#but enough for him to just be kinda a freak

[peanutheaddd]

new peanuthead au 😭😭😭😭 cant stop putting these beasts into situations

extras + au deets below cut

essentially this au is where current petey and older petey switch bodies and they get up to various shenanigans . LOL . theres not That much of a plot and not much rlly changes perse . its just a silly situation .

current petey is after he starts living w dog man long enough such that they got a routine going . atp petey secretly likes how domestically hes been living and he has Not been handling that revelation well LMFAOOOO

older petey is married (probs about 10 years atp) + he basically just sent lil petey off to college before the switch and he was handling it poorly . LMFAO me when im in a struggling competition and my opponent is petey t cat

lil petey saved him and petey knows that Very Very well. caring for him became his new purpose and helped him turn his life sround so now that lil peteys off living his own life hes kinda lost and it freaks him out really badly . he misses his son so damn bad bru 😭😭😭😭 bro was not prepared for empty nester depsair

thats why he gets so emotional in the comic LOL . seeing lil petey as a little baby again is basically a dream come true for him . he misses baby lil petey so bad 😭😭😭😭

the switch happens bc (current) petey makes some new body switching invention boogaloo and he thinks that it didnt work and calls it a day but it Did work it just took effect overnight instead of immediately like he had expected . also the body switching invention was across universes instead of within a single world like he had intended. LMFAO His stupid baka life 😭😭😭

older dog man is retired at this point. hes also kinda mellowed out bc hes older . older dogs are chiller and that applies to dog man too LMFAO . he doesnt have the stamina to be that high energy anymore

older dog man can recognize the switch almost Instantly bc peteys demeanor is waaaaayyy too different and too similar to how he used to act 15 years ago .

older dog man tries 2 be understanding and give petey space bc he knows that hes not his petey anymore but he gets separation enxiety really bad and he misses his petey Really Really bad. especially bc atp lil peteys not living w them anymore so he js feels Really lonely. my goat 😭😭😭😭

older petey is having the time of his life. his baby is a baby again and his body is light and he doesnt have back pain anymore and he doesnt need glasses to see . however he Knows his dog man gets separation anxiety and needs his daily quota of physical touch (never underestimate a mf whose love language is ohysical touch) and he knows that the past him would Not give him that . so he Is having a good time but hes also constantly worrying about how his dog man is doing .

current petey meets older lil petey at some point and he feels a crushing sense of despair about it 😭😭😭 in my mind dog man comforts him and tells him his petey also didnt handle lil petey growing up very well .

eventually the two peteys sync up the body switching thingy and go back to their og worlds . i assume when they switch back older peteys reached peace abt his empty nest despair probs thanks to lil petey . and current petey has a bit of a different perspective on both dog man And lil petey . smth smth valuing the time he has w them Now. yah. #corny but thats how i like it YAYYYYYY

lil petey can immediately tell that older petey isnt His papa . he can do that in canon so he can do it here too lol . id assume it kinda confuses him tho bc he can tell its petey but hes too different to be PETEY ygwim

ok thats it i think

[wchswift]

── ❝ tied him down to my queen bed ❞

pairing! soldier boy x fem!reader

summary! you want to spice up things, so you tie up soldier boy. (Inspired by "Freak" by Doja Cat.)

contents! no plot just porn, established relationship, rough sex, power play, light bondage, kinda sub/dom!soldier boy, degradation, edging/denial, overstimulation, names (sweetheart, doll, brat & bitch), dirty talk, praise & degradation kink, teasing, oral/face sitting (f & m receiving), and probably more; very intense and filthy sexual content so mdni 𖤐 18+ !!

word count! 1.4k

You decided that tonight you wanted to try something different with Ben.

He immediately gave you that sly, bitchy smile of his, not even questioning it. The freak that he is.

But tonight, you wanted to match his freak, do some bad things to him. Spice up his life a little. And that's why you had the big, admired Supe tied down on your queen bed.

The sheets are silk beneath your thighs, black as sin, clinging to your skin like smoke. Soldier Boy is stretched out on his back, arms pulled taut above his head, thick rope biting into his wrists. His chest rises and falls, sweat-slick and heaving, muscles flexing as he tests the restraints. But you tied them well. You made sure of it.

"Fuckin’ hell, sweetheart," he growls, voice deep, ragged. His biceps strain, veins popping, but he’s not getting out of this. "You really think this’ll hold me?"

You hum, trailing your fingers down his chest, nails just sharp enough to sting. "That’s the fun part, isn’t it?"

His jaw tightens, that sharp, stubborn line of his throat bobbing as he swallows hard. You can feel the heat of him, the way his body radiates it, coiled and waiting, just on the edge. His cock is thick and heavy against his stomach, twitching every time your touch ghosts over him without giving him what he wants.

"You really want to tease me, huh? Do you think this will make me love or hate you?" he mutters, his smirk sharp. "Gotta say, doll, if it's the second option, doin’ a damn good job."

You grin, dragging your mouth down his torso, kissing over the old battle wounds. He’s all hard planes and rough edges, but here, tied up beneath you, he’s yours to unravel.

"That so?" you murmur against his skin, breath hot. Your nails scrape down his abs, slow, intentional. He shudders.

His hands twitch in the bindings, but he can’t move. Can’t touch you.

"Goddamn tease," he rasps, his hips jerking when you shift lower, your breath feather-light where he wants it most.

You let the silence stretch, your tongue flicking out, just barely tracing the thick vein running along his cock. He sucks in a sharp breath through his teeth, muscles locking up like steel cables.

"Fuck, sweetheart," he hisses, tugging at the restraints again, but they hold. He’s at your mercy. "Quit playin’."

You tilt your head, lashes low, fingers ghosting up his thighs. "Make me. Oops, that's right, you can't."

The growl that rumbles from his chest is deep, primal. His arms flex, a warning, but he’s stuck right where you want him. Helpless. Desperate.

You take your time, dragging your tongue along the length of him, savoring the way he twitches, curses, his head falling back against the pillow. His hands clench into fists above him, but he can’t do a damn thing about it.

His breathing is rough, labored, the heat rolling off him like a furnace.

"Jesus fuckin’ Christ, woman," he groans, his voice almost breaking when you hollow your cheeks around him, sinking down slowly.

His control is slipping. His cock throbs in your mouth, his hips trying to jerk up, but you press a firm hand against his stomach, holding him down.

"Shit—doll—"

You pull back just enough to meet his eyes, lips wet, mouth curved in a wicked little smile. His chest heaves, green eyes burning.

"You’re playin’ a dangerous game," he growls.

"Am I?" your voice drips with sarcasm, you clearly enjoying it too much.

His thighs are trembling beneath your hands, his cock twitching in your grip, veins bulging along his forearms as he fights against the ropes. You’ve got him right where you want him—strung tight, wrecked, teetering on the edge.

And you’re not done yet.

You make the Soldier Boy come apart while you watch it—feel it, in the way his body strains, muscles trembling, sweat rolling down his abs in thin rivulets. His cock is thick, swollen, slick with your spit, twitching against your palm as you stroke him slowly. Agonizing.

You think you've never seen him like this and you even dare to say that maybe he's never been like this.

"You fuckin' brat," he growls, voice wrecked, thick with something dark and desperate. "Untie me, and I swear to God, I'm gonna—"

You pull off him with a filthy pop, licking your lips as you meet his furious, lust-drunk gaze. His wrists are raw where he's tugged at the restraints, his knuckles flexing like he wants to wrap them around your throat and fuck you breathless.

"You’ll what?" You drag your nails down his thighs, pressing just hard enough to sting. "Hurt me?" Your smirk is lazy, teasing. "Wouldn't be the first time."

His chest rises sharply, those thick arms flexing again. "You're fuckin' evil."

You hum in agreement, shifting up his body, dragging your soaked core over the length of him. His whole body jerks at the friction, teeth clenching so tight you think they might crack.

"So goddamn tease," he spits, his voice a guttural rasp. "Bet that little cunt’s already dripping, huh? So fuckin’ greedy."

You rock against him again, slow, deliberately cruel, letting the slick slide off your folds coat every thick inch of his cock. He twitches, the head of it catching against your clit just right, making your breath hitch.

"You wanna find out?" you murmur, rolling your hips again.

His arms yank hard at the ropes. You know he wants to grab you, to flip you over and fuck you so deep you forget your own name, but he can't. You’ve made sure of it.

His nostrils flare, those sharp green eyes locked on where your bodies meet, watching the way you drag yourself over him, the way your slick glistens on his skin.

"Fuck, sweetheart—" His head falls back against the pillows, his hips jerking up like he’s lost control of his own body. "You’re killin’ me."

You smirk, sliding up his torso until you’re straddling his chest, your dripping cunt hovering just above his face. His jaw tightens, nostrils flaring as he takes in the scent of you, the heat of you.

"That’s the idea," you purr.

His tongue darts out, hungry, desperate, but you stay just out of reach.

"Goddamn it," he snarls, frustration burning in his eyes. "Sit that pretty little pussy on my fuckin' face before I break these goddamn ropes and do it myself."

Your core clenches at the raw heat in his voice, at the way his fingers are flexing like he’s imagining them buried deep inside you.

"Beg me," you whisper.

His head jerks up, eyes flashing, like he might snap, but then—then his lips curl into something wicked, something sharp.

"Fucking. Please." It’s a growl, low and menacing, but there’s desperation beneath it, an ache he can’t hide.

And that's what you were waiting for.

