#but god damn that was such an internet brain post

[norrkatt]

hey i saw a post about being upset that content creators might start scabbing strikes and three things

1. that really is not a thing i expect to see happen, online creators are still microcelebrities. i get markiplier was cast for the iron lung movie or some shit but if i say names like "jerma, jacksepticeye" irl unless theyre a parent they probably wont have no idea what i am talking about, and even if theyre a parent, even still. i do NOT expect some old hollywood producers to be twirling their evil moustache and go haha excellent, now bring in corpsehusband. if i am proved wrong, whatever. but my point stands. unlikely!

2. please. i am begging you to think about how many content creators there are that are rly tiny, theres only a few big ones in reality.

3. the strike is important. but i also dont think making weird ass posts like that helps lol. mine doesnt either for the record but for the love of god log off and maybe go help out with the strike if you care so much instead of going oh my god i am so mad i know content creators are going to scab just fucking watch ohhghh like...who said they would? you are sitting there assuming lol

[goofyjelly]

i spent, like, 4 hours today, 2 hours on Tuesday, and another 2 ish hours last week working on a self portrait and it does not look like me 😁

[strungnews]

Based off of this it got me giggling n kicking my feet

He doesn’t know how it started. Well-actually, he does. He just doesn't know how far he's gone off the deep end until he saw the state of himself. Piles and piles of commissioned pieces he paid for in working his ass off in customer service, all of it going to the drain in service of you. He even had to at one point—beg his mother to purchase this one elusive keychain that costed more than it should have, just so he could watch it dangle on his bag, with an added lock for extra security incase it ever fell off on its own.

He was paranoid like that.

Of course, he's talking about you. You, who—a simple background character—caught his eye the moment you were introduced in one of the very few panels of the new series he's reading. You, who served as a sidekick of another unnamed character to be a one off thing, seemed to make the wires in his brain fray.

There's nothing about you when he looks you up. Not even a quick description in the fan wiki's he now finds himself frequenting in, refreshing the page each day to see if you'd magically appear.

When he searched the ends of the internet to find any sort of discussion pertaining to you, he'd hang onto it like the last dangling rope offered to him. In total, there were about three off-hand mentions of you in social media, and 0 direct acknowledgement about you as a whole.

If William thought he was some Omni-man super fan, he should see who he's currently going gaga over. If he had to get his fill, he'll just have to make his own.

He opens up any platform he could find to see if there's cough self insert content he could possibly day dream about. God, he doesn't know whats happening to him. Hormones and being a teenager in general does not bode well with this kind of desperation.

He had to take matters into his own hands. Thus began the creation of gimmick and fan accounts obsessing over you, posting headcannons and even learning to draw just so he could make you and him kiss on a piece of paper. He's embarrassed. Like a dirty not-so-secret he has shoved messily under the bed.

By day, he's your average jo, Mark Grayson. By night, he's a dude cooped up in his room typing away on his keyboard and hitting 'post' with each thought he's finished.

With how consistent and abundant he's producing and spreading the word about you, (and his selfship art that he deletes shortly after making) he caught the attention of several people in the same space. A small obsessed following that he's leading, growing more day by day.

Because of influx of the fans revolving around you, the original comic artists gave them a little something something, and posted a character sheet and small backstory of you. That day, Mark was on cloud 9.

The shock, excitement, and later disappointment that Mark felt when he saw you knocking on his dorm room with a bored expression, to later find out it was a fluke when he came to his senses. He knew it was too good to be true. Thraxans be damned.

"They wouldn't act like this, they're more like-that! Take some notes, jeez." He'd critique.

Oh, and he'd totally have a body pillow of you.

[pleasurebuttonwrites]

Getting to Know Jake Lockley's Massive Cock

Jake Lockley x f!Reader | Explicit 18+ | 5.5K

Summary: You are a fic writer in the marvel universe living in New York where Moon Knight, and of course, Jake Lockley are real. His identity, as well as Marc's and Steven's are public. You write for the fandom, primarily for Jake. He joins tumblr...and reads your fics.

