap your arms around her. “Yeah? You want me to fuck you now, sweetness?” “Yes, please, Mommy, fuck me.” You pleaded. “I could never refuse you, baby girl.” Wanda admits, leaning down to kiss you softly, before her hips started to move. She pulled out of you slowly, before she pushed back inside, letting you get used to the feeling of her cock as she filled you up. It was heaven. You felt so good, so tight around her, so desperate for her already. You were perfect. And she wanted to ravage you. She picked up her pace gradually, holding herself up on her arms, so she could look at your pleasured face. With your eyes tightly shut and your lips slightly open, your pretty sounds spilling from them every time she hit that spot you loved, you were absolutely gorgeous. The most beautiful girl in the world and all hers. It was impossible for her to not get lost in you. The more she thrusted her hips, the more she knew that. Burying her face in your neck, leaving sloppy, open-mouthed kisses there, she let herself be overtaken by you. You smell, your taste, the softness of your skin, the wet sounds of your pussy taking her so well, your gorgeous body writhing for her and so responsive to everything she did. Pure heaven. As she moved lower, her head bending down to take one of your nipples into her mouth, she knew she wouldn’t last long. Knew she would cum inside you and fill you up with everything she had. But you were closer. Edged so much and half-way there before she even began, you didn’t stand a chance. You both knew it. As soon as she started to suck on your nipple, you were doomed. “Mommy! Please! Please, can I cum? I can’t stop it…” You cried, trying to warn her, to stop her, but she kept going. She fucked you through your orgasm with a smile, letting you ride it out as it overtook your senses and it was glorious. It felt like it went on and on as she kept thrusting inside you, her soft words of encouragement and praise barely heard. You felt like you were flying and weightless as the pleasurable waves coursed through you, until you couldn’t take anymore. Wanda gave you a few overstimulating thrusts, her own body feeling so close to release and she contemplated continuing on this course, punishing you with another orgasm, while she chased her own, but she decided against it. Pulling away from you was almost impossible and it took all her will, but she pulled out with a shaky hand and she stroked herself in an attempt to relieve the pressure that was building inside her. “On the floor and on your knees.” She demanded, a wave of her hand releasing you from her magical bonds and she watched you stare at her with big, confused eyes for a moment, before you realized what had happened and scurried to obey her. “I couldn’t stop it, Mommy…” You tried to plead your case, but she shushed you quickly, getting up and standing tall above you with her cock in her hands. “No excuses baby.” She silenced you quickly. “Didn’t I tell you there’d be consequences? And you still came before me… Not to mention without my permission.” She stated while she stroked herself suggestively. “Now it’s time to punish you. Open up for me.” She demanded. For a moment, while she stood above you, stroking her cock, still covered with your juices, you wandered what made her think this would be a punishment. You loved having her in your mouth. Her cock, or her pussy, it didn’t matter. You enjoyed it equally and you happily opened your mouth in anticipation, your tongue sticking out while you looked up at her. Looking down, Wanda remembered a passage of your story, a line that captured her from the first moment she read it. “Use me. What am I if not yours? Your plaything, your toy, forever craving you.” God, it was beautiful. “Oh, I love you on your knees. You’re so pretty, sweetheart.” She praised softly, reaching down, cupping your face and her thumb stroking your cheekbone, before she moved it lower, sticking it in your mouth and admiring the way you sucked it. Even more aroused, she didn’t take long to pull it out, replacing it with her cock instead and throwing her head back in pure bliss. “You’re such a good little toy. So good with your mouth.” She gasped as you took her deeper, working half her length in your mouth, before it reached the back of your throat. You tried to use your hand to stroke the rest of her shaft with your hand, wanting to please her as much as you could, but she pushed it away unceremoniously, giving you a warning look. “No, no, dear, no hands. Mommy wants your mouth right now.” She demanded, taking the strands of your hair that had fallen around your face and gathering them in the back of your neck, making a ponytail and using it to guide you. “And look at me when you suck my cock. I want to look in those pretty eyes. I want to see the tears gather there as you struggle to take all of me.” You tried to oblige her, opening up as much as you could and working her length, each time taking a little more. Your eyes stung with tears, just as she had said, your throat constricting and making you gag every time she went deeper, but you couldn’t deny how hot it was, or how much it turned you on to be used like this, your legs squeezing together. “Oh, don’t you dare!” Wanda snarled, taking the strap away from you and bending down, until she was eye level with you. “You keep those legs open.’’ She ordered, satisfied that you scurried to do as you’re told. “I don’t care how much that pussy drips. Let it.” She practically spat, before she rose to her full height again and guided her cock to your mouth. You took it in without protest, your hands clasping behind your back, without being told, all the while Wanda guided you into sucking her off. And she was close. She had been close for a while now and she knew she’ll need just a little bit more, before she would tumble off the edge.   “All the way down, baby, you can do it.” She spoke through laboured breaths, putting pressure on the back of your neck. She knew you were trying to do the same, take all of her down your throat and her chest swelled with pride as she helped you, her hips thrusting against you erratically as she chased her high. In a few more thrusts she’d be there, she knew it, her control slipping from her grasp as she reached her edge, her hand holding the back of your neck tightly as she pressed herself against you one last time, before she pulled out completely. Her right hand held you by the hair, keeping you in place, while her left stroked her cock. You opened your mouth, ready to catch every drop of her delicious cum, but she held you tightly by the hair, preventing you from moving, while she shot her load on your chest instead, paining your breasts in streaks of white as she rode out her orgasm, her moans filling the room, along with your soft whines of disappointment. When she calmed down and finally released you from her grasp, she looked down at you, still on your knees, looking up at her with your big, pleading eyes as you contemplated being left without her treat and she couldn’t help but admire you. A sentiment that was short-lived, as you once again gave her a begging look. “Oh, did you think I’ll let you have my cum?” She asked with sweetness that didn’t match her devilish smirk. “It was a punishment after all.” She reminded. You only pouted in response, knowing better than to say something that will only get you in more trouble and she smiled, stepping closer to you once again and taking hold of her strap. She made you open your mouth, sticking out your tongue, just as you were told and she let the tip of her cock-head glide over your tongue, leaving a single drop there. “There you go. That’s all the cum you get to taste tonight.” She smirked, watching you swallow it like a good girl and fixing her with your eyes again. “But… Mommy, please!” You begged so earnestly, so eager to have her it was making Wanda melt, despite the fact that she didn’t like to admit that you could so easily disarm her. She looked down at you, still on your knees, her eyes zeroing in on your pussy - dripping and on display, your legs still spread wide, just as she instructed, despite your obvious need for much more than you had received and she couldn’t help but soften a little. “Hm…” She pretended to think about it, a plan already forming in her mind. “Please, Mommy, I’ll be so good!” You pleaded again, your big eyes imploring her. Fuck, you were so hot like that! She could feel herself get worked up again, getting wet again, just from watching you. “Well… Maybe there is a way for you to earn a reward…” She suggested, starting to get the harness off of her and dropping it next to you on the floor. “Come here, honey.” She sat at the edge of the bed and beckoned you closer. “Do a good job and make Mommy cum and maybe I’ll let you lick me clean.” She told you with a wicked smirk. “Maybe, if I’m satisfied, I’ll even let you have an orgasm of your own…” Before you could say anything, she had pulled your hand towards her dripping opening, guiding you to enter her. She moaned, her eyes closing in delight at the feeling and allowing herself to get lost in it. As you moved in and out of her, her pulsing walls sending a fresh wave of arousal through you and your mouth already watering at the prospect of tasting her, you knew that forgetting your notebook was the best thing that ever happened to you.   ____________________________________________________ As always, I’d love to know what you guys think. If you liked this story and you want more, you can find the second part of this fic here: I love taming you, or visit the Masterlist with all my works. Happy reading!  

[withlove-xixi]

Hii, how are you! Im new here and i saw Dungeon meshi x reader and got super excited when i saw Falin x reader. I dont think ive seen many. I was wondering if you had more nsfw thoughts for Falin? Or anything like that? But with f!reader?