You sink down onto his mouth, and Soldier Boy groans like a man starved. His tongue drags through your folds, hot and slick, before wrapping around your clit and sucking hard.

"Fuck," you gasp, fingers tangling in his thick hair, holding him in place—not that he needs it. He’s already devouring you, licking into you like he needs it to breathe. "Such a good boy."

His beard scrapes against your thighs, the rough burn mixing with the wet heat of his mouth, sending shivers up your spine. His tongue flicks, curls, fucks into you, and you grind against him, chasing the friction, riding his face like you own it.

His moans are guttural, vibrating against your clit, and you swear you see stars. You feel his hips jerking beneath you, his cock throbbing, untouched, desperate, leaking all over his stomach.

"Shit—" Your breath hitches, body trembling, that coil tightening, tightening, ready to snap.

And then—you pull back.

His head jerks up, lips slick with your arousal, panting like a rabid fucking animal.

"You fuckin' bitch," he growls, yanking at the ropes so hard you almost hear the fibers snap.

You grin, sliding back down his body, pressing your soaked heat against the aching length of his cock. He curses under his breath, head falling back, body tense as a bowstring.

"You gonna behave?" you murmur, dragging your nails over his chest.

His jaw clenches, muscles flexing.

And then—then, in a voice rough and wrecked and furious—

"Fuck no."

And that’s when the ropes snap.

𖤐 reblogs and feedback are appreciated! requests are also welcome, ty!

⛥ main masterlist.

lina's notes: yeah... I'm so not normal about him. I think this might be the dirtiest thing I've ever written?? idk but I actually felt embarrassed posting this lol I'm not confident at all.

This idea happened because after rewatching the boys I saw an edit of Soldier Boy with this song and wow I already knew what I had to write. Despite everything and me being very insecure, I hope it met you guys expectations and that it messed with you in the best way yk... and that you genuinely enjoyed it!!

tags: @blossomingorchids @rositaslabyrinth @cowboysandcigarettes @soldiersgirl @bluemerakis @h8aaz @figthoughts @jasvtsc @maddie0101 @bejeweledinterludes @starzify @gibson-g1rl @losers-clvb (let me know if you want to be added or removed <3)

purple divider made by @elleisdesigning <3

[str4wb3rrysw3etheart]

HII!!

SOOO.. i decided to start writing!! For the eltingville club! (They would hate me but shh..) I ran out of fics in a day.. so I'm doing God's work and supplying 🫡 (i actually have experience writing fics but got logged out of that accouht... and it was a different Fandom so good luck)

Anyway enough of my background stuff, here's fem! dating headcannons for all of the eltingville boys, plus a poly one 👅

Cw! SFW BUT SUGGESTIVE STUFF SAID BEYOND THIS POINT! Like lowkey could ne nsfw to someone but not to me.. Bill is still kinda a misogynist, but nicer. Pete is a little freak. I have a small preference for writing bill ... so sorry if his is longer 💔 pete has little siblings , poly is shorter bc I ran out of ideas 💔

˚　　　　✦　　　.　　. 　 ˚　.　　　　　 . ✦　　　 　˚　　　　 . ★⋆. ࿐࿔ 　　　.   　　˚　　 　　*　　 　　✦　　　.　　.　　　✦　˚ 　　　　 ˚　.˚　　　　✦　　　.　　. 　 ˚　.

Bill

♡He .. to put it nicely sucks at most things. He's never done this before! Give him a break.. he gifts you small things from time to time that corelate to your interests, saying something like "here women god .."

♡He hates the club seeing you. He'll brag about you sure, but he doesn't want their filthy eyes to see you. He knows where they'd be looking

♡He isn't the best at affection so he'll normally just keep his arm around you, or hand on your thigh. He doesn't know what women like be nice to him

♡Will rant for HOURS about his interests, if you share some, he'll then quiz you about the lore , calling you fake if you mess up. He's a "Name five characters" type of man..

♡He starts to shower and use chapstick more, brushes his hair, the whole nine yards. But only if he knows you're coming to see him. He doesn't find showering necessary

♡Tries to be a manly macho man (he's failing). He wants you to rely on him because "that's a man's job" , even if you end up having him rely on you..

♡He dreams about you. In starteck outfits, in starwars, saving you from the big bad guy, he can't stop! Sometimes, if he's feeling nice, he'll look away from any boob's that the guys end up showing on movies.

♡Has a small staring problem.. he can't help it! Tits that are all his? And aren't imaginary? Jackpot! He's a pervert I'm sorry!

Pete

♡He is definitely always horny.. groping is his love language.

♡Shows you SO many horror movies, and purposely tries to scare you so he can seem 'manly' and cuddle you better

♡He LOVES watching you squirm, knowing you're so vurnable and grossed out/uncomfortable, it does something, but he will stop whatever movie he's watching if it gets too far

♡Will struggle with romance, like he doesn't wanna be seen doing basic normie shit. He wants any gifts or romantic gestures to be special... which normally ends up with a concerning amount of fake? Blood covering the both of you.

♡Loves to watch you cook, and I mean LOVES it. He loves watching you in an apron or even just clothes doing things like a house wife, he loves it.

♡Good with some kids.. (ex his little siblings) but leave him alone with them and you're ASKING for trauma for those poor kids.

♡If you're mentally ill? Great! He loves it, He's into some weird things.. but if you genuinely need comfort he'll try

♡Halloween is sacred to him and you WILL do matching costumes or he will ignore you for the whole night

Josh

♡One of the softer ones out of the boys

♡Everything and Everyone else is so mean amd rough , that he just wants both of you to be sweet and cuddle, he wants you to love him just as much as he loves you

♡He'll banter with you, but will never try to go too far, insecure that you'll leave him.

♡He only yells if he's very mad, he sucks at apologizing though.. so good luck on that part

♡He is so used to everyone being against him, that if you are just on his side, he's head over heels

♡He can't fight for the life of him, the other boys being the only thing that's as weak as him. But he will certainly threaten anyone who's mean to you

♡Gets embarrassed very easily, and tries to best to hide it, point it out and he gets even worse.. he was probably staring at your tits or something

♡He actively tries to have better hygiene for you, and his mom LOVES you for it. She thinks your a saint sent to help her son, and so you are very loved in that house.

Jerry

♡He is definitely the nicest out of all the boys, being gentle, almost treating you like a figure, something to be protected, but one that actually is a person!

♡Definitely rants about future plans in D&D to you, however if you play, he tries not to spoil it, push him and he'll crack though.

♡Loves for you to help him act out the scenes he plans , so he knows if they flow right

♡He loves to get you little gifts, and hide them around where you'll find them.

♡He may be sweeter but he's still like the other boys , has a tendency to whine when under pressure, and a HORRIBLE decision maker, just make them for him atp

♡He tries to be respectful about you and your body, not wanting to upset you, this is the only girl who has ever looked at him, he's so glad for this

♡Cosplays couples with you, like link and Zelda, peach and Mario, ect ect

♡Blushes easily, but LOVES to see you blush, just watching your cheeks tint from something he did? Exhilarating

Poly

♡I imagine, they all date you, they are NOT dating eachother, that's gay. (I'm bi dw)

♡Giving attention is like rolling a dice, get a low roll and they all decide that now NEED attention or they will DIE.

♡They all love to make you voice whatever girl they end up saving in d&d

♡They all will whine like toddlers if you can't make it to a meeting

♡If you all are watching a movie, you will be in the middle, no ifs, ands, or buts, about it.

˚　　　　✦　　　.　　. 　 ˚　.　　　　　 . ✦　　　 　˚　　　　 . ★⋆. ࿐࿔ 　　　.   　　˚　　 　　*　　 　　✦　　　.　　.　　　✦　˚ 　　　　 ˚　.˚　　　　✦　　　.　　. 　 ˚　.

.

.

.

And suddenly my ideas ran away

[bambieyedoll]

⋆·˚ ༘ * JACOB BLACK HEADCANONS 𐚁̸.ᐟ

𐙚 jacob and you are having a baby

jacob knows something’s up— he notices right away that you’ve been acting different.

you’re more tired than usual, feeling queasy in the mornings, and turning your nose up at foods you normally love.

one night, while you’re curled up on the couch, he nudges you gently. “you feeling okay, baby? you’ve been acting kinda off lately.”

the pack teases him because he starts getting paranoid. embry snickers, “dude, maybe she’s pregnant.” jacob rolls his eyes at first, but then the thought sticks.

he starts watching you even more closely. the next time you run to the bathroom after breakfast, his stomach drops.

you weren’t sure how to bring it up, especially since this wasn’t exactly planned. but after taking multiple tests (because one wasn’t enough for you to believe it), you know you have to tell him.

you sit him down, fidgeting with your fingers, heart pounding. “jake… i have to tell you something.”

his protective instincts kick in immediately. “what? what’s wrong?” you take a deep breath and whisper, “i’m— i’m pregnant.”

jacob just… freezes. his eyes widen, his mouth opens slightly, but no words come out. it’s the first time you’ve ever seen him completely speechless.

“wait… seriously?” he blinks rapidly, like he’s trying to process it. “you’re serious? we’re—?” you nod, watching his reaction carefully.

there’s the softest, most overwhelmed look on his face— his expression shifts from shock to awe.

his gaze drops to your stomach, then back up to your eyes, as if he’s trying to fully comprehend that his baby is growing inside you.

jacob isn’t the type to cry easily, but his throat tightens. he lets out a soft, breathless laugh, running a hand through his hair.