Warnings: smut, oral, p in v, unprotected, cream pie, breeding

A/N: I had so much fun writing this one. If I had more time I would have created fun edits for the parts where there are tumblr posts and messages and such, but I really wanted to post this already. Also, sorry about the Spanish, I don't speak it. If it bothers you too much, give me a shout, and let me know what I should change it to and I'll fix it!

~~~

It was always the same. When you finish a story and are about to post it the nerves kick in and you hesitate to hit the button. You shake yourself, literally, and post it before you could talk yourself out of it.

You refresh the page and there it is, first post on your dash under your url: jake-lockley-is-my-husband. You know if you don’t distract yourself, you’ll obsessively check for any interactions with it. So you close out and find something else to do.

You manage to occupy yourself until it’s time for bed, and you just can’t resist checking. You have dozens of likes, a few reblogs, and two lovely comments that you reply to before going to bed. All-in-all not too bad.

When you wake up the next morning you can’t wait to check again and when you open tumblr your first thought is that there must be a glitch. You have thousands of notifications. You try to sort through your activity but it’s a complete mess. Fics you posted months ago are suddenly getting interacted with, and random other posts too. But your top post is the fic you posted yesterday. You scroll through the comments:

No way it’s really him.

New celebrity tumblr just dropped.

Man of the people!

You go to the reblogs to figure out just what the fuck these people are talking about and click view post on the most recent. You scroll through a chain of reblogs until you get to the first one.

It’s from a blog called jake-lockleys-massive-cock. It says:

dios mio that was hot! i love the way you write me. it’s kinda eerie how spot on you are. #my wife knows me so well #fic rec

Your brain practically malfunctions. Was-was-was that, was that, was that…?????

You go to his bio. His pfp is a picture of Jake Lockley and he’s written:

hola, me llamo jake lockley the handsome third of the superhero known as moon knight. he/him. some say man of the people. according to fics written about me: lover extraordinaire. here to read said fics. if you write for me, tag me 😉

It was some kind of joke, right? It had to be. You scroll through his blog. He’d been busy in the last five hours, replying to asks about his identity to which he provided pictures of himself. Pictures that people were quick to point out weren’t anywhere else on the internet. Others of course still doubted it, but you were starting to be convinced. Or maybe you just wanted to be convinced. But that would mean that Jake Lockley had read your smut about himself.

You don’t know how to respond directly to him so instead you make a new post:

Oh my god you can’t do this to me when I’m asleep. Did jake lockley just comment on my fic? No right? Am I still dreaming? #freaking the fuck out

You step away because it’s just too much. Notifications are still coming in and you don’t know how to reply to any of them. Later, at work, at random moments you’ll think about it and it’ll shock you all over again. This potent mix of excitement and fear courses through you. Fear because all of the attention is damn scary. You scroll through your asks on your break and there is some hate in there. Some of it just random hate that seems to come with getting attention. But some of it clearly borne of jealousy that Jake had singled out your fic.

You consider turning off anon, but some of your best requests had come from people on anon. And you don’t want to end that. You think about replying to the hate but you barely have time to reply to all the nice comments. Instead you block the bad and focus on the good. You can’t get to it all, but you’ll try.

You still can’t work up the nerve to reply to him directly - if it really is him anyway.

-

You’re still trying to manage your inbox days later when you see a request come through. You were planning on closing them since you’d gotten so many new ones and needed time to get to them all. This new request is from jake-lockleys-massive-cock. Your heart is practically beating in your throat as you read it.

are you avoiding me? seems like you answer all your requests so here’s one: jake (that’s me) gives you a cream pie and fingers it back into you with my gloves on.

You realize just how much you believe it’s the real him by how wet you get from this request. You try and try and try to temper yourself, but your imagination gets the best of you and for a few hours as you fulfill this ask you live in a world where not only is Jake Lockley requesting smut about himself from you, but he’s actually giving you a cream pie and fingering it back into you with his gloves on.

-

I would never avoid my husband. That’s preposterous. Go Time Summary: Trying for a baby, your ovulation window comes up and Jake’s busy driving around. You go meet him and fuck right there in his cab. A/N: not the way ovulation tests work but idc You’d gotten the smiley face. It was on a stick you’d just dipped into your pee, but still it made you incredibly fucking happy. You immediately reached for your phone and called up your husband. It went straight to voicemail, but that was common when he was working. You left him a brief message: “It’s go time.” You don’t have to wait long for a response. He’s good about checking his messages in between fares. You pick up. “Jake Lockley, are you ready to put a baby in me?” “Mi vida, no puedo esperar a esta noche.” [Can't wait for tonight] “No, not tonight. Now. We’ve missed the window the past three months because something always comes up. I want to do this now.” “It would take me hours to get home with the way traffic is right now.” “So…let me come to you.” You take the subway and meet him in one of the sub-levels of a parking garage. It’s full but he doesn’t need a space and everyone is already in their offices so no one is around. Jake’s double parked in one of the darker corners, leaning against his yellow cab. You thread your arms around him in a hug and he pulls you closer burying his face in your neck. Being close to your husband like this still never fails to turn you on. And knowing that you’re about to try for a baby with him just takes it through the roof. He slides his hands into the back pocket of your jeans, giving your ass a little squeeze. Your lips meet his and it’s all a rush from there. He opens the door to the backseat, ushering you in, trying not to break the kiss. On your back he pulls off your jeans, muttering, “...should’ve worn a fucking skirt.” He gets in and pulls his pants down his thighs freeing his cock, already leaking precum. You can’t help but lick it off. “No, no, baby. This load’s going between your legs.” He pulls you into a straddle on his lap and drags the head of his cock through your folds. “Already so wet for me.” You’d taken him so many times before but it still took you a minute to get used to his size. You sank slowly down over him letting the thickness of his cock give you that delicious stretch. Soon though you’re bouncing on him like a pro and he’s pulling your shirt down to free your tits and mouthing at them while your cunt soaks his lap. He knows you. Knows you better than you know yourself. No matter how much you rock and shimmy your hips, somehow you just can’t hit that spot like he can. He knows this, of course, so he takes your hips and angles you and pulls you down onto him. It doesn’t take long after that. Those pretty sounds and the way your cunt squeezes his cock so good have him right there with you. You cum together, his seed coating your walls so thoroughly, there’s no way you won’t get pregnant from this. Unless you let it all leak out. He at least as the presence of mind to get you on your back to help keep it in. He watches as some of his cum drips out of your spent hole and without a thought, he gathers it on his gloved fingertip - in his haste he hadn’t taken off his driving gloves - and pushes it back inside you - deep inside you. He does this over and over again, making sure his cum stays in, ushering it back with his thick fingers, up to your cervix. His thumb slides over your clit and the tips of his fingers inside you are coaxing you toward your next release. You want him to fuck you again. To make the most of your ovulation window. “Do you think we could go again?” He slips his fingers out, only leaving you empty for a mere moment before he fills you up with his cock. “Mi vida, I’m not stopping until you can’t hold one more drop.”

The words pour out of you. Never before have you had such inspiration to write a story. You’re awash in the glow of post-writing when you realize that now you have to post it. For Jake (if it’s really him) to see. You just wrote filthy smut for your celebrity crush. By his request, but still.

Normally you look over it for a quick proofread/revision before putting it out there for the world to see. But you’re pretty sure you’ll change your mind if you don’t just post it as is. So you add a note to the A/N section and send it off into the abyss of the internet.

You want to log off. Go do something, anything else. But the thought of someone else seeing his reply before you do makes you seethe with jealousy. So you stay connected and obsessed and watch for replies.

You’re still getting a stream of notifications so you ignore those and refresh the page with your post every few seconds to start, and then only every 30 seconds. You get some likes, then some comments and reblogs. You don’t even read them when you see they’re not from him.

Finally after what seems like forever, but is really about ten minutes judging by the timestamps, he replies.

i didn’t know i had a breeding kink until just now. you’re a goddamn genius. also my cock is way bigger than you described.

While you’re still recovering from this praise, you get a dm from him. You have to take some deep breaths before you open it.

Jake: do you know you’re my favorite writer? would you like to see a pic of my cock, you know, for inspiration?

You: Wait. Are you serious?

Jake: yeah, i love all your work.

You: NO, about the other thing.

Jake: only if you promise not to share it. it’s only for you.

You: I promise. If you’re not comfortable though, it’s all good.

Jake: ok, here it is.

The pic comes through and it is indeed a massive cock. Just not the kind you were hoping for. It’s a very large rooster. Like a rooster photoshopped to be huge.

You: 🙄🙄🙄

You: You know if I had really expected you to send one I’d be disappointed right now.

Jake: sorry, cariño. i’m looking at the dick pic i took and now i'm thinking i’ve over-promised what i have. 😰

You: I can promise you that I will like it, but there’s no pressure to send anything.

The dots appear and disappear a few times as you await his response. You’re about to change the subject, when his reply pops up.

Jake: está bien, look what your fic did to me.

And a second later a picture of the finest cock you’d ever seen. You waste no time replying, wanting to reassure him that you indeed love it.

You: oh fuuuuuuuck 🤤🤤🤤🤤🤤🤤🤤

You: Is this really yours?

Jake: you’ll just have to trust me 😈

It does its job and inspires you. You feel inspired all night long. But you don’t write one word.

-

You’ve never spent so much time on tumblr as you do for the next few days. You dm with Jake a little bit, but he’s a busy man and you only get to talk for a few minutes here and there. You’re addicted to his blog though. He’s reblogging so many fics and answering asks. You’re pretty sure he has his queue set up and he just blasts these things in the few minutes he probably gets to spend on here.

On a tender Marc x Reader fic where Marc opens up about his past and then has emotional sex with the reader, he’s commented:

that’s pretty good, but marc cries more during sex.

And on a Steven x Reader fic where the reader is dominant, taking what she wants from Steven and pegs him:

this was fucking hot, but steven would be hard from the moment you looked at him. if your hand is down his pants, he’s already at full attention. #why is it always steven who gets pegged? #i feel left out

Someone asks him if Steven and Marc are also on tumblr and he replies that they don’t even know that he’s on here.

It’s shameful how often you look at his dick pic. He hasn’t asked you to, but you want to return the favor. You spend some time taking a good pic of your tits and you want to send it to him, but you have to figure out how to broach the subject with him.

He’s just caused a stir by posting:

thinking about getting a cat now.

And after lots of comments with suggestions on what to name the cat, he creates a poll.

He dm’s you with the question:

Jake: can you explain to me why everyone wants me to have a cat?

You: We can just tell you’re good with pussy 😏

Jake: jajaja, so you don’t know either

You: Forget it, Jake. It’s Fandomtown.

Jake: !!!!

Jake: one of my fav movies

Since you’re the queen of non-sequiturs, you write

You: Hey, could I send you something?

Jake: like…in the mail? 🤔

You: Uh, no. Like a picture? Of me?

Jake: absolutely! i’d love to see your face.

You: Welllll it’s not of my face

Jake: you have my attention

You: It’s a tit pic. Is that ok?

Jake:

You take a deep breath and remind yourself that he’s a guy and guys like tits. You send it to him and the one second that ticks by before he’s typing makes your heart skip a beat.

Jake: 🍆💦💦💦

Jake: tan hermosa. quiero tocar y besar y lamer y chupar y poner mi cara en ellas [So beautiful. I want to touch and kiss and lick and suck and put my face in them]

Jake: if i stop responding i want you to know it’s because i'm stroking my cock while drooling over your tits.

You: That’s perfect. It’ll give me some time alone with your dick pic.

Jake: dffdsdsadsajkl you’re trying to kill me woman

-

It’s strange how something so incredible can become so normal in the span of days, but it’s hard to remember what it was like before Jake was being a menace in the fandom. Not that it wasn’t still exciting, every post, every comment, every ask. But you no longer had to pinch yourself to prove it was real.

In fact it was so usual, it felt strange when he seemed to disappear for a few days. You missed him, but you didn’t wonder about it too much. He was a busy man, a superhero, a cabbie and shared a body with two other whole people.

His absence gave you some time to catch up on your tbr list, reply to comments and get to requests. You’re in the middle of an engaging back and forth on a thread when you get a request on anon.

can i request a fic of reader holding jake (preferably against your perfect tits) as he cries?

It’s him. You know it’s him. Was he even trying to disguise himself? You sprint to your dms.

You: Everything ok, buddy?

Jake: whatever do you mean? 😇

You: 🤨 Ok, ok, brb.

You get to work right away.

Get Closer to Me It’s later than the usual time that your husband, Jake, comes home. He always tells you not to wait up for him, but you struggle to fall asleep without him so you might as well stay up watching TV. You’re in one of his T-shirts. It smells like him and the soft cotton caresses your bare skin underneath. Finally you hear the click of his key opening the lock. He steps over the threshold, tired from his night of protecting the city. Something’s wrong. You can tell by the way he doesn’t meet your eyes. If not for the protection of his suit, you’d fear he’d been hurt. He lets you lead him over to the couch where you sit him down. You take off his shoes for him and then sit back. As soon as your ass touches the cushion, he throws his arms around your middle and buries his face in your chest. You’re about to ask him what’s wrong when you feel his body shuddering with sobs. As much as you rely on his strength, it’s times like this when he trusts you with his vulnerability that makes you feel closest to him. You cherish the moments you get to be his rock. A wet spot blooms between your breasts, soaking in his tears. You run your hands through his hair, using your other hand to graze your nails on his back. You lay together in the stillness and silence of the night until his breath calms and his grip on you eases. You kiss the top of his head and he shifts, nosing the space between your breasts and placing a hand beneath your shirt, traveling over your ribs to squeeze at your flesh. “Jaaake?” you ask lightly, drawing out his name. “Hmmm?” he replies. “What are you doing?” From where his face is firmly planted in your chest, comes his muffled answer, “It’s soothing.” Your body shakes with laughter and relief. If he’s fondling your tit, he’s back to his usual self. There’ll be time tomorrow for talking about what was bothering him. But for now, it was time to take your husband to bed.

You’ve never written or posted something so fast. Before you can even tag him by adding your tag list in a reblog, he’s reblogged it with the comment:

THAT’S WHERE YOU CUT IT OFF?! #why are my eyes suddenly wet #boobies make everything better #currently accepting hugs

Then you get a dm:

Jake: gracias, cariño. i’m feeling much better. 🥹

You: Glad I could help! ❤️

-

One thing that you and Jake had bonded over was being New Yorkers. Despite not having it in your bio, Jake could tell you were one based on your posts. He messages you that he’ll be in town in just a few days.

You: Are you excited to be coming home?

Jake: i’m more excited to be closer to you.

Wait. Was Jake actually flirting with you?

Jake: do you think i could meet you while i’m there?

Holy shit holy shit holy shit. For the first time in a while you worry that maybe this guy isn’t really Jake. Because it’s not possible that Jake Lockley wants to meet you, right?

When you don’t respond, he messages:

Jake: no pressure if you’re not comfortable.

You: No, I’d love to meet you. It’s just… you could be anyone on the other side of this screen.

Jake: ah. would you like to chat on video?

He gives you his number and you take a few short minutes to freshen up and find a spot with good lighting before you video call him. He picks up right away, his smile lighting up the screen.

“Cariño, eres muy bonita,” he croons. [You are so pretty]

You put a hand over your face in embarrassment.

“No, no, no, don’t cover that pretty face!”

He’s walking around his place, the background shifting behind him as he moves around.

“What are you doing?” you ask him.

“Packing.” He sets up his phone and holds up two pairs of pants. “What do you think? Tight jeans or grey sweats?”

He’s rendered you completely speechless, your mouth is hanging open but no sounds come out.

“¿Por qué no los dos?” He shoves both in his suitcase and picks up his phone, but before he can continue his conversation with you, his attention is drawn to something or someone off camera. You don’t hear anyone but Jake listens with a stony face, then rolls his eyes.

“Lo siento, cariño. I have to go.”

“Was that Khonshu?” you ask, all amazement.

“Unfortunately. See you in a few days?”

“Yeah, see you then.”

You hear him start to yell, presumably at Khonshu, as he hangs up the call.

-

Jake: no don’t send me your address.

Jake: if i find out you give random people online your address i’m going to be mad. you should care more about your safety.

You were texting with Jake, trying to make plans to meet up and though it would be convenient to have him at your place, he doesn’t want to put you at risk. If an enemy of his sees him there, your place would be compromised.

You: Oh, but it’s ok if I send a random person on the internet a picture of my tits?

Jake: uh, yeah, your tits are beautiful, you should share them with the world.

You’d managed to fend off the nerves until the day of. Now as you make your way to the intersection you’d agreed to meet at, your heart feels like one of those huge timpani drums and like a gorilla is erratically banging on it.

There’s a crush of people and tourists on the sidewalks and you’re not sure how you’re supposed to find him. Though you are like extra super early, so perhaps he’s just not here yet.

As you scan across the street, you walk by a line of yellow cabs - and nearly walk right past him. He’s leaning against his car, flat cap pulled down covering his face, and gloved hands holding a newspaper. He’s reading a newspaper. An actual goddamn newspaper of all things.

He lowers it when you stop in front of him. His eyes scan you and a smile spreads on his lips. “Would you like a ride, señorita?” he asks, one eyebrow raised.

He folds up his paper and tosses it into the passenger seat through the open window, then opens the back door for you. For a moment you’re worried he doesn’t recognize you, but then you step toward the door and his hand is on your lower back guiding you into his car. He leans down to your ear to tell you it’s nice to meet you and that you look beautiful today.

You’re too caught up to reply. Up close his brown eyes are even deeper and richer than you could have imagined. His touch is gentle and comforting but the strength in him is unmistakable. And best of all his scent, sharp and heady, his cologne a perfect complement.

Your body still tingles from his touch as he circles around from the back and slides into the driver’s seat. As soon as he shuts his door, it feels like the two of you are in a little bubble. He meets your eyes in the rearview mirror. “Sorry about the pretense. Can’t be too careful these days. Never quite know who’s watching.”

“That’s okay,” you try to say, but it comes out in a croak. You clear your throat, embarrassment racing up your neck. “So, um, where are we headed? Your place?”

He pulls out into the flow of traffic, and glances in the mirror at you. “We don’t keep a place here. When we visit we usually stay with a friend.”

You wonder if you should be jealous of this friend until you realize he probably means…”Frenchie?”

Jake barks out a laugh. “I’m so glad you all use your powers for smut. If any one of you became a villain we’d be so fucked.”

“‘So fucked’ is kind of what I’m going for.” You can’t believe you said that out loud. Apparently you have no control over your mouth when your panties are soaked.

Jake doesn’t seem to mind. In fact, though you are busy admonishing yourself in the backseat, it doesn’t stop you from catching the way he bites his lip and tightens his grip on the wheel.

Before you can restart the conversation, Jake pulls into a parking deck underneath a hotel and slips into a spot. Was-was he recreating your fic?

You stay in the back as he gets out. He comes around to your door and you expect him to climb in but instead he offers you his hand.

“We’re not staying in the car?” you ask him as you take his hand and he pulls you out.

Amusement flickers in his eyes. “No, cariño. Cab sex is hot in theory but there’s not nearly enough room for what I have planned.”

You’re thankful to still be holding onto him because your knees go weak at that.

As you wait for the elevator, it occurs to you that you don’t know for sure that this is Jake Lockley. Like the real Jake Lockley. There were known to be lookalikes that posed as various superheroes. What if you’d been duped by one?

You’re quiet in the elevator. And through the grand lobby of the hotel complete with a fountain. And when Jake nods to the man dressed very nicely at the reception desk and says, “Buenas tardes, Eduardo.” And when the man returns the nod and says, “Señor Lockley.” And when Eduardo looks right at you and Jake says, “This is [your name].”

You don’t speak until Jake has opened the door to his hotel room and you hesitate before crossing the threshold and you blurt out, “How do I know you’re you?”