— FALIN NSFW THOUGHTS: falin x f!reader

ᥫ cw: nsfw, monsterfucking (i guess), marking/biting, size difference ★ hi anonon!! first welcome hehe :3! its nice to have you!! second, wehehe you've come to the right person for sapphic thoughts (diagnosed with chronic lesbianism)! tho i dont have much to add on from my previous post, i've included some chimera!falin thoughts too hehe <3 — MINORS DNI! —

i think falin's a bit more open if her partner was a girl too, she's more willing to try new things, she's a bit more expressive, she's more confident too. she'd take the initiative more, grabbing your waist and kissing your neck. i think she'd still be a bit timid about everything, though, only ever inviting you to the bedroom with a subtle nod or with how touchy she's beginning to become.

falin's very gentle when she's the one taking initiative in bed, her touch is almost ghostly whenever she runs her fingers down your slit or thumbs your nipples. it's almost as if she's too scared to break you lol. she's always looking at you too, she loves positions where she can look at your face.

golden eyes would study the way the muscles on your face twitch, the way sweat glides down the roundness of your cheeks, the way your face grows red, the way spit dribbles down the corners of your mouth.

falin's very affectionate too during sex. it's the most affectionate she's been really. she'd cup your face and lick or kiss away the saliva from your mouth, she's hold your hand while she pumps her fingers in and out of you. it's a nice contrast to how timid she can be, little acts of boldness that never fail to catch you off guard.

on the other hand, she likes it if you're a bit rough on her. when your face is buried between her thighs, you'd hear her muffles whines and pleads to go faster or harder. since she's a bit more confident with you, she's definitely louder, moaning more and whimpering without a care. she likes to have her chest played with, even outside of sex, like if you came up to her and hugged her from behind, she wouldn't complain if your hands make their way to cup her breasts.

chimera!falin is a whole other story.

she's running primarily on instinct, both hers and the dragon's. she's definitely rougher than usual, something primal in her brain telling her she needs to make you hers and only hers. she's quite possessive like this, always keeping you close or holding onto you.

she loves biting you too and digging her hands into your flesh, anything to mark you as hers. even when she's not leaving bruises on your skin, she's always nibbling on you, pulling you close to her to gnaw on your shoulder or neck like you're some chew toy.

she loves when you scratch at her neck, specifically where her feathers decorate her smooth skin. she lets out little huffs and small whimpers when you do, cheeks growing red and lips turning into a little pout.

oh and .... she likes pinning you down with her claws too, just cage you with them. sometimes she'd set you to lay on the ground and just cage you with her claw and stare at you. she watches intently as you squirm and flush at the sudden action like you were prey, like she was playing with her food.

[archangeldyke-all]

hi angel !! i hope ur doing well.

what do you think sevika would be like with a witchy partner? like a partner whose always slipping crystals into her pockets or using makeup to draw protection sigils on her arm (me lol)

🌕

adorable

disclaimer! i know a bit about witchcraft, being a lesbian and all, but i'm not super familiar with rituals, or cultural practices, so this is all kinda just guessing.

men and minors dni

the thing is... she tries so hard to be a skeptic.

she scoffs every morning when you gently tuck a black crystal into her side satchel, promising it'll protect her.

she rolls her eyes when you talk about astrology or the phases of the moon... like the planets have powers.

and any time she walks in on your burying a candle or some herbs, she just shakes her head and chuckles, then kisses your head and goes about her day.

but... and she fucking hates the fact that it's true... your little potions and spells and whatever else you do... it seems to work.

she asked you one night after she got home, as she was cooking dinner and you were unpacking her satchel for her, why you don't just leave the 'little rock' in overnight, so you don't have to pack it for her every day.

you giggled and explained to her that half the protection is the way you bless it, the symbols you trace into it every morning.

"what kinda symbols?"

"well, i made a special one for you. for when you go to work. that you'll come home safe to me."

and you kinda take her breath away with that answer.

and, worst of all, it seems like it works. each day since you've moved in and started the little morning ritual, she's come home safe and sound, excited to see you.

(she convinces herself it's just the placebo effect, until she comes to terms with the truth when you're too sick one morning to pack her little satchel for her, she forgets the crystal, and gets the shit beat outta her. twice in one day.)

sometimes you anoint her forehead or pulse points with little oils: petals and herbs and other little goodies in the jars. she'll ask what it's for and you'll shrug.

"this one's for peace of mind. you look all far away." you said one night, when you caught on the couch watching tv in the middle of the night.

she was snoring on top of you within minutes.

"this one's for communication." you said on the morning before she asked silco for a raise.

which she ended up getting.

"this one's... well... you'll see." you said mischeviously, before pressing a kiss to her cheek and winking at her.

when she had your ankles by her ears, her strap balls deep inside of you, you giggled and bit her earlobe. "it was an arousal-- ah! arousal oil."

"figures." sevika grunts.

anyways... you know that despite the teasing sevika respects it. she's always bringing you 'cool rocks' for your crystal collection-- you don't have the heart to tell her most of them are just pebbles, so you just add 'em to the shelf. she'll pick up anything and everything that looks a little mystical for you: from cool black matches, to candles whose flames burn different colors, to real crystals, and bones or taxidermied critters.

(she kind of loves the witchy-gothy vibe of it all, loves that there's always candles burning, and incense by the windows-- little jars of goodies and ingredients everywhere. she thinks it's cool. she'll never admit it to you, though.)

taglist!

@fyeahnix @sapphicsgirl @half-of-a-gay @thesevi0lentdelights @sexysapphicshopowner @shimtarofstupidity @love-sugarr @chuucanchuucan @222danielaa @badbye666 @femme-historian @lia-winther @gr0ssz0mbi3 @ellsss @sevikaspillowprincess @leomatsuzaki @emiliabby @sevikasbeloved @hellorai @vikasub

[littlemissrbf]

Arcane S2 Act 1 Thoughts

(SPOILERS AHEAD IF YOU HAVEN’T WATCHED IT YET PLEASE FOR YOUR OWN GOOD KEEP SCROLLING)

(you’ve been warned)

Episode 1: Heavy is the Crown

HOLY SHIT THE NEW INTRO FINALLY GIVING THE VIKTOR FANS SOME FOOD

Damn getting straight to it not only did Jayce fail to destroy the hexcore but he’s still weaponizing hextech (Caitlyn’s new rifle) great job buddy way to keep your promises

I genuinely thought Mel was gonna get assassinated during the memorial speech

I fucking love Maddie, she’s so damn adorable and I swear if anything happens to her I’m gonna lose my shit

JUST LET THE LESBIANS BE HAPPY

for someone going through the five stages of grief, Caitlyn looks really fucking hot

Episode 2: Watch it all burn

Damn okay I guess I didn’t want to be happy today jinx burying silco in the water- “have you had enough?” ARE YOU FUCKING KIDDING ME

Okay that kid Isha is 100 fucking percent dead probably by the end of act 2

Damn Caitlyn I’m pretty sure using poisonous gas as a chemical weapon is a war crime

Viktor comes out of the hexgoo completely butt naked and Jayces priorities are 1.) full frontal hug 2.) give him something to cover himself with

GODDAMN IT THEY TOOK AWAY VIKTOR’S GORGEOUS GOLDEN EYES

viktor, after going through a near death experience, immediately deciding to quit his job and peace out in the middle of a war is so fucking funny to me

That little gremlin Smeech getting ripped to shreds off screen by Sevikas new arm was the highlight of the episode

Y’ALL VIKTOR JUST BECAME FUCKING ROBOT JESUS

Episode 3: Finally got the name right

I mean seriously Caitlyn, using the Zaun equivalent to mustard gas to assist your raids seems really fucked up

I’m sure a lot of furries were very happy to see Mel’s cat-person informant

OH MY GOD WE FINALLY GOT A CAITVI KISS SCENE :D

Seeing Jayce, Ekko, and Heimerdinger nerd it out in a room was unexpected but actually really nice to see

OH MY GOD SEVIKAS REACTION TO BEING BIT IS TO FUCKING SMILE- GIRL YOU FREAK

Okay but on a serious note the little girl putting herself between vi and jinx was heartbreaking- this is a running theme that started literally at the very beginning of the show with Vi and Powder on the bridge, the wars between Piltover and Zaun are always at the expense of the innocent, specifically their children.