“we’re having a baby?” he repeats it like he’s trying to make it real. when you nod again, his face breaks into the biggest smile.

he drops to his knees in front of you, placing his hands on your stomach—even though there’s no bump yet. his voice is a whisper, full of love and disbelief. “our baby’s in there?”

he surges up, cupping your face and kissing you deeply, murmuring “i love you” between every kiss. then he presses a soft kiss to your stomach, resting his forehead against it for a moment, completely overwhelmed.

after the initial shock, jacob won’t stop smiling. he pulls you into his arms, practically lifting you off the ground. “we’re gonna be parents, babe! holy sht—i’m gonna be a dad!”

the pack hears him freak out.

a few minutes later, you hear a commotion outside as jacob literally sprints out of the house, yelling, “I’M GONNA BE A DAD!” the pack stares at him like he’s lost it, while embry and quil crack up. “well, there goes our eardrums.”

at first, he’s just running on pure adrenaline and excitement, but once things settle down, it really starts sinking in.

he refuses to let you do anything— “baby, sit down. i’ll get it.” “no, no, don’t carry that—i’ll do it.” the protectiveness starts immediately, and you know he’s going to be insufferable for the next nine months.

at some point, the shock turns into smug pride. he’ll walk around with his chest puffed out, looking ridiculously pleased.

if anyone so much as looks at you, he grins and announces, “yeah, that’s my girl. and she’s having my kid.” the pack just groans.

even though there’s no bump yet, he always falls asleep with his hand over your stomach, like he’s already protecting the baby.

sometimes, he murmurs in his sleep, things like “my family” and lots of “love you” and you just melt right there and then.

he immediately insists on turning the spare room into a nursery. even though you’re barely pregnant, he’s already talking about color schemes and crib options.

you joke, “honey, the baby is the size of a bean.” he just shrugs. “yeah, but bean’s gonna need a room.”

jacob never thought he’d be looking up pregnancy books, but now he’s watching videos on baby development and googling “what foods are safe for pregnancy.” he wants to know everything so he can take care of you properly.

he starts making a list of names that same week. he takes it very seriously. “what about—wait, no, too weird. oh! what about this one?” you roll your eyes. “jake, we have months to decide.” he grins. “yeah, but i wanna get a head start.”

no matter what he’s doing, if you need something, he’s on it. patrol? he’ll wrap it up fast. mid-conversation? he’s already halfway out the door if you call his name.

if you get a craving in the middle of the night? say less. jacob is already grabbing his keys. “pickles and ice cream? you’re sure about this?” he pauses, eyeing you. “…never mind, dumb question. i’ll be back in ten minutes.”

one time, you casually mentioned wanting ice cream, and fifteen minutes later, he burst into the room, breathless, holding two tubs. “chocolate and vanilla. just in case. and sprinkles. thought i’d cover all the bases.”

the pack is used to jacob being a bit reckless, but now? he’s the one lecturing them. “watch where you’re running! y/n is right there.” if you so much as wince, he’s on high alert. “what? what’s wrong? does something hurt?”

quil teases him relentlessly. “dude, she’s pregnant, not made of glass.” jacob glares. “yeah, well, i’m not taking any chances.”

he texts you from patrol with a simple “miss you. you and baby doing okay?” even if he’s exhausted, he always makes sure you feel loved.

he tries to act all tough, but the second he thinks about how you’re having his baby, his heart melts. he’ll randomly wrap his arms around you from behind, resting his hands on your stomach. “you really have no idea how much i love you.”

he acts like it’s no big deal, but then you catch him getting way too excited over tiny onesies.

“babe. look at this. it has little wolves on it. we have to get it.” he also insists on getting one with a motorcycle on it, claiming it’s never too early to start teaching them about bikes.

jacob gets weirdly sentimental. one night, you find him sitting on the couch, holding an old baby picture of himself and other of you.

when you ask what he’s doing, he sighs. “just thinking about how our kid will look like. the perfect mix of us.” he shakes his head with a grin. “god, i really hope they get your nose.”

the first time the baby kicks, he’s obsessed. but when they only seem to kick when he’s not around? he pouts. “oh, so you’ll kick for mommy but not for me? that’s cool. real nice.” you laugh because the second he starts talking to your belly again, the baby kicks immediately.

jacob knows pregnancy is rough on you, so he’s always giving you massages. feet, shoulders, back—whatever you need.

he’ll rub soothing circles over your lower back when you wince, murmuring, “i got you, babe. just relax.” and if you’re extra sore? he’ll have you sit between his legs while he massages your hips, placing gentle kisses along your shoulder.

one of the best perks? jacob is basically a furnace, and when you get those pregnancy chills or aching muscles, he’s got you.

he’ll wrap himself around you, rubbing soothing circles on your back. “feeling better, sweetheart?”

jacob loves your baby bump. the moment your baby bump shows undeniably, he’s obsessed with it. he kisses it, rests his head on it, and just marvels at it.

he talks to your belly all the time. “hey, little one. hope you’re being nice to your mommy in there.” sometimes, you wake up to him murmuring sleepy promises against your skin. “can’t wait to meet you.”

he brings you flowers just because. he surprises you with your favorite snacks. takes you on little dates totally personalized for your comfort and the baby’s.

pregnancy makes you exhausted, moody, and uncomfortable at times, but jacob never makes you feel anything but adored. he’s constantly kissing your forehead, running his hands over your back, and telling you how amazing you are. “you’re incredible, you know that?”

when he sees the baby on the screen for the first time, he just stares. he squeezes your hand, his eyes a little wide. “that’s… that’s our baby.”

he’s so overwhelmed he doesn’t even notice the tear slipping down his cheek until you brush it away with a soft laugh.

during the final pregnancy stages, you start nesting and jacob is both amused and stressed. you want to rearrange the nursery at 2 AM? he groans but still helps you move the crib.

“babe, you realize we already moved this, like, three times, right?” but he does it anyway, because you’re glowing and happy, and he’s weak for you.

he thought he’d be cool and collected, but the second you gasp and say, “honey… i think it’s happening,” he freezes. “oh—oh sht. okay. okay, we got this. no big deal. just—deep breaths, baby. i mean, i should— you’re—oh my god, okay, i’ll get the bag.”

labor is hell, and jacob can’t stand seeing you hurt.

he holds your hand the entire time, his voice low and reassuring. “you’re doing amazing, sweetheart. just a little longer, okay?” he presses shaky kisses to your forehead between contractions, murmuring how much he loves you.

the second your baby is placed in his arms and he’s completely sure you’re okay, jacob is a goner. his voice is barely above a whisper. “hi, baby… it’s your dad.” his eyes shine with emotion, and he looks between you and the baby like you just handed him the whole world. “oh, you’re perfect.”

he was always in love with you, but seeing you as a mom? it ruins him.

one night, as he watches you rocking the baby to sleep, he just shakes his head in awe. “god, you’re gorgeous,” he murmurs, reaching for your hand.

you look up at him with a smile and hold his hand as he carefully steps closer to hug you and the baby safe in his arms.

[manic-sapphic]

i feel fairly certain prime had absolutely no intention of making chipped catra kill adora. nah. if anything, he chipped catra hoping he could cause adora to accidentally kill catra out of reflexive instinct.

like how catra takes a gnarly swift swipe with her claws at adora's neck just seconds after launching at her. she misses the first big swing and i can't help thinking it's no chance or luck on adora's part that catra's claws don't connect either.

cause he knew how badly it would break adora if he could force her to kill catra. i mean, just look at her expression after she reacts to catra's jump attack with a heavy punch to her face. adora had only said it moments before - "i don't wanna hurt you" - and she meant it. and i think prime was doing his best to take advantage of that.

he was pushing adora into a corner, tryna freak her out enough to do just that - hurt catra. then at some point i think adora gets extra stressed cause she realizes if prime can't get her to hurt catra - he'll just make catra hurt herself.

hurt adora? sure. maim adora? why not. but prime needed her alive. catra though? catra had gotten one over on him & laughed in his face. i think using her for this was just prime tryna have a lil fun killing two birds with one stone. but quite literally for catra.

i think he was just hoping to kill adora's spirit by making her do it. but adora strove to snap catra out of it & catra fought that chip till her entire body was shaking from how hard she was trying to keep control. the chip's influence over catra just couldn't compete with the power of their love for each other.

which was "disappointing. some creatures are destined only for destruction."

implying, to me, that since catra broke through the chip & adora obviously had helped get through to her on an even deeper level, prime no longer saw catra as a bargaining tool or of any use in controlling adora. he'd lost any kinda firm hold on catra's mind.

so he decides to go ahead and get rid of her. if he couldn't get adora to do it, he still wanted to make her watch while he did.

and eh -- big mistake. huge.

<3

[nutellatoppingsbread]

Taco sketches + closeups!! I drew these a couple weeks ago and posted them on my AO3 doodle-book, and I wrote lore for it back then too! Let me just copy-paste what I wrote there :3 (warning its very long)

ANYWAYS BRAINROT LORE IDEA DUMP:

when Mephone4 was coming up with the idea of a villain, he always saw red to be perceived as bad, so to sneak in little easter eggs that he thought was smart, he gave her red tomato earrings that have been the only consistent part of her clothing from S1-S2. In S1, he had her wearing a bunch of greens and yellows because those seem like happy colors right!! and her blonde hair was much more golden and bright blonde in S1 too. (this is meant to be hairdye, as her natural hair is the dull blonde)

now get this angst idea: he saw cobs as a villain in his eyes, so thats why he created her with the yellows and greens as her primary outfit in S1. because cobs didnt seem evil, and it slowly snuck up on you, and hes got yellow and green as his primary color palette right?? (in the human au hes got dirty blonde hair and a green suit with green eyes) so he took partial inspiration from TV and partial inspiration from cobs.

basically, in his mind, red seems like the obvious villain color. and green and yellow are the happy colors. but cobs had green and yellow and he was still evil right? so thats how he got the idea for a twist villain! 