His eyebrows lift in surprise. “How do any of us know who we are?”

God, he’s funny and charming. Even if this turns out not to be the real Jake Lockley, you might fuck him anyway.

“No, I mean how do I know you’re actually you. You look like Jake, but you could be some impersonator, right?”

“Oh, I see.” He ponders for a moment. “If you’re comfortable coming into the room, perhaps I could show you something.”

You still hesitate.

“Okay. No. Good,” he says. “You have a survival instinct after all. Here, I’m going to go in. You watch from the door, but only open it enough for you to see in, okay?”

You nod and Jake goes in and you hold the door open just enough like he said. He turns around and while turning, his clothing appears to morph into a black and white suit, complete with a cape that you know only too well. Your jaw drops open because it’s one thing to see it from a recording where your brain is used to seeing all manner of crazy CGI. But it’s another to witness it right in front of your own two eyes.

You rush in, letting the door close behind you. “Oh my god,” you gush. “Can you keep it on?”

He embraces you and delivers a kiss that feels completely natural like the two of you have done this hundreds of times before, but also nothing like you’ve ever experienced. And maybe that’s one and the same. His breath is minty, and you swear he’s wearing cherry chapstick.

“That will defeat the point, won’t it?,” he says. “This thing doesn’t have a zipper. Besides, it’s really itchy.”

He transforms back while you’re still in his arms, and you have to admit you like him better this way anyway.

It’s not anything like your fics and that makes it magical. There’s more fumbling and laughter and friction. He’s not some love god and you’re not a siren. But there is desire, and it is real.

-

That One Night Summary: When your date stands you up, but you’re lucky that it happens in the same bar that Jake Lockley frequents. A/N: Special shoutout for the inspiration, you know who you are You’re in Jake Lockley’s hotel room. In the bed. And you’ve just laid eyes on the swollen spear he calls a penis. Your gulp is cartoonishly loud, and your legs press together like they’re Shaggy and Scooby in a haunted mansion. “Don’t worry, cariño. I’m going to get you really wet,” Jake says, crawling on the bed toward you and gently prying your legs open. He settles his face between them and when his tongue touches your clit, your legs fall all the way open and you sink into the bed. You marvel at the way your night has gone. From getting stood up, to trading looks with the hot stranger across the bar, to now being in said stranger’s - no he told you his name, so technically he’s not a stranger anymore - bed. He lifts his mouth off of you and you whine in protest, but he shushes you and a fingertip circles your entrance before dipping gently in. He goes slow, tantalizingly, excruciatingly slow. He works you until you can take two of his thick fingers, then his lips return to suck gently on your swollen nub. He didn’t lie. You are soaking wet, the puddle beneath you more like a lake. You’re at the edge when he asks, “Do you want your first orgasm on my fingers or my dick?” Your body doesn’t give you a choice, the image of either sending you over, and you clench down so hard on his fingers, he mutters, “Fuck.” He sweetly kisses his way up your body as you come down. Planting them on the soft skin of your belly and spending his time covering every inch of your breasts. He ignores your pleas to be fucked, waiting instead until your breathing slows and the coil inside you relaxes. You look up into his deep brown eyes and caress his face, wanting to know this man, his story, his life, what brought him to you tonight. “Ready?” he asks, and you nod. Despite how slippery you are, he’s still big enough for you to feel the stretch. He eases himself into you, breathless praises falling from his mouth. “Doing so good for me.” “You’re taking me so well.” “Tu cuerpo me maneja tan bien.” [Your body handles me so well] When he’s reached your depths, he stays there, letting you get adjusted around him. “Why don’t you show me how you like to play with your tits?” he suggests. You’re self-conscious at first but he watches you, hypnotized, while you tug at your nipples and knead your flesh. It relaxes your pelvic floor enough that Jake can fuck into you. Gently, until he learns how far into you he can go. He’s like a fucking paperweight inside you and you tell him so. “It feels even better from behind,” he informs you. And that’s how you find yourself on your knees, Jake behind you, his heavy cock dragging across your G-spot back and forth with every thrust, the pressure building up until it’s nearly blinding, your legs shaking so bad that he has to hold you up, which is a good thing because your body goes limp when your release comes, and then his cock is jumping inside you (‘twitching’ is too tame for what this monster can do), his spend replacing the weight of him. The bed is soaked, your legs are a sticky mess, and the night is just beginning.

The writing came easy but you debate posting, wavering between wanting to keep your experience to yourself and knowing that no one but you and Jake would know the truth. Ultimately, since you had kept the most personal parts out of the fic and it felt somewhat removed from the real thing, gussied up as it was to be smut-worthy, you decide that you want to share it, and as usual, you click the damn button before you could change your mind.

You wait a while before checking the interactions. This time not caring as much what other people would say, or whether anyone would read it at all. There is only one person’s feedback you’re interested in. And it’s there the next time you open tumblr:

sounds like a really good time. like something i’d like to do again.

[godihatethiswebsite]

Tethered Bonds

✽ Poly 141 x f!reader (Omegaverse AU)

A lucky stroke of fate led you right into the arms of your alpha soulmates. But is it everything you dreamed it would be or just the continuation of a nightmare?

Main Masterlist ✽ Ao3

✽ Part Five - On Trial

Apologies for the delay as there were a few speed bumps that my foggy brain just did not want to hump over. This chapter gave me some grief, but I'm still happy with how it turned out :)

Trigger Warnings: religious imagery, ptsd, angst, brief mentions of rape/incest/assault/drugging/coercion/miscarriage

Flat deadened eyes bore chasms through your own.

They peeled away the impregnable shroud of shame masking the abhorrent malefactions of those you’ve wronged.

In a split second of time, those eyes foisted judgment upon all your heinous sins with an executioner’s toll. Damning you to an endless oblivion amongst the cacophony of wailing souls eternally condemned to the River Styx.

Behold! The face of your adjudicator!

Blackened barbed wire constricts the fat of his gluttonous form. Exposed sickly ashen skin held together by threaded catgut, bursting at the seams with bone-white mold. Hellfire caged in little glass vials illuminates the agonized expression glued to a visage of perpetual torment, standing against a backdrop of towering decayed limbs, basking in the multitude of jewel toned offerings left by those who worship at the base of this miserable creature’s sacrificial altar.

…Of all the cheerful residents from the Hundred Acre Wood, who on god’s green earth decided that Eeyore of all things would be the poster boy for Christmas?

The melancholically predisposed cartoon character was a mess of tangled Christmas lights, having apparently failed in his endeavor to liven up the wilted excuse of a barren evergreen behind him and somehow succeeding in trapping his own pudgy form in the decorations instead – the ‘D’ in December knocked crooked in his fruitless struggles.

A paltry souvenir magnet from someplace sunny holds the calendar aloft, Winnie the Pooh designs posted on the side of your fridge with thick glossy sheets. A gift from your fathers; a new one included in their holiday care package every year. 

You’re sure the overstuffed box currently shoved beneath your kitchen table for lack of anywhere more reasonable to house it has its plastic-wrapped replacement buried amongst the other contents. Previous years involved such colorful settings as early 2000’s internet memes or a compilation of fun facts regarding the world’s different varieties of cheeses. Not for your own enjoyment, of course, but for the chagrined expression your family insisted on basking in come Christmas morn.

Not that you admitted to liking this past year's theme of childhood whimsey…

The curlicue numbers on the wintery grid mark the passage of time – crossed out with dry streaks of red ink. Christmas is naught but five days from now, the emphasized date stamped in the upper righthand corner with a glittery ribbon as if the holiday needed even more call for attention. It means almost nothing to you outside of a familial facetime over a microwaved breakfast of cheap eggo waffles. 

You’ll suffer congenially through the good natured poking and prodding. Chloe will send a text; Alex won’t. And the day will pass by in a whisper of silence – the magic of miracles stored back in their damp corporate box for cheapened rehashing the following year.

Holing away in the confines of your solitary habitat came with the added benefit of only exposing yourself to the overhyped celebration on a reasonable once-weekly basis, driving to and fro your therapist's office; painfully ignoring the garish spectacle of such yuletide enrichment as fuzzy wonky reindeer antlers wedged atop sticker splattered minivans, off-key fourth graders caterwauling carols in the backseat, tinsel and fiberglass grating on your teeth.

At least, your antisocialness normally would save you from such headaches. 

When the pharmacy didn’t bungle communications with your primary care physician and refill your prescription two weeks early. 

The voicemail left on your phone this morning was a little more than a minor annoyance. You’d only just finished chasing the taste of bile with citrusy mouthwash, leaning your leaded weight against the cold marble of the sink, stomach still spasming with painful braxton hicks-like contractions. Shaky hands splashed tepid water on your face, wicking away the evidence of exertion and clearing your chin of digested chicken noodle. 

You’d only half paid attention to the robotic voice droning over speakerphone, wiping off your face with a disgruntled glare at your reflection and muffling a groan into the pilled fabric of your hand towel at the automated message. This was not a day to be playing at adulthood. This was a day for warm chunky socks and Disney movie marathons. 

And now because some overworked new hire chugging Red Bulls probably keyed in the wrong refill date in an over-caffeinated zeal, you were once again paying for someone else's mistake. 

(A running theme for your life.)

You shook off the bitter thought with a weary sigh, hanging the damp towel from the plastic command hook on peeling wallpaper. The buzzing of the keypad rattled the counter as you’d cleared out your phone’s voicemail, scooping up the device and trudging back around the corner to begin what should’ve originally been an easy day. 

Now, a few hours of lounging had garnered you enough gumption to voyage out amongst proper society once more, rinsing your chubby dinosaur mug from earlier in the sink as your eyes flick up unwittingly to the calendar nearby. 

You know what you’re counting even as you abash yourself for it. 

The crumpled bag of mostly full coffee grounds has been sitting in your bin for the past two days, put there in an abstract protest to the blatant disregard of your feelings by a caustic alpha. The taste on your tongue has become as phantom as the scent that once clung to your coat rack, wafted away by a bottle of descenting spray the same way you wish to purge his lingering effervescence from where it's taken root in your spine.