FUCK DAMN IT Caitvi was finally happening and then they go and get divorced why can’t we have anything nice

but actually Vi’s whimpers after being sucker punched in the gut by her now ex gf’s rifle were devastating ( okay that’s all my thoughts be ready to see a shit ton of reblogs )

[mo0nfairy]

The best part (I think ) about being w Ada or Jill instead of ether of the boys (a side from I’m a lesbian) is that I could see Ada or Jill letting the reader watch horror movies, they may require some bribing (cuddles while watching said movie) but eventually they would cave whereas the boys I can’t see them being as chill, Leon would say yes but keep covering the readers eyes being all “this part is to scary for you” as if that’s not the whole point of a horror and Carlos kinna same but I can’t think of anything for him

i am so so in love with horror movies and the genre in general (if you couldn't tell already lol), so i have no idea what i'd do if i was in y/n's shoes and forbidden from them. what i will say with 100% confidence is ada and jill are a lot more clement with the idea of horror films than the boys.

jill has been an avid fan of horror her whole life and this love does not strain with you at her side. if anything, it only strengthens the admiration. this is for the sole reason of playing protector within the safe confinement of fluffy blankets and bowls of popcorn. cowering into her, relying on her for protection, has her heart thrumming as though someone were playing with her heartstrings like a goddamn banjo. she'll happily drown you in assurances and comfort. however, she'll now want to watch the most vile, disgusting horror films with you every night, just to feel you bury yourself into her arms.

ada is a tad more apprehensive, as she fears it will trigger your PTSD from the events of raccoon city. she also thinks the horror genre is cheap and tacky, so she'd rather not waste her time with such tawdry films. she has a grand list of entertainment she'd love to enjoy with you. her ideas are very extravagant, such as tasting wines with one sip that could buy you a down payment, or even taking the casual trip to rome for a simple dinner date. much better than that garbage you call classic movies, she assures.

and you are SPOT ON with leon. he normally follows along with however you intend to spend time together, as he normally remains focused on you. watching you is his favorite past-time, after all, just scrutinizing every inch of your face. seeing your face twist with fear and trepidation, however, is a sight he does not like to see. why is his baby so afraid? where did his sunlight go? in the end, you won't get to see if your favorite final-girl survives the night. not when leon shuts of the television and insists on proposes a nice cuddle sesh instead, arms already ensnared around you.

carlos has this weird thing, i guess i'd call it. when faced with any violent piece of media (horror films, murder documentaries, etc.), his brain automatically connects them to you. meaning, if a character gets stabbed in a movie, he imagines you in their shoes. and his world crumbles at the mere thought of anything of the sort happening to you. so, there is a firm and unyielding rule of absolutely NO horror media. he can't even work as a mercenary anymore because of this, as he can only imagine every bullet leaving his gun to pierce into you.

with all that being said, life with them is a horror movie in of itself. so, you've now got all the horror content you could ever ask for.

[pastelsnowcat]

Three is a charm, two is not the same pt. 1

» [3 - Britney Spears] «

1:25 ─〇───── 3:33 ⇄◃◃ ⅠⅠ ▹▹ ↻

Hello everyone!! This is my first Drabble sooo I’m super excited to be posting this and some more stuff in the future <33 this will be a three part series :)

Minors, do not interact or I will chase you like a dog with rabies :) The blog is an adult space and this is also a smutty Drabble so shush shush , away with you!

Pairing: Yuki x Shoko x fem!reader

I don’t really have a clear direction with this, but it does include a lot of lesbian filth, established polyamorous AND lesbian relationship and lots of filthy kinky lesbian sex:) barely any plot!! Also filming ;)

Three part series of Yuki and Shoko with female reader and all the different ways they fuck you. First part will be centered on Yuki, second part on Shoko and then the third part- you guessed it, both of them ;)

10.34pm.

10.35pm.

10.36pm.

The minutes kept passing by, but there still wasn’t a sign of your girlfriends. Yuki was on a mission- and no one can ever really tell for how long the special grade sorcerers will be gone for when they’re sent against a special grade curse. And your other girlfriend, Shoko, is a doctor at the Jujutsu Tech. Who knows? There might have been an incident, and maybe she needed to stay there just a little longer.

But none of those potential explanations changed the fact that you were already home and that it was late. And sadly you’re just so lonely and so needy.

The moon illuminates the spacious apartment, casting a soft shadow across the couch you were sitting on and the soft moonlight enabling you to fix your gaze on the door. Silently you were waiting for it to open.

Like a wild animal- hunting, stalking, waiting for the slightest movement to pounce at your prey.

Who would be the first one to return? Shoko, or Yuki?

Sweet, loving Yuki? Strong, incredibly strong, Yuki?

Your mind starts to wander, now reminiscing and fantasizing about prior occurrences.

Your strikingly beautiful girlfriend with her long blonde hair, molten gold flowing down her back, is like a dog- loyal, affectionate, protective, strong. Strong enough to manhandle you into all of her favorite positions, her insatiable hunger ever so slowly getting its fill as Yuki would fuck you and Shoko, your pretty Shoko, for hours on end.

She also fucks like a dog.

Rutting into you from behind, her favorite clear silicone strap covered in a milky sheen of your arousal, as Yuki would pant and groan at the sight of you below her.

And she could swear that she feels the way you tighten around her silicone cock when she howls and snarls pretty things into your ear, her raw strength capable of snapping you like a twig- nothing more but a chew toy for her.

But the special grade sorcerer is aware of her immense strength and - at least potential - mass, which is why she might fuck you like an animal in heat just pushing and pushing and pushing and pushing into your dripping cunt over and over, but also the reason why she keeps talking to you in that sweet voice. Her voice, dripping with honey and trapping you between her fangs.

“Atta girl, such a good job f’me, just like tha’, good girl..” the blonde pants, her mind dizzy, foggy even with the sight of you arching your back for her, pushing your plump ass up against her crotch as she entangled her long fingers with your hair to push your pretty face against the pillow.

“Yu-Yukiii..” you whine and whimper and gasp, eyes rolling back as the clear silicone hit an extraordinarily deep spot, dragging along warm walls and the tip getting caught on your pretty hole when Yuki pulled out almost entirely.

Almost.

But Yuki never pulled out entirely, always needing to have her strap buried snugly in your cunt, slick and hot and gripping Yuki so tightly.

“Shh, I got’cha Princess..” your lover coos, her sweet voice comforting you while she’s destroying you and drilling into your pretty pussy feverishly. Fucked out of your mind, you didn’t even notice that Yuki had grabbed her phone a few minutes prior.

Yuki likes to record.

Her phone camera is pointed at the filthy, perverted view in front of her- wet cunt wrapped around her strap as it kept dis- and reappearing out of the tight hole, only the thick tip never exiting and snagging at the entrance of your cunt.

“Fuck baby, so pretty all f’me..” you can hear her groan in ecstasy, slow pumps stretching you out and making you see stars. Her large hand was wrapped around your plush, full hips, gripping them tightly and now only moving you up and down her strap as she makes sure to get a nice angle of your cunt.

“Yeah.. just like that.. so pretty, ‘m sure Shoko’s gonna enjoy that..” she mumbles to herself, not caring if you heard or not. With nimble fingers, fingers that never failed to make you cum and drip down your thighs, she sent the video to shoko with a quick message ‘look, our little whore is dripping. Enjoy ;)’

“Alright pretty, let’s make you cum, hm?” She teases with a snap of her hips and lewd smirk of her lips, dragging her favorite cock along your walls and giving your ass a playful smack.

Y’all please be nice I haven’t written in years and this is my first attempt at smut, your honor 😔 going down memory lane with shoko in the next part and then.. who knows?👀

[currentlyherlunch]

JOEL’S DAUGHTER… AND ELLIE’S GIRLFRIEND

Joel, your dad, found out. Ellie didn’t know how to hide it. Not that he hated the idea, but he was a bit disappointed that you hadn’t told him.

It was supposed to be a normal breakfast, the usual one, you know? But Ellie was tense, bouncing her leg nervously and trying to guess every microexpression Joel made, clearly expecting him to have a response for everything.

“I don’t know how you lesbians have sex…”

You definitely weren’t prepared for that, as you almost choked on your coffee.

The statement hung in the air, and all attention turned to you, who, with a mischievous smile, intervened. “I’m pansexual!” Your declaration prompted curious glances from everyone around, as if you were about to reveal a long-kept secret.

“What? Don’t look at me like that, I’m not a lesbian!” you exclaimed, pointing at Ellie, who was sitting next to you, looking surprised and a bit guilty.

“Oh, great time to out me, babe,” Ellie replied, nervously laughing at the situation, while you let out a giggle, clearly embarrassed.