I like to imagine that mephone definitely had the 'reveal her as a villain' thing set in like an automatic code command. After she ran into the forest and the day ended, her coding registered the command, and she woke up the next day wearing those clothes out of nowhere, and her natural dirty blonde roots were given the green light to start growing naturally. Also! being in the forest will definitely ruin the clothes, riiiight? so when she's up on the floaty thingy and taking over the challenge in ep 15, her clothes are obviously tarnished. but after reviving, she's wearing the SAME exact thing, but they're brand new. going to show how the 'villain' clothes were her coded default outfit. (btw for the hair, beforehand, he coded the golden blonde as hairdye and her natural hair growth was paused, and made it so once the villain reveal command registered, the dirty blonde was set to start growing naturally.)

and now after the finale, there's little things left and right that Taco notices and gets stuck on, like the exaggerated bright emerald green in her eyes, the way her teeth are naturally very sharp, and how her hair seems incredibly dull and bland looking- unlike some others who have dirty blonde hair, hers is unnaturally very very dull. of course, theres nothing wrong with this hair color, but she's severely insecure about it once she realizes it was coded apart of her villain characteristics. she sticks to wearing duller colors to not stand out, because she hates having eyes on her as she is now entirely self aware of what is going on (unlike before where everyone was kinda mindless lines of code at one point)

and the final nail in the coffin: when they all get restored and are standing right in front of cobs, Taco immediately notices how similar she looks to that man. they have the same hair, eyes, skin, demeanor, expressions, almost everything. she immediately is hit by a freaking bus of realization that she was based off a man as horrible as him, and that is one of the final blows for her mental health. It was bad enough that her entire existence and very being was based off a negative personality trait, it's even worse to know that she was created with cobs in mind.

[gotyouanyway]

your alien travelling companion takes you to his home planet where everyone's a bunch of asshole freaks who remind you a lot of the people who you grew up hating bc they were at war with your people, and your friend is being weird and evil so you get taken away by a guard who's kinda handsome but he takes your knife and then suddenly he's helping you pick out an outfit for a ceremony? and at this point you're kind of going with the flow because you're not really scared of these guys and nobody's actively trying to hurt you so you banter with him a bit to try and learn some things and get your stupid knife back and try to enjoy whatever ceremony this is because what else is there to do, and the guard is just standing there like a faggot which according to your friend is one of the oldest words in your ancestors' language to survive fully unchanged for centuries and anyway it's sorta cute if you're honest and he lets you steal your knife back without a fight because he's clearly kinda smitten and you think it's funny and kinda a show of trust? so you stick with him for the ceremony to return that trust a little not that you owe him or like him or anything, and then a bunch of other crap happens and he turns up with some of his clothes off and his chest hair all hanging out which you didn't know time lords even had but you're into it and then you watch him get shot in the arm without flinching so he doesn't blow your cover which is like an attractiveness atomic bomb to you so obviously you decide to stay on this planet and marry him because honestly? your friend never apologized for being such a fucking dick before and you've had enough

[classica-meretrix]

Hello! Can i request for a draco x reader after the wizarding war when draco is back for hogwarts.

The reader is a pureblood hufflepuff and is the best friend of hannah abbott and ernie macmillan and the golden trio. Draco is bullied snd tormented for the things he had done. Everyone in her year hates draco and even draco’s friends turned their back on him. Draco is just overall miserable.

One day, she saw draco gets bullied badly and the reader stood up for him. He thanked her and asked her for a date.

hi lovely! this one was super fun to write! enjoy ❣

The Aftermath

pairing: draco malfoy x hufflepuff!reader genre: kinda angsty, but it has a sweet ending content/warnings: set after the wizarding war, a lot of threats and accusations of murder, violence, bullying (verbal and physical), use of y/n summary: after the wizarding war the hogwarts students have a year to make up, but tensions still run high a/n: I loved doing the world building for this one!

I stepped off the train with a sigh, already not excited for the coming year, which was an unfamiliar feeling. After the literal torture that was last year, I don't think any of us were eager to repeat it.

"This feels... Odd," Hannah said as she stepped on to the platform.

"Our last first day at Hogwarts—again," I said in reply.

The entire seven-hour train ride here at felt stuffy, and eerily void of the typical excitement. Platform nine and three-quarters had been tense enough, and it didn't seem like the animosity would be fading anytime soon.

Hagrid's voice cut through the air, seemingly impossibly loud through the silence. "First years—er—first first years—new first years, this way!"

As soon as he stopped talking the silence closed in again, even more suffocating than before as the littlest in the crowd pushed the other direction.

I slipped my bag over my shoulder, following Hannah through the slow moving crowd towards where we'd meet the carriages.

We were halfway across the platform when the first incident of the year occurred; A sickeningly familiar voice screaming "murderer" at the top of his lungs.

Most of the crowd spooked, panicked gasps echoing throughout the space, friends rushing to soothe the nerves of those that had begun to spiral. Hannah and I took the opportunity to push through the crowd, swiftly meeting Ernie's side.

"Death eaters!" he spit again, furiously pointing to a small cluster of Slytherins, led my Theodore Nott.

"Ernie, go," I urged, pushing him by the shoulders.

"No!" he fought. "They're murderers! Every last one!"

"Ernie," I tried again. "Drop it. You're freaking people out."

He cast a glance around at the crowd, wide eyed and panicked, before deciding to let me push him out of the way, though he continued to spew hateful words about the Slytherins as we walked.

The carriages were the second issue of our arrival. Students gathered around, speaking in scared whispers.

"It's alright," Luna attempted to placate, her voice as soft as usual as she stepped forward. "They're nothing to worry about."

"They're horrid!" I heard a nearby girl mumbled, her friend near in tears.

"Luna's right," Harry said, immediately drawing the attention of the crowd.

The group in front of me shifted just enough that I could see what held everyone's attention. Each carriage, which usually moved on their own, were hitched with two of some creature that appeared akin to a horse's rotting corpse.

They stood tall, necks held high, almost regal. Their skin was a deep grey colored leather, clinging to thin bones and stretched over large wings. Their eyes seemed to be a simple glow, resting in the depths of the socket, paired with hornlike ears and pointed beaks.

"They're thestrals," Harry continued. "They only appear... To those that have seen death." Another shocked gasp ran through the crowd.

This was going to be a long year

The welcome feast went just about as well as you could expect. I caught up with Harry, Ron, and Hermione after we got out of the carriages, and they all sounded as excited as I was for the coming year.

McGonagall gave her first welcome speech as headmistress, which I thought she did rather well at, but the message seemed to fall on deaf ears. It was just as she had finished saying "Unity is what is most important now, as no matter our past, or our lineage, it is our friends that we need most in trying times such as these," that a group of Gryffindor began shouting at the Slytherins, branding them killers and traitors.

The Slytherins already seemed more scattered than usual. Only maybe half of them returned, and by time the sorting was finished a third of their numbers were first years. They all sat in clustered groups, as if they couldn't even trust their own anymore, and the students that belonged to well-known pureblood or death eater families were left well alone, leaving the likes of Malfoy, Nott, Zabini, and Goyle each in their own large stretch of empty table, as if even interacting with each other would be too damning.

And given the school's reaction to their return, they were probably right.

The next few months passed much the same as the first night had, blame and spite falling on the shoulders of the Slytherins. They were cornered and berated, or occasionally, hexed or pummeled. It wasn't uncommon to find the lower years crying in secluded hallways.

According to Ernie, he thought they deserved it. "Lying killing bastards," he said one night in the common room. "Every last one of them."

"Don't you think that's a little harsh?" I questioned.

"No," Hannah said bluntly. "Half of them still have that blasted mark on their arms."

I knew better than to bring up the fact that it wasn't exactly removable, but she wasn't wrong. Most of the Slytherins in our year had returned, purely in an act of good faith from their parents, trying to cover their tracks as best they could. Majority of them wore strictly long sleeves, and it wasn't difficult to guess why.

"If I could just get my hands on one of those little rats—"

"I'm going to bed," I stated, cutting Ernie off. "Goodnight," I said before turning towards the dorm. I couldn't listen to any more of their threats and violent promises.

I walked out of the library, Madam Pince, locking the door behind me. It was just before curfew, and I would have to hurry if I wanted to reach the common room in time.

I had made it to the ground floor by time I heard voices, seemingly coming from the dungeon steps. I cautiously turned the corner to see Ernie, Zacharias Smith, and Seamus Finnigan crowded around something at the top of the stairs.

Zach gave whatever it was a sharp kick, earning a pained groan.

Merlin, it's a person.

"Hey!" I yelled, storming over to them. "What the hell do you think you three pricks are doing?"

They all spun around, Ernie stepping forward. "Nothing, Y/N. Go to the common room."

"Alright," I said, crossing my arms. "Let's go."

"This doesn't concern you," he tried again, his tone becoming more hostile.

"As one of your best friends, I think whoever you're beating up does concern me."