The offending bag collects dust at the top of the pile, placed there in a huff at the start of every morning. When its existence mocks your suffering and the grief of a life you’ll never get to live is at the forefront of every painful heave into grimy porcelain, forced onto your knees like the flaccid servient creature that beast has morphed you into. 

Still, there’s no sign of refuse or food waste on the flimsy outside packaging. It never stays put long enough to accumulate filth or bury itself in neglected disuse. At the end of the night, when the wounds of before are wrapped in a somnolent layer of protective padding, it returns to its spot amongst the clutter of your countertop, a pitiful idol to the foolish part he’s allowed to fester against your better judgment.

God, you’ve tried so hard to ignore it – you really have. With what little there is to occupy your mind in this lackluster environment, the labor of staying detached is proving arduous. John’s memory agitating the stripped-bare axis of simple order your world rotates upon.

Distraction eludes you at every attempt to forget. The warmth of your nest is the comfort of his leather embrace, the Zofran on your tongue the calloused paw at your nape grounding you in tempered reality. Soft boar hair bristles are his fingers, the zest in your meal his vigor. His face is in the deep prussian sweater jailed to the back of your closet for the sole crime of coming too close to the cerulean shade that haunts your waking memory.

You thought you already knew what it meant to belong to another. To be branded with someone else’s signet like a bored kid in history class taking chunks out of his desk until it was too desecrated with graffiti to be regarded as anything other than his unofficial property. No one wanted to touch what the school bully had already sullied.

Until John.

It didn’t matter that the seat was already occupied. He just scratched out the nameplate with safety scissors and staked his claim with a wad of gum beneath the chair.

He was dark matter wedging its way to take up space between condensed molecules, bullying the other elements into submission until his chemical makeup twisted you to something there was no coming back from. Sweeping in with the strength of a category five and the persistence of the big bad wolf.

You despise John for the damage he’s incurred to your house made of straw – all of them really – but you detest yourself even more for the gnawing disappointment flooding your gut that he hasn’t shaken the foundations further.

The hiss of pain between your teeth as you adjust the abrasive scarf around your neck serves as a sobering reminder of the real cancer infecting your cells. Even if the claim was buried under layers, it didn’t mean your flesh didn’t still carry the scars from its etching. 

Slinging your purse over your shoulder, you take to the task of unlocking each of the bolts guarding you from the true terrors of an alpha’s altruistic attention. 

Please just let this be quick.

The sneer from the old crone in aisle two has you ducking the latter half of your face in the itchy fabric that hides the one thing you’re currently being judged for.

You don’t know her name, but you’ve seen her outside the steps of your apartment enough with her hellspawn of a pomeranian to know she lives in your building. The grey curls of her poodle cut perm do nothing to hide the splotches of alopecia that come with age. Tissue paper skin dappled with sun spots begs for the youth of collagen, gaunt around her cheekbones and only highlighting her witchy exterior, a moth eaten shawl hanging loosely over the quasimodo hump keeping her from standing at a height taller than that of a twelve year old child.

The grouchy bat is clever, though, you’ll give her that. There’s a discerning eye behind those tortoiseshell frames that speak of a bygone prime filled with intrigue and gossip that’s followed her well into her twilight years. 

She’s honed her intellect well.

And she knows.

Your skin crawls with maggots under her heated glare, boring subdermal tunnels that reach beyond the capabilities of a simple itch. The writhing anomalies only add to the growing discomfort of waiting in the pharmacy queue for far longer than need be. Ten minutes you’ve been behind the same middle aged man – too diffident to interrupt the conversation going on ahead of you – as what should’ve been a simple snatch and grab of his blood pressure medication turns into three decades of catching up with a bygone acquaintance from primary school.

“–when Janine drank some weird concoction back at Jimmy’s place. Fucking health nut has his own carbonator in his kitchen and she got the bright idea on six shots of cuervo to run a glass of milk through the damn thing. Ended up spewing all over Crystal’s pants.”

To their credit, the pharmacist had at least been working on filling prescriptions as he prattled on with the bald spot beta in front of you, bustling between stocked aisles of jarred substances and counting out little white tablets with every ping from the database. He just didn’t seem to care about the goings on inside the store. “Adam mentioned that when I ran into him at the football match last June. Isn’t that O’Hara’s omega? The one who used to save her gum in a giant ball after she was done chewing it?”

Eww. Seriously?

“Nah, that’s Abigail. Crystal was Billy and Carter’s girl.”

That seemed to catch the other alpha in his tracks, a quizzical brow replacing one of mild interest as he paused his fingers over the keyboard. “Was? What happened to her?”

“Fucking up and left them, that’s what. And right after they supported her through that unfortunate miscarriage too. Came home one day to an empty nest and a note on the table telling them she was done. Poor guys never even saw it coming.”

“Wow. Who would’ve thought she’d turn out to be one of them?”

“Yea,” the beta’s tone turned sour. “Unfaithful bitch.”

The Unfaithful. 

That’s what they call you now. 

Those who have forsaken their oaths and disgraced the name ‘omega’. The sanctity of packdom desecrated by egocentric bond breakers. Scheming harlots abandoning their worshipful protectors– denying them their designated rights and withholding the gift of eternal peace upon those alphas worthy enough to be chosen.

False omegas. Government apostates to how things are supposed to be run.

Doesn’t matter that those who claim to be victims before the courts are the same conniving bastards stripping us of our bodily autonomy. Nothing is impermissible. 

Rape. Incest. Assault. Drugging. Coercion. Words that carry weight become cotton candy deadlifts in the face of a mating bond. It has no undoing – no magic words or medical procedures. There is no running towards the arms of a better pack in hopes of a brighter future; no room for another in the tether of your soul. That anchor has taken root in the rock bed and cannot be claimed outside the mysticism of a scent match. 

Crueler parts of the world would hunt you down like the runaway slave they’re too cowardice to admit they perceive you as, a bounty placed upon your head and welts on your back for disobeying, brittle nails clawing at the dirt in a last attempt at freedom, dragged back to your master in an iron wrought collar displaying the shame of your sins. 

Suppose you should consider yourself lucky that here, amongst the dredges of refined society, your kind are merely shunned.

Bosom friends all turn their backs, work desks empty into a cardboard box under the guise of ‘performance issues’. The deli at the corner claims they’re closed, red blocky letters drawing blood by the gallons as the patrons inside regard you like you’re nothing more than a sopping wet stray begging for scraps in the rain.

There are no laws that protect from discrimination for people like you. The lease in your fathers’ names and the lie from their lips are the only things sheltering you from homelessness. Others are not so fortunate as to have the word of an alpha keeping them off the street. 

The forlorn promise of a better tomorrow is all that greets you now in the wake of devastation. There is no higher contract than the bite marks on your neck. 

The scathing look from the disgruntled woman would be warranted by those around you if they were privy to the same suspicions she carried. The signs were all there if they only knew where to look.

“Miss?”

You hardly notice when they end their interaction, the off-putting customer service smile from the alpha behind the counter making the pit of your stomach rumble with unease as you scurry to the front, quietly offering up your personal information as you place your ID on the counter.

If he only knew he had the power to blacklist you in his hands…

You fork over the cash in far shorter time than the previous customer did, spending less than two minutes to his twenty before you duck away from the substantial line that’s formed in the time since your subsequent arrival. 

It’s your luck the old hag is three guests behind you, averting your gaze to the task of stashing your meds to try and keep from further interaction. Too bad a half century’s worth of smoking comes out in the rasping slur she spits at you from underneath her breath.

“Fucking glitch.”

You’ve heard the words directed at you once before, only far more cutting and uttered from a far different mouth. That didn’t stop the insult from piercing through to bone, a deep ache in your ribs that slows your gait and gives you pause beside the basket drop-off. 

A quick glance around confirms a lack of disdain from your fellow shoppers. You’re surprisingly fortunate that her biting remark hadn’t been made any louder. You frequent this shop often enough to be recognizable to most of the staff – though not on any sort of conversational terms. Being blacklisted here wouldn’t just result in an inconvenient trek farther for medical service, but a mark that would deny usage no matter the location.

Every step out your front door is a chance for your past to catch up to you… in one form or another.

A shock of cold jolts you from your far-away stare, startling a yelp that draws brief attention as you jump back from the unwanted contact, hand retreating away at the abrupt offense. Cradling it to your chest, you’re met with cobalt eyes and sunshine hair, a bright eyed pupper beaming up at you from its spot perched at your feet.

“Sorry about him!” An apologetic voice squawks to the left of you, calling your attention to the hobbling beta woman at the other end of the leash. Her neon green marshmallow puffer greets you before her dark curls and round cheeks, a prosthetic hand keeping grip on her furry friend. “He’s a well behaved boy I promise! Ain’t gonna bite ya or anything.”

“Oh no, he’s fine!” The tremble in your words is more from social awkwardness than anything, having been caught off guard in a place far too crowded for your tastes, rolling your shoulders to halt the impulse to scratch. “Just wasn’t expecting a wet dog nose is all.”

The beta, on the other hand, has no problem running a knitted mitten over the back of her neck. “Yeaaaah, it’s not often he gets away from me like that. You see, he’s my service animal.” She calls attention to the black vest around his body, a litany of bright colored patches and big blocky words adorning the functioning harness that you hadn’t quite discerned upon first glance. “He uh… was just alerting to you.”

It takes you a moment to process the words, blinking down at the panting canine regarding you with eyes more keen than the pea-brained expression would suggest. 

Good to know even a dog can sense you’re nine different levels of fucked up.