“I already knew,” Joel chimed in, recalling the dynamic between the two of you. “And please, don’t call her babe in front of me, it’s weird!” He paused before continuing. “But like I was saying, I don’t know how you lesbians,” he pointed at Ellie, “and pansexuals,” he pointed at you, “have sex…”

Laughter began to rise among the group, but your curiosity was high as Ellie, your girlfriend, practically buried her face in the ground. The girl would die inside if Joel started to hate her for having seen her kissing his daughter.

[...]

“I told you he knew!” Ellie said as if she were dying inside, while you sat on the girl’s lap, quietly laughing at the situation. “Stop laughing, he hates me!”

“Babe, Joel doesn’t hate you, okay?” you tried to calm her down while pinching her cheeks, planting a kiss on her pouty lips. “Seriously, he loves and supports you.”

“Supports me in f*cking his daughter?” she asked as if it were obvious before burying her face in your neck.

“Damn it, Ellie…” you chuckled quietly but started to sigh as you felt Ellie planting kisses along your neck.

[katieaki]

My ✨ post-apocalyptic Lesbian Cowgirl Mailman choose-your-own adventure✨ has just updated! Read it here for free on my Patreon and vote in the poll! There is a summary of the first part, here, the second part, here, and the third part, here. They have everything you need to know about Lou, her requited-but-complicated love, the religious assassin who just beat the tar out of her, the worst person she's ever met, and the ill-advised journey she is on! There is also now a discord where Pony Express readers from all across god's green internet can gather, here!

The Theme of the Update:

Read the update for free on my patreon & vote on what happens next! Excerpt below the cut.

“And, I know you’re not huge on me, but do you think you could tell my mama and daddy that I’m gone. Bring them a lock of hair or something. My jacket if you can swing it,” Artie said. “You don’t even have to go all the way out there, you could just write.”

The image of her crouching over Artie’s dead body to cut off a lock of hair before just leaving her there sent a chill over Lou. The fever gone, her skin cold as the clay. The light— the intensity that had frightened Lou so much— completely gone from those big, dark eyes. They’d have to try to bury her. Make a little grave marker. Holliday could write Artie’s name on it, at least. Lou had the paper she’d given her with how it was spelled. That would be something. Or maybe they could try to bring her body back with them. Wrap her in one of the tarps, maybe not the most dignity, but it’d keep her contained, at least. Between the two of them, they could probably manage to sling her body over the saddle. They wouldn’t have to worry about her comfort, she guessed. The horses wouldn’t like the smell of death, but Lou could probably keep them calm enough. Lou could get Artie’s remains back to her mother, the shrinemaiden. It’d be an unpleasant surprise for her, but Lou supposed that’s how it was gonna be, one way or the other, when your child is in Knife Church. Lou wouldn’t be able to look her in the eye; the shrinemaiden had been so kind to her when hardly anyone else seemed to even notice she was alive. She’d hate to see her cry, especially when Artie’s death was all Lou’s fault.

“I can’t write,” Lou said. Her mouth felt sandy.

“Oh yeah. Just as long as it gets back to them. You can– you should– tell them the whole deal. They should know that I fucked up.” Her voice cracked again and a couple of tears rolled out of her closed eyes.

“If you’re fixing to die–”

“They should know what I was, after all, after everything,” Artie said, crying. “After everything they did for me.”

[bamboozledbird]

IGNITE: A Teen Wolf S1 AU // Chapter 1

Characters: Stiles Stilinski, Sheriff Stilinski, Original Female Character Pairing: eventual Stiles x OFC, but man are we talking slow burn Word Count: 4.9k Warnings: canon typical gore/violence, parental death, descriptions of burning, depictions of depression (apathy, dissociation, 'numb little bug' vibes) Tags: canon has been lovingly scrapped for parts, author loves lesbian poets and it shows, prolific overuse of the em dash, the slowest of burns i fear

Summary: Four years ago, Drea Dickinson's entire life fell apart. Her mom died, her best friend replaced her, and all she could do was watch listlessly while everything else burned down around her. All she wants is to forget and maybe get through her sophomore year without flunking chemistry and completely unraveling at the seams—a seemingly impossible task with the sudden appearance of ghosts from her mother's mysterious past and a hair-raising beast ripping people apart all over town. It would be easier to pretend if she hadn't accidentally entwined her life with the most interrogatory bastard in town. She could have gone her whole life without meeting Stiles Stilinski, and she would've been perfectly fine, but now she's stuck knowing that she's made her bed in the fragile, breakable bones of the boy with all the answers. Chapter Summary: After her annual interrogation with Sheriff Stilinski, Drea meets his son who turns out to be very handy with jumper cables, poetry recitation, and incoherent babbling.

A/N: This is an entirely selfish project. This rewrite has been so incredibly nostalgic, and I may or may not have cried a few times because the TW era was such a special time of my life. To be 17 again, sigh. I wrote a very bad version of this in 2014, and I cannot believe it has been 10 years!!! I'm almost 30! Impossible! The 10-year anniversary is entirely coincidental but still a wonderful, serendipitous happenstance. I'm re-watching the entire series with my little sister, who is coincidentally 17, and good god I just miss the TW, TVD era. Bring back the cheesy teen monster shows that give perpetual fall vibes PLEASE. You can also check me out on ao3 (dork_knight)!

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Some say the world will end in fire. Some say in ice. From what I’ve tasted of desire I hold with those who favor fire.

Before her mother’s death, Drea would have picked fire. Every single time. 

She never liked the cold; never really had to get used to it growing up in central California—but the crux of her argument, the twisted logic behind it all, was that most burn victims died from suffocation before they felt the flames. A small mercy, really, in the face of unspeakable tragedy. 

In the end, however, statistics were just numbers, her mother didn't die from smoke inhalation, and there was no mercy in burying a parent before you were old enough to have children of your own. Nothing ever ended poetically off the page. Death was just death, and it was always ugly. Someone should really tell that to Robert Frost, Drea mused, biting at a raw hangnail.

The medical examiner said the actual cause of death was pulmonary edema; at least, that was his best guess based on the state of the body. He didn’t say that she felt everything, her skin peeling back into her flesh, her flesh liquefying into fuel, her joints flexing into contorted pleas until the fire incinerated her last nerve ending. He didn’t have to; Drea connected those dots all on her own. She’d been twelve at the time, not an imbecile. 

“I’m sorry to drag you through this all again.”

Drea flitted her eyes away from the flickering lightbulb above Sheriff Stilinski’s head and met his gaze; it was nauseatingly sympathetic. Her responding shrug was a small, little thing—more like a twitch in practice, “Not your fault.” 

Her yearly visits to Sheriff Stilinski’s office were solely her father’s doing, even if no one wanted to admit it to her face. Most mayors would use their political power to get their child out of a police station, not into it, but perhaps Mayor Dickinson stopped being her dad somewhere between the funeral and now. 

“If you could start—”

“From the beginning,” Drea smoothed her thumb in small circles over the armrest of her chair, attentively tracing patterns into the polished wood, “I know.” This was, after all, the fourth anniversary of her first interrogation. She’d become somewhat of an expert at being a useless witness. Drea picked at her uneven cuticles before continuing, “Mom put me to bed around 10:00—which was kind of late for a school night, honestly, but she let me stay up to finish another chapter anyway.” The right corner of her mouth twitched for a brief moment, “Nancy Drew: Password to Larkspur Lane. I told her that forcing someone to go to sleep in the middle of a mystery was specifically forbidden in Geneva Protocol II.” Her mom had been far too indulgent of her lip on most occasions, but that night she didn’t smile at her snarky aside. She let her finish the chapter because she was too tired to argue; Drea could tell. At the time, she saw it as a victory. Now, it kept her up at night, the drooping lines of her mother’s mouth spilling over the pages of whatever book she was trying to read.

Drea bit down on her tongue when a stray splinter snagged against the soft pad of her thumb, “Dad was out of town, so it was just the two of us. Mom always put me to bed when Dad was gone; said it was the only way she could get to sleep. Had to make sure my window was locked.” She paused for a long moment: everything went dark after this. Her mother kissed the top of her head, murmured, ‘Love you,’ turned out the light, and then that was it. Drea woke up in the hospital, and her mom was dead. 