Ernie sighed, stepping out of my way. By now he knew it was no use to fight with me.

I gasped, seeing Draco crumpled on the floor. "For Merlin's sake!" I rushed to his side, checking for any immediate injuries. His hand was clutched over his stomach, his face covered in cuts and already forming bruises.

"He's just some Slytherin scum," Ernie spit.

"The worse of them," Seamus added.

"Go," I ordered over my shoulder. "None of you are helping."

They all looked like I had personally wounded them, before stalking back off to their respective common rooms, leaving me on my own to force Draco into a sitting position.

"Are you okay," I asked. "Scratch that, you clearly aren't. Is there something I can get you?"

He didn't answer, leaning back against the wall. He wouldn't meet my eyes and was slow to move. I was starting to worry he had a concussion of some sort.

"Draco, do you need to see Madam Pomfrey?"

He shook his head slowly. "Why did you help me?" he asked.

"What?"

"Anyone else in the school would've let them beat me to a pulp." His voice was rough and gravely.

"Because I'm not a monster."

The word seemed to strike a chord, causing Draco to flinch at it.

"I mean, I don't think all Slytherins are bad."

"That's a... Noble take on the situation. Sure you aren't a Gryffindor?"

I let out a soft laugh, moving to sit next to him along the wall. "No, no. Hufflepuff all the way."

A silence fell over us, but something was different about it. It was... Comfortable, so unlike the tense air I had become accustomed to over the past few months. I couldn't help but notice Draco's fingertips coming to tug on the edge of his sleeve, pulling the fabric further down his skin.

"You don't have to hide it," I said as softly as I could, yet the words still seemed to spook him.

"It doesn't... Freak you out?"

"It's just a tattoo now. Nothing to be scared of."

His hand fell back into his lap, his eyes trained on the hem.

"I'm sorry about Crabbe," I said, cursing myself as soon as the words slipped past my lips.

"What?" he asked, finally meeting my eyes.

"H—Harry told me. About the room of requirement. I'm sorry about what happened to Crabbe."

"Oh," he said, wearing that same melancholy expression he always seemed to have now.

"I shouldn't have brought that up. I'm sorry," I hurriedly apologized.

"No, don't be. I'm sick of people trying to tiptoe around what happened. Thank you."

"You're welcome," I muttered, this time being the one to stare down at my hands. "Are you sure you're okay?"

"I've been worse."

"Please let me take you to Madam Pomfrey."

Draco was silent for a moment before nodding, letting me help him to his feet. "Thank you," he said again. "I—I didn't think I was going to get out of that easily."

"I'd hardly say you made it out easy, but you wouldn't have made it very far anyway," I said, referencing the way he leaned on me as he walked.

"Yeah," he said with a feeble laugh. "This might be... Unorthodox, given the current situation, but would you maybe want to... Go out some time? Ya know, when I'm not black and blue."

I laughed, pulling his arm over my shoulder to better hold his weight. "I'd love to."

[cowboyshadows]

do you have headcanons on what exactly graves’s kinks are? would love to hear

Whew baby do I EVER. I can't lie, a slow evil grin spread across my face when I saw this. Here ya go - freaky scholarship contrived of my own beautiful mind lol. each headcanon titled so use that as a cw

pet play

omg he a freak FREAK. always trying to get his belt wrapped around your neck tbh. loves making you crawl around the house to suck his dick. calling you puppy, which also plays into his breeding kink - because of course it does. gonna fill you up with my pups, okay, baby? such a good bitch for me. idk if y'all are up for it but i could get started on fluffy tail butt plugs 😳

2. anal

not really a kink i guess? but he loves it. rimming you, fingering you in your ass with another in your pussy, and fucking you in it. makes him feel like he's doing something wrong which just turns him on to no bounds. doggystyle has his gaze lazer focused on your plucked hole, too. if you tell him to pull out during sex, he'll do it - only to push himself in ur ass instead and cum there 🥰

3. which brings me to CREAMPIES

somebody stop him. the only reason he can't get his missus pregnant is because she's already pregnant. SNIP THAT VAS DEFERENS!!!!!!!!!! but yeah he hates condoms lol. loves the feeling of his cock twitching and spurting inside you. pulling out to watch your hole drip with his cum. he's a gentleman, so of course he's gonna clean you up. so what if it's with his tongue? real chefs aren't afraid to taste their own meal IM GONNA GET BLOCKED LMAOOO

4. knight in shining armour

OHHH you just KNOW he gets his rocks off of being needed. outside of bed, not entirely sexual, mostly. he likes it when you play damsel in distress and the person whose help you ask for is him. in bed, when you're riding him and get tired. keep going, baby. just one more, yeah? that's like a good girl. if you get tired, he'll let you lean back on his thighs. maybe fuck up into you a little.

5. foot stuff

don't have much more to add to this since the last post abt it but yeah. he's a big fan now. loves seeing you in open toed shoes especially, gives him a boner right away.

6. slapping

not slapping you, more like you slapping him. he wants you to be coarse with him sometimes, especially right after deployment. call him commander patronisingly, yank his hair when you're riding his face, SLAP HIM. you're gonna have him whimpering in a matter of minutes. he'll still slap you with his dick though.

7. through the clothes stuff

i think he's a huge fan of dry humping. probably the kinda guy that can cum if you're sexy enough with your mouth over his boxers - which, let's face it, you are. he loves being teased and held back from something that's soooo close. loves it when you tease him for what a pathetic little mess he's made of himself, because he's gonna make you clean it up.

[snippybaby]

OK, enough people were interested in the Trent Reznor/Richard Patrick fanfic for me to post it, behold, below the cut.

Content note: explicit sex, hypothetical mention of SA, homophobic slurs

Up Above It / Down In It

“And in all honesty, me and Trent had a sexual tension all the time. He won’t admit it, but we used to make out for fun at clubs and stuff. But it got to the point where we were at the Sharon Tate house, and he was making out with me and I got a boner and he got a boner, and he didn’t know what to do, and he ran away.” – Richard Patrick

It’s one thing when they’re out at a club, and drunk, and showing off. Because that’s all it is, right? Showing off. A way to say fuck you, so what if we are faggots, why do you care? It’s for attention, it’s for shock value. When they’re out. But right now, they’re at the Tate house, the closest thing Trent has to a home, and they’re not drunk – they’ve had a few beers, but they’re not drunk – and no one’s around to see it and be shocked or grossed out or whatever. Someone’s in the studio – Richard isn’t even sure who, some guys Trent met a few days ago who he said could record here, even Trent doesn’t seem certain who they are – but they’re busy. Besides, if anyone else comes in, any of their friends or Trent’s hangers-on who drift in and out of this place, they’re not going to freak out. They’re used to it. They’d probably just roll their eyes. The idea that it’s just a joke, it doesn’t mean anything, is a polite fiction at this point, if anyone ever believed it in the first place. Rich isn’t sure whether he ever believed it himself. He’s not gay. He’s sure of that. The thought of fucking another man, in the abstract, is not appealing to him, and yeah he’s thought about it, who hasn’t? But he’s discovered there’s a difference between the abstract, and the reality of a lean body pressed against his, stubble scraping against his face, a tongue in his mouth. Trent kisses with a lot of tongue. It’s sloppy, it’s messy, not like most of the girls Rich has been with who are more tentative, reserved even when things are getting heavy. There was this one girl who wasn’t like that, she was more aggressive, it was fun, but she turned out to be a dyke. That’s who Trent reminds him of the most, which probably means something that Rich can’t really work out. 

It’s hot. A summer afternoon in LA. Both of them are sweating and never changed out of yesterday’s clothes, and they absolutely stink, but Rich likes it. It’s primal. It bypasses his brain, which is how this happened anyway, he’s not even entirely sure how it happened, one moment they were sitting on the couch, talking about some godawful movie that was on TV last night, then suddenly Trent’s on top of him. That’s always how it seems. That it’s just something that happens, like the weather. No point trying to stop it. Trent is growing his hair out, and it’s long enough to grab now so Rich does that, makes a fist and pulls on it slightly, and Trent seems to like it, he puts his hand underneath Rich’s t-shirt and scratches a little by his spine, which feels real good, and they’re so close it’s no wonder Rich is getting hard, that’s just a natural physical reaction. Then Trent’s getting hard too, their boners are touching, rubbing against each other through shorts and underwear, and it feels weird, kinda funny, really. Not bad. Definitely not bad. But Trent pulls away.

“Sorry, man,” he says, “I’m not – I’m not gay.” His hands are folded in his lap, covering his erection like a schoolboy caught out in class.

“I know,” says Rich, “neither am I.”

“Yeah.” Trent gets up. “I should… I’m gonna…” Gonna go, gonna leave, gonna hide in the bathroom and freak out probably. Rich surprises himself by reaching out and grabbing Trent’s wrist. Because fuck, why does Trent always get to start this and then not follow through? He stands up. He’s taller than Trent, and jerks him closer to make that even more apparent, looking down at him. Trent squirms.

“Let me go.” But he’s not really trying to break free. He could, if he wanted to. Rich tightens his grip.

“You’re such a fucking cocktease. I’m sick of it.” It’s true. It’s probably the first time he’s been honest with himself or anyone else about the situation.

“What are you gonna do?” He spits it out like a challenge, but that bravado, never very convincing, is wavering. Rich doesn’t answer. He doesn’t actually know. But he pulls and pushes Trent, who is still making a show of objecting, if someone came across them it really would look like Rich is about to rape him or something, into one of the bedrooms and shuts the door. He lets him go. Trent doesn’t try to run. So Rich kisses him again, then pushes him onto the bed.