“You can pet him if you want,” comes the gentle offer upon spying the embarrassment painting your features, taking her faithful companion’s inattention in stride. The quirk of her mouth gives you a green light even if her words already did. “Far be it for me to disagree with the boss here when he puts his mind to something.”

The words of declination rest limp on your tongue, a moment’s hesitation giving way beneath the understanding gaze of an impartial animal whose sole purpose is to provide the comfort of love. Crouching down to its level – uncaring of the salt trekked state of the tile – it's almost instinctual to wrap your arms around the retriever for an act that seems so much more dangerous coming from any other being. The muzzle that finds home in the junction of your shoulder roots you through the floor, going beyond solid concrete foundation and miles of serpentine pipeways, winding through terraceous cracks unyielding to the progress of man to find purchase in the damp soil unseen for thousands of years, unbowing to the anything but the turn of the earth.

Calm is not the word; the pounding pulse in your ears and the headrush of being out in public still ring through the chittering bustle of checkout lanes to keep you on your toes. Yet the ache in your soul feels less like a boulder and more like a handful of a pebbled shore.

Pulling away from the smell of damp fur, slobber greets your face in the form of affection, features pulling taut against the playful onslaught trying its best to intrude between the cracks of your mouth. 

“Easy does it, bud.” A soft yank on his harness serves as a gentle reminder, turning from loveable pup to esteemed gentleman panting in perfect submission. “No one wants to taste what you had for lunch earlier today.”

You flash her a grateful smile for the interference, fingers moving next to scritch around the bright red collar mostly hidden by dense hairs, a glinting dog bone with cursive scrawl clacking against the knuckles of your hand. “Rocky, huh?”

“Yea,” she chuckles. “Don’t judge, but he was actually my favorite power ranger as a kid.” Her mittened hand joins yours in the thick pelt of his neck, scratching at some secret spot that gets his tail thumping, the appendage a whirling propeller trying in vain to achieve liftoff. How long they must’ve been in each other’s company for such familiarity. “Figured since this little guy was gonna be my hero too, he deserved a name befitting the courage he inspires.”

Her sincerity sparks something in you as you reach back to your own childhood, the sizzling of pancakes on the griddle against a backdrop of Saturday morning shows. Your smile warms at the memory. “Hey, no judgment here. After all, mine was Tommy.”

The moment breaks with shattered glass somewhere off to the right, the both of you reacting with varying degrees of frazzled nerves. You don’t miss the way her hand strikes out with practiced swiftness towards her hip, something nonexistent bumped away from flexing fingers by a patience nudge. Wide eyes glance down at her stalwart companion, already staring back with all the surety of his namesake, pushing her palm further against the smoothness of his head, urging her to stay with him in the safety of the moment. You don’t know the ghosts that haunt her–doing your best to avert your gaze from the glimpse of carbon fiber–but you watch as they retreat with calming breaths back to the place where they were born.

She shoots you a look you know she rather wouldn’t, an unspoken apology wrapped in embarrassment as familiar to you as it is to her, understanding passing between mirrored irises. There’s a shuffling of feet as you both scurry on your respective ways, you towards the outside air while her path takes her further inward. A quick glance over your shoulder finds him pressed against her side, snout turned upwards with a lolling tongue and dopey smile, eyes on the caregiver staring back at him with fond devotion. To have something that loves you that much…

Your gaze softens along with your words. “Good boy, Rocky…”

Fire ants bite into your cheek as the sharp crack that accompanies them leaves an outline of lava, the slap mark on your face glowing red hot and searing with the weight behind their assault. It dulls as the molten rock cools, a beating heart on the surface kept in time with the now racing pulse in your neck. The shock of it is almost as painful as the protruding iron shelves getting knocked against your spine, blowback jostling the festive display contents some poor stocker worked so hard on as cardboard cubes of kleenex clatter like ornaments to the muck-stained floor.

The outcry from your lips is muffled in comparison to groaning metal shifting under your weight, hand instinctively flying up as a wall to protect from further onslaught. Heat blooms again even under your careful touch, hissing in a gasp as wide eyes filled with glistening saline catch up a moment before your nostrils take in a familiar decadence. 

Her omega scent of rich warm brownie, fresh out the oven – but swallowed from the edges by the beginnings of char. Too high a temp getting cooked for too long, potent in its fury as it cracks and concaves. A sickeningly sweet outer shell transmuting under pressure, turning perfect gooey fudge into bubbling tar.

The visage that greets you is tempered by dread; a mixture of refined beauty and smoldering hate.

White fluffy earmuffs contrast against long chocolate waves spilling like molasses over a matching pristine peacoat – as if not even fate itself dared to sully such purity. If the air of refinement somehow doesn’t outclass you than the designer handbag does. No pack could ask for a more exemplary omega.

You’ve seen those cheekbones on the cover of magazines, that glassy skin splashed clean in luxury skincare ads. Perfect porcelain as artistically rendered as fine chinaware. Every model you’ve ever envied taken shape as your worst nightmare. Dark bambi eyes red-ringed with acidic tears, button nose flaring with each heaving rise of her trembling shoulders. Full pouty lips quiver under the enormous weight of emotions that threaten to claw almond manicured nails through your skin like chainsaws.

There is anger, but there is also pain.

And you caused it.

You do not know which response consumes you more: panic, or shame. 

“You–” her voice breaks like her heart, delicate wind chimes in a spring downpour. “You s-stay away from them…” Her words come in a struggle, fighting for stability whilst she hangs onto her composure with a thread as thin as spider silk. “They’re not yours… so… so just– just leave us alone!”

Gone is the lighthearted vision spun in innocent etherealness from that day in the store. Sparkling doe eyes now filled with scorn don’t suit the unblemished being not a foot in front of you. There’s an ingrained sweetness in her now pitiful form that so easily calls to an alpha’s protectiveness, a creature that deserves to be cherished, adorned; royalty reincarnated to a modern day princess.

There are only traces of that now standing a few feet in front of the automatic sliding doors, a smashed box of tissues keeping the mechanism from closing and sending a chill over the entire conversation. 

You shrink in on yourself, lowering your gaze in a meek show of submission that speaks where your own voice fails. How could you continue to look her in the eye when you are the reason this woman is suffering? When you are the bad guy in every sense of the word?

Filth. Sullied. Poison. Suffocating her with your very presence as if your own tainted pheromones could overcast hers.

You expect more–deserve more–but she turns on her heels, the sensors allowing passage as she hurries back out the way you suspect she only just came.

You’re as stunned as the bystanders around you, blinking at her retreating form into the small parking lot beyond. You can’t help but watch as she races across the asphalt, thoughts of her own task left behind in a trail of her own tears. Badly muffled whispers start in earnest at the display. Chorused words of ‘wicked woman’ following you out onto the pavement. Tongues lashing into open wounds kept bleeding by your own shame. 

That pain is nothing in the wake of the familiar figure of a towering form.

He meets her halfway, hulking mass climbing out from the cab of a blackened range rover at the first sign of her obvious distress. From this far away you can only make out the sounds of heaving sobs, watch as dainty hands clutch the dark material of her protector, the furrow of his brow as he searches for answers to her suffering.

Whatever she responds, you find yourself once more snapped in place by the weight of his stare, looking no less worse for wear than the first time he did. 

Logic says the phantom tartness on your tongue is a hallucination ingrained from previous exposure, but the inner omega whining helplessly to be understood doesn’t comprehend the self inflicted wounds she scores with brittle claws at the first chance to taste. In many ways, designative instincts retain the innocence of youth: purely reactionary in their naive disregard. They’re doe-eyed five year olds holding up the mangled body of a broken baby bird and proclaiming ‘they can fix it’. To them, they don’t realize the damage that comes with wishing for a bite of lemon zest when they know that cupcake is theirs, deaf to the scolding of a parent who knows better. 

After all, what gives you the right to take what hasn’t been offered? For wishing for the comfort of an alpha’s scent that doesn’t belong to you? All it does is make you feel like the shameful thief the people in the shop think you are.

So you keep your distance from the alpha and his mate, once more stuck in a whirlwind of unintentional trouble. He’s too far away to make out the hues of his eyes, but his body language tells you exactly where he stands in all this. Fingers flexed in a possessive grip, the placement of his hand curled around her mid back, the subtle hunch he takes as he tucks her tearstained face beneath his covered chin.

A choice. 

Conceal. Protect. Intruder.

You once wondered at the outcome if you hadn’t run that night; if the call that beckoned you ‘wait’ had kept you rooted to the floor. How would this mammoth have reacted - the one who only watched in pure neutrality as your world crumbled apart? Would he have let his friend make the first move forward? Would there have been an altercation? Spoken words and awkward introductions such as with their Scottish brethren? Did they care about your cowardice? Did the alphas give you chase? Lose your scent in the produce aisle and catch their breaths in the crisp night air? 

At last you have your answer. 

The judgment he passes as he turns his back to you has far more gravitas than the mopey donkey on your fridge. The conjured images of morbidity that entertained you earlier this morning feels like a holiday in comparison to the way your arteries shrivel from necrosis; down another size and a half by Grinch standards.

(Would it ever grow again?)

Closing your eyes against the sight is all you can do to maintain your sanity.

“Lass!”

As if life hasn’t finished causing you torment enough, the rough brogue catching your ears has your eyes peeling back open, the depression gluttoning away at your insides taking note at the promise of further feast, cackling gleefully at the tousled mohawk rounding the the opposite side of the vehicle his companions are approaching. Concern sits heavy on his brow, footsteps sure of their path as the pair sidle up along the drivers side of their SUV, lemon shuffling his omega through the open door he holds and into the relative safety of the back seat. You expect John to join them – to fuss and coo over her the same way he did for you in the cafe. Your masochism soaks up the envy like a yorkshire pudding at Christmas dinner.

But he makes no move to join his mate, blazing a path that leads beyond.