A bead of sweat dripped onto her top lip. The air in the Beacon Hills police station was, without fail, sticky with heat and body odor—and it wasn’t just the oppressive Californian sun. Even in the winter, a person could choke on the stifling warmth. Idly, she wondered if it was a matter of interrogatory tactics or budgetary constraints. 

“And then,” Sheriff Stilinski prompted gently, though they both knew how the story went from here. She had told it to him and a dozen other officials at least a hundred times in the last four years. 

Drea bit down on her thumbnail and winced when her teeth snagged on the tender nail bed, “And then nothing. I opened my eyes, and a nurse said that you found me on the front lawn.” 

“You don’t remember how you got outside?” 

Drea shook her head, staring past the Sheriff's shoulder. Large pieces of dust floated through the air, highlighted by the slivers of light trickling through the blinds. Suddenly, she had a newfound appreciation for the lack of fans in the room. 

Sheriff Stilinski cleared his throat and rubbed his hand over his jaw, “You don’t remember saying it was an angel?”

Blinking slowly, Drea looked at the grim line of the Sheriff’s mouth and gripped her knees tightly, digging her fingers into tawny skin until her wrist cracked, “I should, right? I was twelve. I should remember something—that’s what everyone thinks. That’s what my dad thinks.” Her eyelids fluttered to a tight close, and her voice went so quiet she could barely be heard over the hum of the copier outside the door, “He thinks it was me. That’s why he makes you question me every year.” She pulled the sleeves of her jacket over her fists and gnawed on the soft lining of her cheek, “He thinks you’ll finally figure out how I did it.” 

Drea was scared to open her eyes as the silence stretched between them. They’d danced around the subject before, hinted and twisted around the heart of it, but they’d never truly discussed how it looked from the outside. Sheriff Stilinski had been kind enough to give her a few different excuses over the years: trauma, head injury, oxygen deprivation, plain old grief—but whatever caused her temporary amnesia wasn’t so conveniently explained. In fact, currently, she still had no explanation at all. When she finally peeked through her lashes, clumped together with frustrated tears, Drea couldn’t quite figure out what expression the Sheriff was making. He leaned back in his desk chair and frowned, “I’m sure he doesn’t—”

“He does,” Drea cut him off. Her eyes went flinty, deep brown darkening to something far more ashen with the resolve of her anger. She never had any trouble reading her father’s face; the disgust was thinly-veiled between the flickers of fear. 

Sheriff Stilinksi leaned forward so that she had no choice but to look him in the eyes. They were kind—more tired than usual, but still kind. They always were. That was one thing Drea remembered from that day, waking up in the hospital to Sheriff Stilinski’s kind, watery blue eyes, just before the entire world fell apart. His voice was gentle, but firm, when he finally spoke, “I don’t.” 

Drea nodded numbly and pulled at a fraying string on the hem of her denim skirt until the thread snapped. 

“I mean it, kid. They couldn’t identify the source of the fire. They couldn’t even find an origin point; no twelve-year-old could pull that off.”

Drea chewed on her bottom lip, “Could anyone?”

Sheriff Stilinski’s brow furrowed, and his mouth screwed up into a crooked line, like he was chewing on his words and deciding if he should swallow them or spit them out. “I wish I had all the answers for you. I really do. Not knowing, it’s worse than any truth.”

Drea blinked up at him for a moment, once again taken aback by his raw sincerity, and swallowed hard. He wasn’t the one who was supposed to have the answers; he was the one who was supposed to ask the questions. There was one failure in his muggy office, and it wasn’t the Sheriff. “It’s okay,” she said quietly. “Not your fault.”

He looked like he wanted to argue the point, but whatever he wanted to say was interrupted by the sharp ringing of the phone on his desk. “I have to take this, but if you remember something, or if you just need to talk—”

“My dad spends a small fortune on a psychiatrist and a behavioral therapist for that,” Drea stood up quickly, shouldering her bag. She forced the corners of her mouth into a small smile, tight at the edges like a sheet that had been stretched too thin, “But thank you. For everything.” 

The Sheriff’s gaze darted to a framed photo on his desk. Drea had seen it before, on one of her many visits to his office. It was of a boy—his son, she assumed—he looked like he was around five or six at the time. He was grinning, wide enough to show off his missing incisors, and his fingers and wrist were stained cotton-candy blue from a melting popsicle. She must’ve been that happy once, right? In the beginning, everyone was unencumbered by the weight of imminent mortality. Maybe that’s what Sheriff Stilinski was thinking, too. He looked away from the photo and gave Drea a small smile, “Don’t be a stranger, okay?”

Drea gave a half-hearted wave before wrapping her fingers around the strap of her backpack and walking to the parking lot. 

The sky was grim, a mocking reflection of expression on her face. The spite in her eyes hardened when big, fat raindrops splattered against the apples of her cheeks. For a moment, she just stood there, glaring at the rain and cursing the cosmos for their utterly unamusing sense of humor. A jeep pulled into the parking lot, and the squealing engine startled her back into reality. 

Unfortunately, the search for her car keys was a considerable endeavor. Typical. Drea stacked her textbooks and binders onto the hood of her sedan, haphazardly throwing her jacket on top of the pile to protect her painstakingly penned Kafka essay from the rain. By the time her fingertips brushed against the cool metal of her keys, her hair was damp and curling at the ends. 

The momentary relief was short-lived when she pressed the unlock button five times and the accompanying beep didn’t sound, not even once. For an absurdly long minute, all she could do was rest her forehead against the driver’s side window, breathing heavily until condensation gathered next to her mouth and the drizzle speckled dots onto the sleeves of her thin cotton shirt.

“If you’re trying to charge the battery through osmosis, it’d probably be more effective to smash your head against the hood.”

Drea jumped, and then flinched again when her keys clattered against the ground. She caught a glimpse of the phantom speaker in the side-view mirror; bizarrely, he looked just as surprised as she felt. She turned around, apprehensively—objects may be closer than they appear n’all—and tried to swallow her rapidly rising heart. 

“Sorry,” the boy pulled the hood of his sweatshirt down and had the decency to look contrite, “big mouth.” He rubbed a hand over his chapped lips. “It’s a real problem. It’s so big, actually, that my foot just slides right in there like…all the time,” he gestured animatedly with a flat hand, a quick sliding motion, like a fish through water.

Drea blinked at him, slowly, and bent down to reach for her keys, “Might wanna see someone about that. Sounds unsanitary.”

“Eh, it’s hardly the worst thing I’ve put in my mouth,” he said, eyes widening into horrified round circles the second he stopped talking. A faint flush creeped up his neck to his ears, and Drea’s heart dropped back into her chest. Slashers and ax murderers didn’t blush. Probably. She hadn’t ever met one, but it seemed like sound logic.

“Choking hazard,” Drea hummed, leaning back against her car. Her fingers traced a small dent in the door, the cause long forgotten, “It’s definitely still a choking hazard.”

The boy grinned before fixing his expression into something on the cusp of severity, “I’m about 95.7% sure that anything bigger than a fist is completely mouth-safe.” He held up his fist and nodded sharply, “Make that 98.3% sure.”

“98.3?” Drea’s brow arched.

“Maybe even 98.9.” 

The buzz of a lamp post hummed above their heads as they stared at each other with little smirks until the quiet made Drea sink her teeth into her bottom lip and big-mouth drum his fingers against his forearm. 

“So,” his sneakers squeaked against the slick asphalt as he shifted his weight, “you need a jump?”

Drea pursed her lips and ran her eyes over the front of her car, “I might give osmosis another shot. 30 seconds is hardly a fair trial.”

“Of course,” he hummed, “you gotta be fair.”

“We are in front of a police station.”

“Well,” he scratched his cheek, “it’s not a courthouse.”

“Technicality.” Drea was slightly horrified when she finally noticed that she was smiling. The sensation felt like it had escaped straight out of the uncanny valley and latched onto her face like a parasite in need of a host. It only took two weeks for muscles to atrophy; years must have completely decimated the fibers in her cheeks. “I guess I could use a jump. If your offer was an offer and not a hypothetical.” 

“Smart choice.” The boy rapped his knuckles against the hood of her car and said, “Steel’s probably pretty low on the permeability scale.”

“As opposed to a skull.”

He snorted and then nodded towards the large lump of books and papers covered by her freshly dampened jean jacket, “You should probably move your stuff. Y’know, ‘cause of the very un-permeable battery.”