“I’m going to fuck you.” It’s only as he says it that he knows this for certain.

“What if I want to fuck you?”

“I don’t care.”

Trent nods and stretches out with his arms above his head, arching his back like a cat. He’s wearing a baggy tank top and Rich can see his ribs as he flexes.

“There’s condoms…” he gestures towards the bedside table. 

“I know.” Rich unbuttons Trent’s shorts and pulls them down roughly, along with his underwear, throwing them to one side. Trent’s still hard, and Rich puts a hand around his cock, not jerking him off, just feeling the weirdness of having someone else’s dick in his hand, same but different to his own. Trent makes a sound, a kind of stutter. It’s fucking sexy. There’s something so vulnerable about him, there always is, and Rich gets now what’s really going on when Trent is throwing himself around on stage, breaking instruments, telling the crowd to fuck off. He’s daring someone to put him in his place. Rich gets rid of his own shorts and boxers – maybe it’s not gay if neither of them are fully naked – and fumbles around in the drawer for a condom. He tells Trent to turn over as he puts it on, and Trent does so, hugging the pillow and turning his head to one side, eyes closed like he’s waiting for a massage. Rich doesn’t like how passive he’s being all of a sudden. He slaps Trent’s ass hard, and Trent looks over his shoulder.

“Ow,” he hisses, “What was that for?”

“Shut up.” He pulls Trent’s hips back and there he is, Trent Reznor, fast becoming one of the world’s most notorious rock stars, face down, ass up. Rich hesitates. You’re supposed to use lube for anal, he learned that the hard way with a freaky ex-girlfriend, but there isn’t any except what’s on the condom. Without really thinking, he spits on Trent’s asshole. He realises it won’t do much to help, but it’s kind of satisfying in its own way. He decides not to worry about it too much. Trent says stuff all the time implying that he’s into S&M, bragging about it almost, so if it hurts he’s either going to be into it or too proud to let on that he isn’t. Rich enters him then, and Trent groans.

“Fuck.” There’s pain there for sure, he’s tight, but he’s pushing back for more too, and Rich starts to thrust, slowly at first, but it doesn’t take long before they’re both warmed up. It’s not too different to fucking a girl, except he doesn’t feel like he needs to be gentle at all, or nice, and there’s something freeing about that.

“Fucking faggot.” Rich doesn’t know where that came from, he’s ashamed of it as soon as it comes out of his mouth, but it gets a reaction — Trent makes a noise like he’s about to come.

“Say that again.” His voice is muffled by the pillow he’s pressed his face into. Such a cliche, so obvious for someone who prides himself on going against the grain, getting turned on by what the bullies called him in high school. But Rich can’t claim any superiority there, he gets off on the thought, now being proven, that he’s secretly a faggot too.

“Faggot. You like that faggot? You like getting fucked by a real man?” It’s stupid porn talk, and he’s glad Trent is facing away so he can’t see that Rich’s cheeks are bright red, not from the heat, but it’s working.

“Yeah, I like it. Oh God. Fuck.” He starts to move his hand underneath himself to jerk off, but Rich grabs him and pins his arm beside his head again. Trent fights back, more seriously this time. “Fuck you, man, come on.” Rich leans forward and puts his arm across the back of Trent’s neck, putting all his weight into it.

“I’m the one fucking you, so be a good fucking faggot boy and take it.” He’s getting into this now, he could get used to it, it’s fun being an asshole. Trent goes pliant, acquiescing, though he still looks furious, clutching a fistful of the sheets so hard his knuckles are white. Rich starts fucking him again, and he’s close. Instinctively he starts to think about how to calm down and draw this out, but there’s no reason to, so he lets himself go instead, coming hard and then collapsing on top of Trent, trapping him underneath him. He bites Trent’s shoulder and he’s not even sure what he’s doing, but it feels good. He can feel Trent moving his hips, fucking the mattress, and Rich rolls over and pushes him onto his back. He takes Trent’s cock in his hand and jerks him off, staring at the ceiling. It doesn’t take long, Trent moaning and whimpering, sounding totally pathetic, to be honest. There’s come on Rich’s hand and he wants to lick it, but wipes it on the sheet instead. They lie next to each other for a while without speaking, as if it will all only become real if they talk about it.

Trent gets up. He sniffs at the come on his shirt and makes a face.

“That was fun. I enjoyed it. I don’t think it should happen again, though, makes things too complicated.”

Rich props himself up on his elbows. “What if I want it to happen again?”

“I’m telling you it won’t.” He’s cold, now, using the same tone as he does in rehearsals when someone fucks up, fucking up being when they do something that isn’t precisely what he wants. He likes to remind the rest of the band, sometimes, that he is their boss, that they’re not a real band. Nine Inch Nails, after all, is Trent Reznor. Rich and the others are just there to make the live shows more interesting. A jolt of disgust goes through Rich. Self-loathing. He thought he was doing what he wanted, but it was only what Trent wanted all along. Now Trent’s done with it, done with him. Curiosity satisfied. Game over. He should have expected this. Trent writes all the music and the rest of them just play what they’re told to play. Why would this be any different? “I’m going to take a shower.” He pulls his shorts on without underwear. “Can you go check if those guys are done in the studio? I want to get in there later.”

“Sure.”

“Thanks.”

It never happens again and they don’t speak about it. Years later, Trent says in an interview that he’s never gone all the way with a man, even though he used to make out with “the guitarist” in his band, unnamed, and all Rich can think is that he’s glad he got out of the orbit of that huge fucking hypocrite.

[plasticflowersinahistorycemetery]

where to start????? zoe... this one hurt. like, truly hurt. unbelievably well-written and so much emotion in there. so freaking immersive, i was holding back tears the moment he didn't hold her hand. oh wow.

“What?” Dean tried to say, but with the biscuit shoved in his mouth, it came out as more of a “whuff?”.

we can always rely on dean to make me laugh, can't we? god, you write him so perfect.

and jody!!!! oh jody has my entire heart and soul <3 i could hear her voice when i was reading her dialogue. you're so crazy talented.

“You’re acting like a child,”

now, excuse me, sam. what in the (and i cannot stress this enough) fuck.

see, it's hard, because i can SEE where he's coming from. we all know sammy has a problem with guilt, and of course he would feel it in this situation, no matter how much he loves her... but dude, come on? she's SO good for you.

this is honestly so heartbreaking but i love(!!!!!!!) it so much. i love when stories hurt, i love when they feel like they crawl inside your ribs and make themselves at home. i think it's one of the signs of truly great writing, because it sticks with you and hurts after the fact. zoe, once again. impeccable and unparalleled.

“What the fuck did he do?” Travis asked, but he was already moving toward his car.

see, i kinda love travis. i think he's such a good friend, especially for a guy! i so hope he stays that way. rosie needs someone who cares for her like that in a platonic way.

Sam leaned against the building, keeping watch over you.

still watching out for her. silly man, just apologise!!! we all know how much you love her. you have to stop with this guilt about her age! you deserve good things, sammy, and she's good!!!

oh, my actual heart. zoe, you are such a talented fucking writer. i absolutely LOVE everything that comes out of your mind. honestly, i would buy every single book you published (hint: publish some goddamn books, you star) and write essays to myself, dissecting each line and the poeticism and beauty in all of it. god, i am once again, jaw-on-the-floor level impressed and i don't know how you keep doing this to me.

you're fantastic.

"you said if we had been closer in age, maybe it would have been fine" sam winchester x party girl!reader

content: age gap, fluff, angst, language, sam is a little mean, reader is a little crazy, travis appearance lol

word count: 4k

song: all too well ten minute version by taylor swift

note: everyone say "thank you jen" for encouraging me to get this out!! love you, girl @xoswiftieprincess !

m.list meet party girl!

The winding roads had been relatively empty compared to what you had been used to in the city.

Sam drove with one hand on the steering wheel, the other grasping yours in your lap. You'd been drifting in and out of sleep the entire drive, listening to the soft voices on the podcast Sam had picked out.

There had been a deal: half the drive would be Sam's choice, the other your own. You assumed he'd play the music he grew up on, the kind his brother still blasted through Impala speakers the few times he'd come with Sam to visit.

Instead, you were learning about the ancient Aztecs's religious traditions.

What a fucking snoozefest.

Still, you didn’t complain, and had even carried on a conversation about the topic. It was a lot of uh huhs and wait, what does that means, but you wanted him to feel heard. You loved his brain, you loved his enthusiasm, you loved him. So what if you had to pretend sometimes?

“Baby,” Sam muttered, putting more pressure into the strokes of his thumb on your hand. You opened an eye, turning your head to look at him.

“Hmm?” You hummed.

“We gotta stop at the store. I told Jody I’d pick a few things up.”

“Okay, honey.” You dismissed before cuddling into his arm, resting your cheek on his forearm.

When Sam had asked you to go with him to a dinner, one thrown together with his mismatched family. Dean would be there, but you already knew him. The real anxiety maker?

Some lady you didn’t know who obviously meant something to Sam.

Jody had heard about you in passing. She thought great, let Sam finally have a fling. But when your name kept coming up months after, getting close to a year of your relationship taking bloom, she knew she had to let him know she supported him. He didn’t have much of that, and Jody was always happy to play step-in-mother.