It’s not her he’s calling out for. It’s you.

Something smothers in your chest at the meaty glove that yanks him backwards, the heft of his brawn outmatched by the iron grip stopping him from advancing any further, shoved back against the shiny black of the range rover. The suspension creaks from the sheer force of the impact, giving you a hint as to the momentum which was suddenly reversed and applied to the hull, vehicle tilting a few centimeters off its wheelbase before thudding back down to settle on its chassis.

Charged static fills the air as overwhelmingly as the growl ripped from their chest – from which alpha you aren’t sure. The palpable anger that must be flaring in their scent chokes those unfortunate few nearby into hurrying along, a group of teenagers giving wide berth as the old man a few cars over shoves something fragile into the boot with a telltale crunch, slamming the latch shut before climbing over his center console to the steering wheel from the opposite side. No one wants to get involved in pack business, much less find themselves collateral damage in a showdown between behemoths. 

Where lemon’s mouth is obscured, John’s isn’t, giving you unfiltered access to the snarl he spits up at the man a few inches taller than him. He makes his displeasure clear in a volume still too quiet for you to grasp, but his argument is apparent in the gesturing of his arms, the wildness matched by the heart he so clearly wears on his sleeve. His packmate stands in complete opposition to the outward show of aggression by the former, striking in his marble-like appearance, firm against the blunted chisel of whatever’s being discussed. The only sign that he’s participating comes in the form of the other’s interrupted pauses. 

Your thoughts turn to the omega inside overhearing all of this. The discontent she must feel down the bond from those she loves most has to be just as painful as the ability to hear the quarreling itself. What must she be going through–huddled alone in the shadows by herself–having to listen to what you assume is an argument over another woman… one that a mate is clearly defending?

What consumes her more? Is it rage? Betrayal? Anguish? Abandonment? Jealousy? Your heart goes out to her at this moment in a way you’re not sure her packmates are knowing or even empathetic to. 

You suddenly flinch as if being struck by the accusatory finger pointed in your direction by the up-until-now stoic alpha, nose to nose with a man he’s spent nights pressed even closer against. Whatever point he makes, there’s no rebuttal from the Scot this time – only a strained moment’s silence.

At last John shoves away the arm holding him, straightening his jacket with a look that says this isn’t over as his companion walks away to the driver’s side door. You don’t pay him further mind though as John huffs out his anger like a bull, raking a hand through his hair before meeting your gaze with far more softness. He sees it in your eyes the same way it reflects in his. Two pained apologies spoken without words.

Dark tint keeps you from seeing them as they enter the vehicle and drive off, peeling away with a nod to the discomfort inside but with enough self control to not endanger the ‘precious cargo’ in the back seat.

You knew the other day was too good to be true. It’s clear now the damage you’ve incurred in your foolish desire to forge a connection. The lies John told you to placate his unthinking selfishness. Why the radio silence has been deafening your apartment. 

Nothing is alright. Everything is broken. You’ve ruined god knows how many years of passion and devotion by the sole act of your own pathetic existence. 

You’ve robbed her of that–robbed them. Another reminder that they cannot give it to you. She has taken your place. They cannot claim another.

It’s your fault. Your fault.

Your fault your fault your fault your fault your fault… 

You can’t breathe.

Something’s crawling up your throat. You can’t– 

As customers pass the threshold of the automatic glass doors, no one pays any mind to the sounds of retching in the dumpster.

<< ✿ Previous ✿ <<

[sanjisboyfie]

one piece smau: dating ace edition

— male reader <3 i love ace so much sorry it took so long to finish this pooks

— im a firm believer that ace definitely types hehehehe and actually does giggle in real life. he's such a giggler.

liked by [l/n].ace, freeluffy, and 17k others

portgas.[name]: best part about dating ace?? his person(a)lity(rms) ❤️

tagged: [l/n].ace

[l/n].ace: damn id smash this fine mffff

-> portgas.[name]: im deleting this post u fucking narcissist

freeluffy: i still win our arm wrestles tho 🥱

roro.zoro: does [name] know he mispelt personality?

-> portgas.[name]: its something called a pun, zoro.

-> roro.zoro: well the delivery sucked i thought ur brain had an aneurysm

revo.sabo: BARRRFFFF this egotistical maniac didnt need this stroke to his ego [name]

-> portgas.[name]: trust me im regretting even dating ur silly ass brother rn

-> [l/n].ace: r u guys talking about me 🥺🥺🥺🥺

liked by portgas.[name], m4rco.polo, and 19k others

[l/n].ace: pov ur on a date with me and watching me try not to vomit all the sushi i shoved into my mouth all over the table

tagged: portgas.[name]

portgas.[name]: why r u on dates w other ppl???

-> [l/n].ace: ITS A JOKE BABY PLS

-> portgas.[name]: mhm

m4rco.polo: damn this shit sounds disgusting id never go on a date w u again if i saw this tbh

[liked by portgas.[name], eee.izo, yammyato, and 100 others]

yamayamato: r u cheating on [name] ace?

-> [l/n].ace: IT WAS A JOKE ITS AN INTERNET SAYING PLEASE

-> yamayamato: yeah well i dont think its very funny :// u should be loyal in a relationship

-> portgas.[name]: yamato <333 u were always my favorite boy ugh i love u sm 🥰

liked by portgas.[name], yamayamato, and 21k others

[l/n].ace: weekly me post bc i love me! (and my mans) 🤓😕

tagged: portgas.[name]

portgas.[name]: yeah im in there guys!!!

-> [l/n].ace: i love u hehehe u make me blush hehehehe

portgas.[name]: are u free tn? i'll take u out and treat u right ughhh

-> [l/n].ace: i got a date with my bf later tn, sorry not sorry !!!

revo.sabo: i need to mute you because i can't be seeing this shit when im in public

-> [l/n].ace: dont be ashamed that your brother is so hot wtf

revo.sabo: with all due respect, im already ashamed that hes my brother in general soooo

[liked by portgas.[name], eee.izo, and 200 others]

yamayamato: my arms are still bigger. get on my level ace HAHAHA

-> portgas.[name]: proof?

-> [l/n].ace: this is literally cheating, you're cheating on me right now. can you please stop cheating on me with yamato?

liked by [l/n].ace, portgas.[name], and 15k others

m4rco.polo: god forbid these two do anything by themselves

tagged: [l/n].ace and portgas.[name]

[l/n].ace: ur just jealous ur not in love like we are

-> portgas.[name]: agreed bc how r u gonna be like 40 and still not get any play

-> m4rco.polo: 40?????

dni_nami: i loveee them (whenever they come over they ruin the entire house and im this close to murdering them both)

-> portgas.[name]: but nami 🥺🥺🥺

-> dni_nami: no.

eee.izo: its like ace is trying to become one with him or smth, so unsettling

-> [l/n].ace: weren't you the one preaching about young love a week ago?

-> eee.izo: and now im telling u to GROW UP ace, he's not going anywhere if u let go of him for two seconds

[liked by m4rco.polo, revo.sabo, and 90 others]

liked by portgas.[name], freeluffy, revo.sabo, and 22k others

[l/n].ace: i love my snookums baby boy handsome pretty king to the moon and to saturn <3

tagged: portgas.[name]

portgas.[name]: ... i guess i love you too.

-> [l/n].ace: be more confident when u say it baby cakes

-> m4rco.polo: oh my god [name] break up with this fool already what the fuck is this

freeluffy: whats a snookums?

-> roro.zoro: don't ask luffy, you wouldn't want to know.

revo.sabo: awww what a cute post, if only ace were normal <3

[liked by eee.izo, m4rco.polo, and 100 others]

-> [l/n].ace: ????

-> portgas.[name]: im so glad we can agree on this sabo !!!

liked by eee.izo, [l/n].ace, revo.sabo, and 22k others

portgas.[name]: rare sighting of a photo of ace with his shirt on, everyone celebrate in the comments !!!

tagged: [l/n].ace

portgas.[name]: dont get me wrong hes sexy both ways but im not trying to see his nipples every where i go

-> [l/n].ace: but babe you said u liked my titties 🥺🥺🥺

-> portgas.[name]: can you not do this rn.

revo.sabo: yayyy finally he stopped being a WHORE

-> portgas.[name]: at least he can be my whore, but still i agree

-> [l/n].ace: you're the most confusing man i know

-> [l/n].ace: i love u sm hehehehe

-> revo.sabo: the way ik his ass is blushing so hard rn and kicking his feet in the air

eee.izo: thank god for that, i was getting tired of seeing him shirtles sin every single post

m4rco.polo: finally !!!

portgas.[name]'s story:

i love him A LOOOTTTTTTTT even though he's a lil freak

[l/n].ace replied to your story: when he posts you 😍😍 i love u too bby (even tho u literally cheat on me to my face with yamato but its wtv bc i love u enough to ignore it ❤️)

[thisliminalspacedaydreams]

Like no I get that fanfic feels like a big deal but it literally isn’t.

It is just you playing barbies with your blorblos to exorcise trauma or make yourself laugh or anything in that very large category.

To writers: if you aren’t inspired, drop the project. If you don’t love the fandom, leave. If you have a 20th new idea and all you ever write are beginnings you are still a writer.

Fuck everyone this is your archive and I am tired of the pressure writers are putting on themselves. (And that other people are putting on writers)

The internet is on fire and we are floating on a rock in space for fuck’s sake post your forever unfinished chapter of that one fic you know you will never finish. It doesn’t matter what others think, only what you think.

Maybe this chapter is the only thing you will write of this story and maybe someone will read it and go « god damn » and get inspired to do their own thing WE DON’T KNOW HOW THE WORLD WORKS.

My point is it’s fanfiction it can be terrible and it can be bad and anyone who reads it and thinks wow this is bad and COMMENTS on it is a fandom idiot who doesn’t understand how fandom works and is therefore irrelevant.

Practice and write that shitty half baked story and only write a bit of it.

The next one will be better.

The one after will be worse.

Your brain just hasn’t locked in on the recipe. Keep stirring the pot, try new ingredients, don’t freeze because you aren’t getting it right.

[lady-ashfade]

Our Song Bird

—£ Yan!Class 1A x Pop!Singer!Reader

—£ Ask: ‘YAn CLASS 1A WITH KPOP IDOL READER’ with this one I went with just a famous singer, not familiar with kpop. And yes, I got permission to change it! @serxinns who asks this was!

—£ Warnings: Stalking, Yandere Behavior, Obsession, Short Story, Slight!dark themes? Idk, but really.

The class is stunned when you enter the class room and they all stare at you. They know that shiny hair, lips and eyes and stunning features anywhere. The famous Y/n, the singer/song writer who they all had posters of.

The girls squeal in excitement and feel their cheeks flush with heat and their head getting light. The boys blush at how cute you look.

Even Bakugo who claims he doesn’t listen to pop music but he secretly has all your albums and music videos you are in- Even hides a poster he bought that was signed.

The public never knew your quirk because you kept it well hidden so it surprised them all to see you here. As a new classmate.

You knew joining would make you the center of attention but Aizawa promised to keep it at bay…But they all couldn’t help it. They swarmed around you to ask everything about your quirk and why you decided to join (Or to sign their merch)