“There’s that,” Drea sighed and started stuffing her things back into her backpack, shaking it violently until her notebook finally slid past her chemistry textbook, “and flunking English isn’t high on my list of things to do this weekend.”

His gaze flickered back and forth, rapidly cataloging every corner and crevice of her face. Drea tilted her head, brows pinched, and stared back at him with her arms crossed tightly over her chest. His eyes, she noticed, became a peculiar shade of brown in the yellow glow of the setting sun and the fluorescent light of the lamppost. More like honey, she realized, more like honey than irises. Something finally clicked behind them. "You,” he pointed aggressively, “you go to Beacon Hills.”

Drea pushed his finger away from her face with her own, “Safe bet, considering there’s exactly one option for the next 2,000 square miles.”

“You’re kind of a smartass, you know that,” he muttered as he struggled with the trunk of the jeep parked one space to her right until he finally wrenched it open with an almost guttural grunt.

Her lips parted briefly, and then she grinned drolly. It was refreshing, not being treated like some fragile little creature who would buckle in the knees—or possibly set something on fire—at the slightest confrontation. “Kind of?”

“Total.” He nodded decisively before sticking his head and torso into the depths of his trunk. “Completely, entirely, and wholly a smartass.” There were various clanging sounds until he re-emerged with a pair of jumper cables, “Never noticed that in class. You don’t really…say anything.”

Drea bit back the snark poised on the tip of her tongue. When people looked at her, the only thing they saw was the worst thing that had ever happened to her. She was the daughter of the woman who burned to death on Cedar Street; Drea Dickinson’s mom died, and she was there. It seemed like that was all she would ever be in Beacon Hills. 

In the grand scheme of things, it was better to be no one. 

High school had been her chance to slip into social obscurity—more kids, more drama, less discussion of homicide by arson—so she took it, wholeheartedly. She kept to the corners of classrooms, away from extracurriculars, and her mouth resolutely shut. 

“I try to exclusively bring the smart and leave the ass at home,” Drea finally replied.

The boy’s eyes drifted downwards for a moment, and his voice did a funny, squeaky thing when he said, “I should give that a go sometime.”

“10/10 would recommend. No one bugs you—and teachers never throw erasers at your face.”

“So you do remember me,” he grinned a little and rolled up the sleeves of his sweatshirt before unlatching the jeep’s hood and propping it open.

Slanting her head, Drea watched his profile. There were moles scattered across his cheek and neck, and his angular jaw clenched as he struggled with the knotted cords in his willowy fingers. “Vaguely,” she said faintly. It was coming back to her in pieces. That was life after twelve for Drea Dickinson: bits and pieces. Everything was made up of the disquieting moments when she surfaced from the haze and into the present. It should’ve felt like a lungful of air, but it didn’t. It always felt like choking. 

He wiped his grease-smudged hand on his jeans and then extended it towards her, “Stiles.”

She took his hand, despite the strange formality, and shook it—mainly because of the black streaks staining his pants. “Drea.”

Stiles’s brow wrinkled, “I thought it was Andy.”

Drea hadn’t been Andy for what felt like a very long time. Four years, in fact. There were several reasons: her mom called her Andy, and she wanted to become someone else, anybody else—but ultimately the deciding factor was ‘Andy Arson.’ The nickname stuck around far longer than she thought it would. With a last name like Dickinson, Drea really thought the tweenager taunting would go in a different direction, but thirteen-year-olds had a knack for latching onto a person’s deepest-seated insecurities. Middle school, she mused, was a tragedy all on its own. 

“Nope. Just Drea.”

Stiles examined her face, and she saw that flicker in his eyes again: the light of recognition. “Well, Drea’s cool, y’know, in comparison.” His fingers twitched a few times when he connected the clamp to the coordinating battery terminal, and Drea’s eyes widened. She held her breath in her sternum until she registered that he hadn’t been electrocuted. He was just naturally tweaky, she concluded. It was either that, or he had jumped one-too-many engines in the last 24 hours…unless it was hidden option C, and he was actually tweaking. Unlikely, given he was on his way into a building teeming with cops, but far stranger things had happened in Beacon Hills. 

The longer she remained silent the more parts of his body started to move. Stile squeezed and unsqueezed the black clamp in his hand and drummed on the side of her car with his unoccupied fingers, “Like, Andy—no offense—doesn’t exactly strike fear or confidence in the heart. I mean, I wouldn’t trust Officer Andy to save my ass in a shoot-out, and I definitely wouldn’t trust Dr. Andy to cure my unknown, incredibly rare, incurable disease.” 

“No one could cure your incurable disease. That’s quite literally the entire definition of the word.”

“Sure,” Stiles connected the last clamp and glanced at her over his shoulder, almost checking himself in the chin with a large shrug, “but I’d buy that Dr. Drea could.”

Her mouth parted for a second, and then she closed it before she could say something impulsive. “That’s not even how it works; I’d be Dr. Dickinson.” 

Stiles winced, “Brutal.”

“Yeah,” Drea sighed and rubbed her palms over her arms until the goosebumps prickling her biceps receded into her skin.

Stiles looked back at her again, and his mouth wormed its way into a little frown. His head disappeared into his trunk, and after a moment a lumpy maroon mass hurtled towards her face. She caught it before it could smack into her nose, and she clutched at the soft material until she realized that the projectile missile was actually just a sweatshirt. 

Stiles was staring at her when she looked up from her hands. A small, unsure…something squirmed over his face, and she felt a little stupid, just standing there, hoodie limp in her arms. It happened a lot—more than it should after so many years. The invisible quicksand materialized in the strangest, most insignificant moments. Drea blinked, completely brainless, at simple questions, stared aimlessly into her closet until her second alarm startled her into snatching the first shirt her fingers came in contact with—clasped at a stranger’s hoodie until the rainwater pooled on her lashes dripped into her eyes.

Robotically, Drea thrust her arms through the sleeves and tugged it over her head, “Thanks.” The sweet scent of grass clung to the fabric, and there was something earthier underneath it, something like evergreen. She smiled slightly, combing her baby hairs behind her ears, “I almost forgive you for being a dick about my name.”

Stiles’s shoulders unwound as he scoffed, “At least people can say it without seizing.”

Drea looked at him and tilted her head, eyebrows crawling towards the bridge of her nose.

Stiles waved his hand in the air and extrapolated, “My full name is—just trust me. Dick jokes aren’t the worst thing in the world.”

“No,” Drea chewed on her lip, “they aren’t.”

There was a moment in middle school where she was tempted to plant the seed of something incredibly stupid and irresistibly raunchy, something like, ‘Andrea wants ‘Dickinsideher,’ because even that was better than a name with matricide as the punchline. But it didn’t take when Jared Cartwright soft-launched it in PE, so Drea seriously doubted it would ever catch-on from the target herself.

She cleared her throat, “But they are almost as bad as stye jokes.”

“Uh, absolutely not. Eyesores are nowhere near as gross as dick’n nu—” Stiles coughed, throat bobbing as he swallowed, before finishing his sentence with an audible question mark, “…phallic imagery.”

Drea pursed her lips, “Pus beats penis on the ick meter by at least 23 points.”

Stiles’s eyes glimmered in the fading light, “23?”

“Maybe even 24.”

Another bout of silence fell between them, but it wasn’t so restless this time—even after Stiles torpedoed his body through his passenger seat. He fought with his keys for a while until the correct one slid into the ignition. 

The jeep’s engine hummed pleasantly in the quiet as Drea let out a soft sigh, dropping her head back against her car window. The rain had stopped somewhere between trying to unlock her car and now, but she couldn’t quite recall when. The chill wasn’t so bad, she realized, without her foul mood casting a shadow over her head.

Stiles landed back on his feet and leaned against the jeep. Drea could feel his gaze on her again. A tickling sensation trailed down her spine as she fiddled with her keychain. It was old, a gift from her parents on some birthday she couldn’t remember. Paint had chipped off in most places after thoughtlessly throwing her keys every time she came home, but she could still make out the M and Y of the orange ‘Mystery Machine’ logo.

Stiles hummed for a moment and then said, “I’m Nobody. Who are you?”

Drea stared at him and waited for the punchline. It didn’t come. Instead, he shifted from one foot to the other and fumbled over each following syllable. “You know, like…Dickinson,” he waved his hands around, seemingly searching for some sort of cosmic relief. “I thought it would better than a dick joke, but upon some seriously belated reflection, I realize that you’re probably tired of corny assholes qu—”

“How dreary,” Drea interrupted, quietly but loud enough to be heard over the rumbling jeep, “to be Somebody.”