There was a small fact that had escaped her in all the times she’d heard Sam and Dean talking about you: your age. They had bickered about Dean picking fun at your youth, but she figured he was being dramatic, like he usually was. She was expecting someone maybe a year or two younger. What a surprise she was about to get.

That would be a future problem. Right now, Sam was more focused on your cheek pressed against him, breath ghosting over his skin. He was so focused on you, in fact, that he had taken his eyes off the road to admire your slightly parted lips.

The first thing he saw when he looked back to the road was the glowing red cast over the darkening street. He knew there was no hope for slamming on the brakes. He made the conscious decision to coast on through it, thanking whatever force he still believed in for allowing the cross-traffic to be nonexistent. He’d relaxed into his seat when you spoke.

“Did you just run a red light?” You had a slight slur in your voice, the sleep slowly seeping off of you. He flicked his gaze to the corner of his eye, wanting to catch your expression. Aside from the usual killing-and-maiming-of-monsters thing, Sam was pretty straight laced. He followed traffic laws, he always returned his shopping cart to the corral, and he never drank too much. This wasn’t like him.

“No.” Sam answered, mumbling the word out in hopes that you hadn’t actually seen the light, or perhaps that you had suddenly gone colorblind and couldn’t actually tell green from red.

“Mmm,” you purred, sitting up, “looked pretty red to me.”

Sam couldn’t help the smile that tugged on his lips. You stretched your arms, a small noise escaping you at the relief it brought.

“It may have been slightly red.” Sam’s hand had fallen from your hand when you stretched, but he immediately placed it on your thigh, needing to just touch a part of you to keep him grounded.

“There is no slightly red, Sammy.”

“You’re criticizing my driving?” He steered the conversation away from himself, a teasing tone in his voice. “Do I have to remind you of last month?”

“I didn’t hit that curb! It got in my way.” You defended.

There had been one time during Sam’s last visit that he had dared to let you drive. He had been exhausted and, hey, you had your license, so you couldn’t have been that bad of a driver, right?

Wrong.

Whoever proctored your test must have been unconscious because there was no way you had passed on your own. You took turns too sharply, had to slam on your brakes more than once, and had even scraped a bit of the body of the car on a curb. Sam cringed at the memory of the nails-on-chalkboard noise it had made.

“Mhm,” Sam hummed and, if you were less focused on looking for the perfect spot for him to park in at the store, you would have teased him for the sassy tone of it.

You gathered your purse up, more of a formality than anything since Sam never let you pay for anything, but stopped when you noticed him just staring at you. You quirked an eyebrow up, a small pout popping your lips out.

“What?” You asked when he still didn’t move.

“I love you.” Sam answered simply, cupping your cheek in his hand. His thumb brushed across your chin.

“I know,” you giggled before kissing him, almost sighing at the taste of coffee and spearmint. “I love you too.”

And so it was, you gathered Sam’s hand in yours while you cruised the aisles of the grocery store. Sam held a basket in his other hand, ignoring the growing weight with every item you placed in it.

He had eyed the packet of gummy worms you had swiped up, but said nothing. There was no winning the argument of whether or not you needed them when you were going to a dinner. He would have to live with the fact that you were surviving on an 80% sweet treat diet.

“Chocolate or blueberry?” You asked, holding up two muffin options. Sam pretended to contemplate the decision. You scrunched your nose up and shook the packages, trying to get him to give you an answer quicker.

“Blueberry,” he finally replied, holding the basket out for you to drop them in. Just before you could skip ahead of him to the next aisle, he pulled you in for another kiss. It was quick and sweet, nothing like the heated makeout you two had when he picked you up.

Still, Sam noticed the furrowed brows of the middle-aged man who swiftly passed by. His glance at your college id card hanging out of your purse that quickly shot to observe your swollen lips gave the man all the information he needed to send a nasty glare Sam’s way. He knew what it meant. It was the “stop kissing young girls, you creep” look that he picked up on far too often for his liking.

He shouldn’t care about it. He knew that. You had gone on many tangents about how you didn’t “give a shit” if some “bitchy assholes” found a problem with the “true love” you and Sam shared.

It didn’t stop the small distance he kept between you two for the rest of the shopping trip.

Back in the privacy of the car, he let himself hold you again. The rest of the drive to Jody’s was full of laughter and you feeding him those damned gummy worms.

You were nervous. Very nervous.

What if she didn’t like you? Again, you didn’t care much what other people thought, but if Sam’s family didn’t like you, there was no way your relationship would last.

The pit in your stomach grew while each thump of Sam’s fist on the door. You stood next to him, one of his flannels draped over your shoulders and the muffins in your hands.

“Sam-,” you began to ask if Jody was nice, for around the fiftieth time that day, when the door swung open to reveal--

“Hey-ey!” Dean exclaimed, holding his arms out as if to say “look at this!”. “My two favorite dorks!”

“You weren’t calling me a dork when I outdrank your ass.” You snapped back. Technically, you had only won the little drinking game because some blonde behind you had caught Dean’s eye, but you took that as a win.

“You didn’t outdrink me, you-,” Dean started to argue, but Sam cut him off.

“Can we maybe not do this all over again?” Sam sighed. A smile was weaving itself onto his face despite his attempts at exasperation. He couldn’t help the joy that swelled in his chest at the sight of his two favorite people getting along so well.

“Of course, whatever my honey wants.” You shoved the muffins into Dean’s hands before wrapping your fingers around Sam’s arm, hanging on him to calm the anxiety that had sprung back up the moment you remembered why you were standing on a random doorstep. He kissed the top of your head and pulled you in close.

“C’mon, honey,” Dean sneered the pet name with that brotherly love he bottled up specially for Sam, “dinner’s almost done.” He turned on his heel and sauntered to the kitchen.

“I love you.” Sam mumbled to you one last time. He knew you were nervous. Hell, he was nervous too. He hoped his words would help ease you. If you were happy, he would be happy, at least, that was the theory.

You clung to Sam as he directed you in the direction Dean had gone in. The clatter of scraping and sizzling was growing louder with each step.

“Dean, get your fingers out-,” a feminine, but strong, voice scolded, “no touching!”

Your eyes caught onto the woman flitting about, a dish towel slung over her shoulder. She swatted at Dean’s hand, making you laugh. It wasn’t very loud, but she must’ve had the hearing of a dog, because she spun around. Her attention caught on Sam first, his large figure being a beacon in any room.

“Sam! You’re here. And this is-,” her voice cut off when she flicked her gaze to you. You offered a smile and she returned it, though it wavered a bit. “You must be his girlfriend! I’ve heard so many things, all good.”

“Sam goes on and on about you and Dean.” You revealed, melting into your boyfriend’s side. The tension you felt before had lifted, and you were utterly relieved for that fact.

“Well, I’ve saved his ass enough times, he better talk about me.” Jody joked. Her eye caught movement just behind her. “Dean!”

“What?” Dean tried to say, but with the biscuit shoved in his mouth, it came out as more of a “whuff?”. You snickered at the scene. Whatever initial thoughts Jody had about you faded away and you all moved about as a perfect unit, only bumping into each other once or twice.

Dinner spun by without problem. Or, well, without a clear problem. No one argued, other than the small bicker between Sam and Dean about who got to use the butter first. There were no ill-willed glares. Everything seemed to be in perfect harmony.

Until you tried to hold Sam’s hand. To his credit, he did let you rest your palm on his for a few moments. Slowly, he had inched it away, opting to hide his hands in his lap. You were left staring off into the space where he should have been, but an empty tabletop lay instead.

Laughter surrounded you.

Was Sam embarrassed to love you in front of others? You hadn’t thought that before. No, he always held your hand. He always gave you quick pecks just for the hell of it. He had never done this, never treated you like some little girl that was constantly begging for attention.

You couldn’t shake the shame you felt. It lingered on your skin through the rest of the meal. Even Jody’s apple pie couldn’t get it to go away.

Now, the night air chilled you on your short walk to Sam’s car. You didn’t dare reach for Sam, not after how he made you feel.

Sam knew something was wrong. You weren’t as happy as you usually were. You didn’t immediately weave your fingers into his when he climbed into the car. You made no move to play your music, leading the first half hour of the car ride back to your college town to be silent.

Your eyes stayed glued to the window. The darkened night sky held stars, but you didn’t feel like looking at them. You were mad. You were sad. You were embarrassed.

You heard Sam sigh, then mumble your name. His fingers brushed onto your clothed arm.

“Did you have fun?” He asked, voice soothing. It quelled a bit of the tension you held in your body, but the mental image of his hand sliding away from yours made you swallow down the thick emotion that was building in you.

“Yeah.” You answered short. It wasn’t a complete lie. Dean and Jody were fun. Sam was the one who made it not so enjoyable, but you didn’t want to confront him about it. Would it make you sound like a child throwing a fit?

“You’re kinda quiet,” Sam laughed, glancing at you for a moment. Your eyes dropped to the floor and you bit your lip to keep from responding. He frowned, concern washing onto him. “What’s wrong?”

“Nothing.”

“There’s obviously something, baby. Please talk to me.” Sam tapped a finger on your thigh, out of habit. You hesitated, but he wasn’t gonna let this go, you knew that.

“Are you embarrassed of me?” You asked, voice small. You had never felt so… immature before. You hated it.

Sam nearly choked on his breath.

“What? Why would I be embarrassed? I love you.” He couldn’t believe this. How could you think he would be anything but proud of you?

“I know you love me, this isn’t about that.” You didn’t like how he was seemingly avoiding this. Did he really not see it all?

The answer was, no, he didn’t see it. It wasn’t something he set out to do. It all just happened, like all the guilt he felt about loving a younger woman just took control.

“Then what is it about?”

“It’s about you not wanting to hold my hand at dinner. You made me feel like a little girl, Sam.” You unloaded it all on him.

Sam. Not honey, not Sammy. Sam. Like he didn’t mean anything to you.

Sam ignored the pang of heartache at the formality of the name.

“This is about me not holding your hand?” Sam scoffed. The condescension in his voice wasn’t intentional, but it still rang through you, making you furrow your eyebrows.

“No, Sam, this is about you not holding my hand in front of your family. You treated me like I was your friend, some acquaintance, not your girlfriend.” You didn’t even think of the next words that came out, but it was what escalated this argument. “Like loving me is wrong.”

Sam cringed at your words. He cringed because he’d thought them before. He’d thought loving you was wrong, morally, anyway. He took a deep breath, the regret he felt for what he was about to say doing nothing to stop him.

“Well, isn’t it? In some way, my love for you shouldn’t exist, right?”

You felt a shiver run up your spine. No. This couldn’t be happening. He regretted loving you.

“Why, because of my age? Because I don’t kill things for a living?” You spat out.

“Yeah. Because of your age.” Sam answered, nodding. Light flew over your faces while he drove, the signs of businesses paving the way to the end of the best thing that had ever happened to you.

“You’re not that much older than me. I mean, Jesus, I’ve had friends date men older than you.” You murmured, ignoring the pricking of tears at the corners of your eyes. You couldn’t cry, not now. It would show Sam that he was right, you were too young, you couldn’t even handle a simple fight.

“I’m thirty-,” Sam was cut off by you.

“You just turned thirty, like last month. My birthday’s in-,” this time Sam cut you off.

“You’re gonna be twenty-two. That’s eight years,” he finished the sentence with your name. He sounded far too much like a scolding parent.

“I can do math, I’m not stupid.” You scoffed, crossing your arms. Sam rolled his eyes. You were taking this all the wrong way. This wasn’t how the night was supposed to go. But, here he was, trying to talk you down from making him the bad guy.

“I didn’t call you stupid.” Sam tightened his grip on the steering wheel to keep him focused. “You’re acting like a child,” he mumbled, hoping you wouldn’t hear it, because, really, he didn’t mean it.

“What?” You asked, pushing your head forward, ear turned to him. Now you were really pissed off. “What was that?”

“I said, you’re acting like a child.” He repeated, shaking his head.

You nodded your head sarcastically.

“If I’m such a child, maybe we shouldn’t be together. Wouldn’t want you to be a creepy old man.” You seethed, quoting his words from a few weeks into your relationship. He’d confided in you about his feelings, about how he felt wrong in how right your skin felt against him. At the time, you’d given him a kiss on the nose and said all the right things to make him feel better. Now, it was fuel for you to get through to him. You were hoping he would see where he was wrong, that he would take it all back and everything would go back to the way it had been.

Apparently you didn’t know him as well as you thought you did.

“Maybe we shouldn’t be.” He agreed, eyes glued to the road so he wouldn’t see the effect his words had.

You froze, staring at the side of his face. He didn’t glance at you, he didn’t look like he regretted his words. The tears you had been holding back fell, streaking your mascara.

“What?” You asked, voice wavering. Please, you silently begged, please just say you’re sorry.

“We shouldn’t be together. This isn’t working, not like it should.” Sam knew he was being overdramatic to some extent. Really, your relationship did work, but he didn’t want to ruin you. He didn’t want to be the thing holding you back from something better, something easier. So, instead he hurt you. “Maybe if we were closer in age, it would. But, we can’t change that.”

“We can’t change that, so we should just ignore it. It shouldn’t matter.” You blabbered out, fingers trembling where you rested them on the middle console of the vehicle.

“It does. You know it does.”

“I don’t care about our ages!” You argued, trying to swipe away some tears.

Sam squeezed his eyes shut. He didn’t want you to cry. It wasn’t fair, but this was how it had to be. Sometimes life wasn’t fair.

“Yeah, well, I do.” Sam sighed, flexing his jaw.

Your heart completely shattered. You couldn’t sit here and let him talk to you like this. You gripped onto the strap of your purse.

“Let me out.” Your voice was as flat as you could manage. Sam furrowed his brows. What the hell were you talking about? “Let me out. Now.” You repeated, a bit more stern.

“What? No.” Sam wasn’t gonna let you walk the streets of some random town. He would bring you back to your dorm, crying or not.

“Sam, let me out now or I’ll fucking jump out!” You threatened. Yeah, it was a little crazy, but you weren’t thinking straight. And Sam knew you, even if he pretended not to. He knew you would jump out, given enough motivation.

He pulled into the parking lot of a closed Burger King. The car hadn’t even stopped all the way before you lept out, sneakers hitting pavement. Sam huffed and put the car into park, climbing out to follow you. You were his girl -- wait, no, not anymore, but he still felt responsible for you.

You were a mess. There wasn’t a specific direction you were headed in. You just wanted away from this, away from the shame that still oozed all over you. You heard Sam call your name, causing you to quicken your pace.

“Get back in the car.” It wasn’t a demand, it was a plea. You shook your head, sucking in a steadying breath. It didn’t help.

“No.” You shuffled through your purse, looking for your phone. You needed someone, anyone. Anyone other than Sam.

“Please, just-,” Sam reached for your arm, but you flinched away.

“Don’t fucking touch me!” You yelled. He didn’t get to touch you after breaking your heart like that. Your fingers slipped on the buttons on your phone as you typed, causing you to take longer to find your friend’s contact that it should have. You all but sprinted away from Sam, holding the phone to your ear.

He followed you, sighing.

“Stop acting like this.” There it was again, that fucking parental scolding. You cut a glare at him.

“Fuck,” you mumbled when the call went to voicemail. She was probably sleeping, like you should have been. That had been the plan. Sam would bring you back to the motel he always booked when he was in town to visit, and you two would spend the night together before he had to get back to helping Dean. Instead, you were here, wishing you had never met the tall man following you around the sidewalks.

“Baby-,” it just slipped out, Sam didn’t mean to say it, but you spun on your heel, cutting him off.

“Don’t. Don’t fucking call me that.” You had a murderous look in your eyes. He’d really pissed you off this time. It wasn’t your first fight, but it was looking to be your last.

You dialed another number, praying to God that he was awake. Of course, he was. I mean, when did Travis spend a Friday night not partying?

“Rosie?” Travis answered the phone with. He knew you were with Sam, you hadn’t shut up about this night for days. He just didn’t know why you were calling him.

“Trav,” you almost sobbed, the familiarity of your nickname hurting more than it should. “Can you pick me up?”

“What the fuck did he do?” Travis asked, but he was already moving toward his car. He took care of you like a sister, and he’d be damned if he would let you spend one more second hurting. Thankfully, he hadn’t drank as much as usual.

“Just…,” your lip quivered when you saw Sam standing there, staring at you like that. Like he cared. “Please hurry.”

And he did. Travis turned the three-hour drive into two hours. His hardened gaze immediately softened at the sight of you sitting on the curb near the Burger King, Sam leaned against the building, keeping watch over you.

You shot up at the sight of your savior, stumbling to him before collapsing into his arms. Travis glared at Sam. He didn’t know what had happened, but whatever it was, it had left you like this, and that was all he needed to hate the older man.

“I’m-,” Sam started to say “I’m sorry”, but Travis snapped at him before he could continue.

“Shut the fuck up.”

party girl taglist : @xoswiftieprincess @whothefvckami @giowritess

sam winchester taglist : @hobiespick

[yellowocaballero]

The replacement librarian had approached Byleth with professional concerns that her students were checking out too many books on guerilla warfare. She had bought his silence.

“I’m sorry,” Flayn said. “Why are we purposefully losing this school-wide mock battle? The outcomes of this assignment are remembered for years.” 

“In the Blue Lions we assume that everybody wants to kill us,” Annette said helpfully. Flayn’s eyes widened. “Not that they are! It’s just an assumption. And it’s just good tactical sense to give your enemies a false impression of your abilities.”

Slowly, Flayn said, “That feels a little extreme, does it not? This year has been dangerous…but wouldn’t approaching the world as our enemy only create our own enemies?”

In unison, every student at the table intoned, “Blue Lions don’t start fights, but we finish them.” 

“I…see.”

In which Byleth teaches children that violence is the answer, Dimitri predictably gets a little yandere, and the cult recruits two more victims members.

When is tea time not tea time?

[mrmeepsmadmind]

his horns (finials) (idk)(ears)(whatever) shaking... the jumping ??? the struggling 😭 the off center twitching ..he is PISSED. AWF !!!!!!

[friszil]

i'm not much of a doorkeay shipper but every time i think about "anybody else" by dom fera as michael distortion and gerry my brain stops workingi'm like ndksodmrnwpalsnfne oh ogdo oh my ogooooood oh god oh ood please no

[volvolts]

I wonder what jimmy was thinking when he thought why Anya failed getting into medical school

When we learn this part of her life I actually thought the reason she struggled getting in was actually because she was easily squeamish. We’re still early into the game at this point and I didn’t really know why she was so uncomfortable feeding curly painkillers and just figured she gets easily stressed out or something which was why she never got in

[nobodybetterlookatme]

Guess who's going on an actual fr date on Saturday ahsjakkskaksl