Stiles’s jaw snapped shut; it was his turn to blink at her stupidly. He smiled a little and ran his hand over his buzzed head, “Yeah?”

“Yeah.” She didn’t know what she was agreeing with, only that she wholeheartedly did.

“I forgot that part.”

Drea clucked her tongue against the roof of her mouth and shook her head, “It’s the best line.”

“It might have something to do with my species landing somewhere between microscopic bacteria and radioactive cockroach on the high-school social food chain,” Stiles said dryly. His face remained impassive, like he was talking about something benign as the weather. 

Drea tilted her head a little and a timid smile unfurled over her face in time with the swell of familiarity blooming beneath her ribcage, “Then there’s a pair of us.”

His cheeks dimpled when he smiled back at her, “I do remember that one.”

“Well,” Drea slid her hands into her back pockets and shrugged, “it is the best part.”

Stiles squinted at her and then laughed.

Drea felt a bit like laughing too, so she swallowed thickly before she could choke on the impulse. She took a step backwards and curled her fingers around her keys in her back pocket, “I should probably try start my car…y’know, before you start reciting, ‘I Felt a Funeral, in My Brain.’”

He nodded, taking a step towards his jeep, “Solid plan. ‘Because I could not stop for Death’ would be next.”

Drea slid into her car and stared at the steering wheel, wrapping her fingers around 10 and 2 and silently calling upon every deity she’d ever heard of to end her suffering. Stiles seemed nice enough, but she seriously doubted her smalltalk capabilities were up-to ‘ride home’ standards. Perhaps, she should revisit her resounding dedication to atheism, she thought, as the engine sputtered in protest a few times and then came back to life. 

Stiles flashed two thumbs up through the window. The smile on his face was positively goofy, but his dismount from the jeep was somehow even goofier. He stumbled over his large feet a few times before regaining stability. Drea bit back a smile when he shot her another thumbs up, this time through the dash as he removed the jumper cables from her battery.

He wiped his hands off on his jeans again; at this point, she was convinced that they were beyond saving, but Stiles didn’t seem concerned. He tapped against her window before stepping around the open door, “You should probably let it run for a while. Take the scenic route home; enjoy all the Beacon Hills hotspots open past 8:00 pm on a weeknight. I personally recommend the Rite Aid or Walmart.”

Drea snorted, “Maybe I’ll swing by the Preserve. I hear the woods are especially beautiful in the foreboding darkness.”

“Don’t.” Serious was an odd look on Stiles’s face. Drea decided that she much preferred the goofy grin. “Don’t go anywhere near the Preserve. It’s officially cordoned off—totally locked down, quarantine-zone-central. Something about flesh-eating, parasitic plant life.”

“As completely real and unobtrusive as that sounds,” Drea drawled, “don’t worry about it. Literally every single person in town knows about the body they found in the woods.” It was bound to happen, small town and all—and ‘woman dies in deadly animal attack’ was the most interesting thing that had happened in Beacon Hills since the intersection got a Target two years ago. “I’ve seen every installment of Friday the 13th and The Blair Witch Project. If I’m going to be murdered, I refuse to also be humiliated by a cliché C.O.D.” 

The manic expression on his face softened to a relieved smile and then again to a little smirk, “So what’s a certified fresh murder, then? Not that I doubt the depths of human depravity, but I think society killed off originality a few centuries ago.”

Drea thought back to a house fire with no origin, accelerant, or discernible cause. Apparently, not. “You know what they say,” she sighed, “life finds a way.”

Stiles tilted his head, “And death.”

“And death,” Drea agreed, staring at a small chip in her windshield. The cracks had just begun to spiderweb out from the pit. 

Stiles looked like he wanted to say something, and he looked so much like the Sheriff with his face twisted around thoughtful contemplation that she couldn’t believe it had taken her this long to make the connection. The boy in the photo had grown up. How unfortunate for him. Stiles swallowed whatever it was that was lingering on his tongue and shut Drea’s door. He leaned his elbow against the window frame and cocked his hand in a stiff little wave, “See ya in English, Dickinson—both of you.”

“Awful,” Drea’s nose scrunched as she buckled her seatbelt, “terrible, dreadful. A solid 25 on the ick meter.”

Stiles grinned and held up his hands, “I’ll think of something better by Monday, promise.” 

Drea put her car in drive once Stiles was safely a few feet from the wheels and flicked her damp hair over her shoulder, “I dwell in Possibility.” What a scary place to be, she thought as she watched Stiles disappear in her rearview mirror. Possibility. Hope. Life. She was chronically good at surviving; cockroached her way out of every horrible thing life squashed her with. Lately, all she could do was cling to her heartbeat and the warmth of her skin, until she was barely more than roadkill. A walking carcass was a far cry from living, but Death would not stop for her, so she stopped looking for him. She kept treading water, took her pills, stopped existing—she was a lot like Schrödinger’s cat that way: too stubborn to live, too stubborn to die. She didn’t know what to do if someone unsealed the box and forced her to choose. That was the trouble with possibility; it required far too much uncertainty.

[novacorpsrecruit]

Holding a Double Edged Sword (for my heart’s protection)

T | wc 15,004 | no cw

Based off of @vivalski ‘s art work here: https://at.tumblr.com/vivalski/here-comes-johnny-i-rambled-about-this/7uhkc6jfuce3

Read full fic on Ao3

Steve exhaled slowly, looking at the van’s ceiling above him. Eddie couldn’t help but watch the smoke leave his lips.

This happens a lot now. Eddie and Steve hanging out. After defeating Vecna and clearing Eddie’s name, Steve and Eddie grew close as friends hanging out more without Dustin as their buffer. There’s nothing like bonding over trauma, Eddie guesses. The two spent their Thursday evenings in the back of Eddie’s van out by the woods, where the sky was the clearest and nobody would call in their smoke session. Eddie looked at Steve, his neck extended, showing off his gorgeous freckles.

God.

Eddie had the hots for Steve.

But Steve was straight.

Painfully straight.

Like wears polos unironically. And they look so good on him, too. Plus, half the time they hang out, Steve’s talking about his failed relationships with girls and how he doesn’t want to just hook up with these girls. Eddie knew deep down, Steve still wasn’t over Nancy. And what Eddie wanted with Steve would never happen.

“You know how … Robin … is into girls?” Steve asked awkwardly.

“Yeah,” Eddie took a hit off the joint, nervous about where the conversation was going. He extended it to Steve, who continued to stare at the roof of the van. “I’m aware.”

“Girls can like girls,” Steve said a little more confident, like he practiced it in the mirror a few times before coming to hang out. Steve’s been nervous all night. Eddie wondered what his deal was, but the way the conversation is going, Eddie was afraid Steve knew his secret.

“Yeah,” Eddie said, his mouth dry. “They can.”

“Yeah,” Steve exhaled. He finally looked at the joint extended at him. He took it from Eddie’s hand, slowly taking a drag and exhaling. “And guys … can like guys.”

Shit.

Shit!

SHIT!

Eddie was found out. Steve was going to ditch him. It was different, being friends with a lesbian. She was never going to hit on Steve and make Steve uncomfortable. Being friends with a gay guy? That different. It makes straight guys uncomfortable, thinking they’re going to get hit on or flirted with. So if Steve found out that not only Eddie was gay but that he liked him? Friendship over.

“Yeah,” Eddie finally said. “They can. I just — “ the light bulb went off in his head. “Couldn’t imagine it. Not for me. I mean — I see a cute girl and go crazy. Like — Wheeler!”

“You like Nance?” Steve said, almost deflated. Fuck. Eddie was digging his hole. Maybe it would be deep enough he could bury himself in it.

“She’s — she’s hot, yeah,” Eddie said, leaning back like it was no big deal while his heart raced like he chugged a whole pot of coffee — not like he knew from experience. “But you know, guy code, I wouldn’t — I wouldn’t step on your toes or anything. I get it.”

Steve was silent for a moment before nodding. “Yeah,” he gave a breathy laugh. “Guy code. Hey —“ he bumped shoulders. “Does guy code cover … queer friends?”

“Like Robin?” Eddie wrinkled his brow.

“Like —“ Steve looked back up at the roof. “Like me?”

“You?” Eddie wrinkled his brow. Steve gave a very jarring nod. Eddie turned to look at Steve. “You, Steve Harrington, are into dudes?”

“Yeah,” Steve exhaled like he was taking weight off his chest. “Is that — is that okay?”

“Okay?” Eddie wrinkled his brow. “Yeah, of course it would be okay. Why wouldn’t it be?”

“Because I know how straight guys are,” Steve said. “It’s one thing being friends with Robin, but a gay guy?”

“Steve, it’s fine,” Eddie said, relaxing. “I promise you. How long have you — uh — been … “

“Been gay?” Steve laughed. “It’s not — it’s not like that. I mean — I think I knew sophomore year. I had a fight with Tommy and he — it’s not important — but I think it really hit me this past year. Robin and I talked about it — bisexuality.”

“Tommy Hagan?” Eddie asked.

“Yeah,” Steve huffed, almost as if he was frustrated with himself. “But — uh … don’t worry. I won’t … hit on you or anything. You’re … not my type.”

Ouch. Maybe that hurt worse than thinking Steve was straight. Steve is gay but Eddie’s not his type. Shit. What’s his type? How could Eddie be his type? God. If his type was Tommy Hagan, this would be a lost cause. “Who … is your type?”

Steve looked at Eddie as if Eddie grew a second head. Then Steve laughed, leaning his head back to look at the ceiling. “Uh — Shaun Cassidy. Tony Danza. Judd Nelson.”

“Hardy Boys Shaun Cassidy?” Eddie laughed. Steve threw an elbow into Eddie’s rib cage. “Sounds like you knew a little longer than sophomore year.”

“Yeah,” Steve took another hit off of the joint. He extended it back to Eddie. “I’m — I’m sorry. Should we not … share joints anymore?”

Eddie took the joint from Steve and took a long drag from it. “Who you like doesn’t change anything, sweetheart,” Eddie exhaled. “Promise you.”

Keep reading on Ao3

[literary-illuminati]

Book Review 43 - Even Though I Knew The End by C. L. Polk

Oh this was fun. Never would have heard of it if it hadn’t been nominated for a Hugo, and devoured it in the course of a computer-less Sunday afternoon. It wasn’t exactly reaching for the stars, but it knew what it was about and it executed it well; there’s a real virtue to that. Also I adore slightly cheesy but self-serious noir and the early 20th century really is the ideal setting for classical urban fantasy.

The story follows Helen, a private investigator and warlock in 1930s Chicago. Ten years prior to the story, she sold her soul to a demon to resurrect her younger brother from a car crash that would have otherwise killed her entire family – for her trouble, she was cast out from the magical brotherhood training her as a mystic and forced to make a living as a cut-rate diviner and gumshoe in Chicago. The plot kicks off three days before the deal comes due and her soul’s forfeit, and she takes one last consulting job to add a bit more to the nest egg she’ll be leaving for her girlfriend Edith when she’s torn from the mortal coil. And then, of course, she finds out that a) her employer is a demon, b) the case she’s consulting on is someone ritually murdering other poor souls who’ve made deals, days before they come due, and c) if she solves it she’ll get her soul back, along with enough money to make to San Francisco with Edith and start a new life free and clear.

So this is not a book that sets out to surprise the reader. The storytelling is efficient and the foreshadowing is reasonably honest – you can guess just about every twist well ahead of time with even the slightest bit of effort. I’d say the book isn’t trying to break any new ground, but actually it’s the only example I can think off hand of this sort of genre emulation period piece that both has a queer protagonist and doesn’t either elide or edit out the homophobia of the their environment, so there is that. Anyway, ‘genre emulation’ is the right term I think – snappy, tightly written noir plot that doesn’t outlast its welcome (this was absolutely a novella-sized story).

I really don’t know the author or their work well enough to know how intentional it is, but the ending very much felt like a comment on the whole Bury Your Gays/Tragic Lesbian trope. Essentially, Edith gets herself heroically sacrificed saving Helen’s life in the climactic showdown. Then, once the dust has settled and Marlow (her demonic client) has given Helen her soul back she…immediately sells it again to bring her back. Better ten years of Californian bliss with her true love then an eternity in heaven (and besides, that brother she’d saved the first time had just killed an angel, so someone’s going to need to keep him company in hell). The book’s title is in no way subtle or metaphorical, it is a line of the protagonist’s internal monologue.

The story’s universe is a folk-Christian one, and it is absolutely imperative that when reading it you don’t poke at the underlying metaphysics at all. Angels and demons are real and magicians are the distant descendants of Nephilim and some of the Grigori still haunt the earth, and we have it on good authority that God doesn’t actually care about being gay and everyone seems very frightened of the idea of summoning the Archangel Michael to earth, but start asking any followup questions about angels and world events during the Roosevelt Administration and you’re ruin the story for yourself. Just don’t worry about it.

As a final note, I really did love Marlowe – or properly, she’s one of my favorite types of demons in these sorts of stories. Epitome of high class beauty, lives in a palatial penthouse waited upon handed and foot by layers of servants, eats the best food and wears the best clothes and has the best lovers, even a generous employer and creditor as long as you do what she wants and give her what she’s owed. The sort of demon who seems like falling out of heaven was worth it, and one you can imagine actually convincing someone to sell their soul. She’s fun!

[my-castles-crumbling]

Prompt: Sweat

@wolfstarmicrofic

Words: 535

Modern & muggle university AU

The sweat dripped down Sirius's back as they curled closer to Remus, mind racing.

It wasn't that it was hot in the small flat they shared with Peter and James- actually, a blanket was draped over Sirius, who was laid across Remus's lap like a needy cat.

No, it was that, though Remus was quite relaxed, holding his book with one hand and carding through Sirius's hair with the other; Sirius was nervous and contemplative, fidgeting with the blanket and opening and closing their mouth over and over again.

"Rem?" Sirius whispered, finally building up the nerve to speak.

"Hmm?" Remus replied, still immersed in his book.

"Y'know...y'know how you're gay?" Sirius asked softly.

"Yes..." Remus responded, closing his book and looking at Sirius curiously, a bit of humor in his eyes. "Are you...are you nervous I'm not? Because we've spent the better part of the past month snogging, Padfoot, I'd hope you believe I like boys."

It was true- Sirius and Remus had finally kissed one drunken night a month ago, after what felt like decades of sexual tension, and since then, Remus had been surprisingly open about coming out to people.

But that was the problem. Remus was very open about liking boys. And Sirius was becoming more and more certain that they were not a boy.

And after so much time pining after their friend, Sirius didn't want to lose him. But they also didn't think they could stay quiet much longer. It wasn't really in their nature to be quiet about anything.

"What if I'm not a boy?" Sirius asked in barely a whisper, burying their head in the blanket.

There was a shocked pause.

Then, long fingers curled over the blanket and pulled it back over Sirius's head.

"Sirius, what do you mean?" Remus asked.

Sirius noted that he didn't look angry or disappointed. Just...curious?

"Sometimes I feel like a boy..." Sirius explained, clearing their throat nervously. "Sometimes I feel more like a girl...or like...neither? Or both?" They ended this explanation in a question. They still weren't exactly sure how to explain it, if they were honest.

Remus nodded, looking thoughtful.

"I...I met this person, at a bar," Sirius said quickly, on a roll now. "They like to be called 'they' and 'them.' And sometimes they wear skirts and makeup and sometimes they wear...I dunno, pants and t-shirts. I was just thinking, that sounds...that sounds perfect, to be honest. Because...I don't always feel like a boy. But if I'm not a boy, where does that put us?" They asked the last question with a tremor in their voice, fighting back tears.

"I guess...I guess that makes me pansexual, then," Remus shrugged calmly.

Sirius gaped at him. He'd said it like it was so simple. "So...so you still like me?"

"Sirius, I've loved you since I first met you. I don't care what pronouns you use or what you wear, or if you're a boy or not. I've already told you, I'm yours," Remus whispered, eyes sincere.

Sirius sighed, sinking back into him. "I don't deserve you," they muttered.

"You deserve the world," Remus murmured back, kissing their head gently.

Note: This is based off of when I told my wife about the fact that I was questioning my gender. In that moment, neither of us had all of the best words to describe being nonbinary/genderfluid and a lesbian/pansexual, so neither do Remus and Sirius. It's a lot more nuanced, obviously. Enjoy!