The thing is that they already had a crush on you and now you are near them…Makes them go crazy. They get to be near one of the most famous person in Japan, the cutest person they ever saw with a voice of a god.

They protect you from everyone else in the school and let no one even get to look at you, they circle around you.

They also love when you sing and they just stare in awe and watch you closely.

It’s easy to turn on their charm to make you trust them so their red flags get blown pass you. They are just a lot to handle and it’s probably a you problem, it’s not them!

Their obsession gets worse that they start to have more and more things with your face pop up. Or, they steal your perfume/cologne and spray it own their own things.

The internet freaks out when you post less and less and the only time you post is with your friends. They make sure to that only they get to see what you do.

“Dumbass, you need to focus on your studies instead of posting shit all damn day.”

They follow you around everywhere, and I mean everywhere. They are always in the shadows to watch you closely when you think your alone.

Weeks go by and you notice you start to lose things more and no matter how hard you look they are no where to be found. When you ask them about it they just shrug and say nothing helpful.

“You’re probably just forgetful, I know how much your brain thinks.” Ochako pokes you forhead, “Have so much in there it’s make you so clumsy too.”

“Have you looked under your bed? I lose things all the time down there.” Denki laughs and goes back to what he was doing.

If you happen to have been in a group/band they would cut you off from them slowly then all the way. They see them as a threat and are glady to blackmail the members to leave you alone.

When you hum to yourself you always have a feeling of being watched. And you are right, they are somewhere and taking a video of you to listen to later

Their brains start to actually think they are dating you.

“Can’t believe I get to date Y/n L/n.”

Slowly start to get more touchy with you and make you stay attached to their hips. You are cut off from singing anywhere else then in the dorms or for them.

“Our little song bird, can’t believe we are so lucky.” Mina gushed and rubbed her cheek against yours. “Such a cutie!”

A group of fans get their chance and don’t let it slip…No matter how darning it is. Or if you want it.

[lil-tachyon]

For the last couple weeks I've been drawing logos / designs for local-ish (mostly NJ, some PA and NY) bands as warmups in the morning. Here's what I've come up with! Massive post below the break explaining each logo + where to find each band and listen to their music.

Teenage Halloween- a staple of New Jersey basements for probably about a decade now and finally getting wider recognition in the last couple years. Pop punk / power pop with a killer horn section. First time I saw them was in New Brunswick playing with Walter Etc. and Blowout. They played a killer cover "Build Me Up Buttercup" and my wife got a black eye in the pit. Recommended tracks: "Brain Song," "666," "Clarity." Their first EP is on a separate bandcamp page btw, check it out here it's great.

Sweet Pill - They will call themselves a Philly band but in my heart they'll always be from Glassboro. Definitely one of the more recognizable names on this list. Emo revival - early stuff is more twinkly, more recent stuff is heavier. All of it's great. Recommended tracks "Nephew," "High Hopes."

Shark Club - Central Jersey's finest. I'm very biased because I actually know these dudes and they did the music for my wedding. Some of the best pop punk you'll hear and the nicest people you'll meet. Recommended tracks: "Game Theory," "Bill Murray," "Heavens to Betsy."

Rest Ashore - My favorite band for the last (oh God I'm old now) eight years. From gut-wrenching emo ballads to virtuoso math-rock instrumentals they do it all. One time I got to sing vocals on "Lucy's Theme" at a house show- thank you Erica! Recommended tracks: "Hjarta," "Chinese Opera," "Devotion," "Soyuz Sweetheart." Too many bangers to name honestly, just deep dive their discography.

Morus Alba - First band I ever went to see at a house show and still one of my absolute favorites. Their music feels like the bridge between the best pitchfork, /mu/ alt rock bands and high energy basement emo. I mean that as a compliment and I hope it comes off as one lol. I should note that since 2019 Morus Alba has morphed from a band into an experimental hip-hop project so later releases sound radically different and basically disconnected from the earlier stuff. Also my favorite release from them, Live at Isabelle's, has been scrubbed from the internet but if you'd like the files just email me. Recommended tracks: "Skyscraper," "Human Resources," "The Goodnight Waltz."

Have a Good Season - another Jersey mainstay that's still going strong. Emo revival in their earlier releases, now with more 70s power pop influences in their newer stuff. See them live, they put on a fantastic show and usually play some great covers in addition to their original music. HaGS guys if you're reading this, please put your version of "Since You've Been Gone" online, I'm begging you. Recommended tracks: "Joseph / Shel Silverstein," (you have to listen to them together for the drop, so good) , "Gum, "Gleaux / Scab." Also, frontman Nic Palermo interviewed me once.

Elephant Jake - If you see any of these bands live make it EJ, they put on such a damn good show. Electrifying indie punk from the Empire State. Recommended tracks: "F.D.C." "Sarah Moyer," "Goodness to Honest," and of course you gotta learn "Sebastien Bauer" for the singalongs.

Blind Lion - Sadly one of the greats that we lost along the way. Defunct since about 2017. I only got to see them once but it was a great performance. Alongside their own stuff they played some killer covers of "Bad Moon Rising" and "Moonage Daydream." I had trouble doing a logo design for them because I actually really like the composition, if not the "Ed Hardy-ness," of their existing logo so what you see here are two separate attempts, neither of which feels entirely satisfying to me. Frontperson Larry Flately currently plays in Nematode and also handled production of Bradley Gardens joke hiphop group The Breakfast Boiz under the moniker "DJ Ova EZ." Recommended tracks: "Brumous," "Dinner."

Fighting Seasons - A band that I sadly found out about too late (via a sticker under the bridge in my town which has since been painted over). 2010s pop punk that packs a helluva punch, especially considering that I'm pretty sure the members were high schoolers for most of the band's existence. I think some members may have gone on to form Sawce (FFO Chon, Polyphia, that type of music) but I can't remember where I read/heard that so ¯\_(ツ)_/¯. Recommended tracks: "Fighting Seasons," "Oil on Canvas"

Milkmen- Another fallen giant, officially disbanded in 2019. Like Morus Alba, they played the very first house show I attended and their few releases remain on constant rotation in my home. Used to put on a great show and were one of the bands I always thought would make it big until suddenly they weren't around anymore. Frontman Ben Thieberger contributed guitar and vocals to Covid quarantine project Kin if you're looking for a bit of an extra fix but beyond that I don't know what these guys are up to these days, sadly. Recommended tracks: "Ramus," "Johnny Dangerously," "how sieves catch breeze," "K.O.T.H."

Stand and Wave - New York (now Philly) pop punkers delivering instant dopamine hits with every track. Another great live act, see them with EJ if you can! They often play shows together. Recommended tracks: "Convos," "Mrs. Dash," "Splashton Kutcher," "Michael Collins."

My Chemical Romance - You know who they are. While I was drawing all these other logos I ran a poll on Patreon to decide which famous New Jersey band should also be graced with a drawing from me. MCR won the poll by a hefty margin so unfortunately you won't get to see me do an illegible black metal take on Hoboken's Yo La Tengo. I ended up doing two versions: the one with the halo is the first, the one with the bats was the second. I tried to do something kind of thin and elegant with the first one and I don't think it's terrible but I also wasn't quite satisfied with it. For the 2nd attempt I tried to lean into the kind of pulpy, almost horror punk aesthetic of early MCR and I think that one looks better even if it's less original.

Anyway if you took the time to read through all this, thank you very much! And please support these bands! Also If any of the links aren't working please let me know.

-Logan

[dixonsdarkelf]

2024 Wrapped

GIF by me, dividers by @anitalenia

I wouldn’t call this a yearly wrap-up as I’ve only been posting since October 1st, but here we are.

Wow, 2024’s been a hell of a year professionally, personally, and on here. I started writing again for the first time since the pre-pandemic days, had my 5-year anniversary with my partner, found myself in this lovely little corner of the fandom & made some new friends along the way. After only writing OC content my whole life, I finally took the leap and started doing x Reader content, and that’s been fun so far. It’s been a wild few months.

No one asked for this part, but I figured I'd give a little bit of an origin story as to how the hell I even ended up here.

I hatched an idea one day, that idea being the existence of my sweet little angel Vec (Lydia Vector). She just popped into my brain one day after having not thought about TWD in ages. Then my brain said “she’s gonna be Daryl’s love interest.” And after not having done any writing in years (I started creative writing when I was 14), I said “well…guess I’m doing this now.” So I began posting on AO3 and Wattpad and eventually made my way over here. And it was one of the best decisions I’ve ever made.

If you found me on here from reading my content on another platform, thank you, and I'm happy to have you here.

When I first started posting on here, I felt like a teeny, tiny drop in a sea full of big names (probably because I was) (I still feel that), and that was intimidating enough to almost make me stop altogether. But I've met some of the best people through this app, and I feel like I finally found a little corner of the internet where I belong.

Shout-outs to the homies:

@francisofthespook you were one of my first followers, and I still remember when I came on one day and saw that you had binged a bunch of my content & how happy that made me. Thank you for suggesting creative content for me to do (like create playlists & the whole NSFW alphabet thing we did). I adore you 💙

@holdmytesseract Maddie, you are such a sunny, bright presence on this app, and I’m beyond honored that I get to call you one of my mutuals. You leave some of the sweetest comments I've ever received, and I’m excited to (hopefully) become friends 🧡

@gothic-pumpkin I can’t express how happy I am that I reached out to you. When I saw we had the same taste in music and men (Norm characters lmao), I knew we would be friends. Our conversations always make my day 🤎

@weirdoneattheparty you are such a light & so kind, friendly, and welcoming to everyone in this space. You're also such icon for those audios you manage to find and make all crispy and clear, I love you for that (and more ofc) 💛

@negansbestie you are truly one of the sweetest and most friendly people I’ve met on this app. You always have the nicest things to say, and seeing you in my activity tab always makes me smile 🤍

And last, but certainly not least, @dixons-sunshine. God, where do I even begin with Krys? She is my favorite writer on this app & was the first person I really admired on here. I remember thinking "damn, if she even looked at something of mine, just once I would feel like the coolest person ever." And then we became mutuals and I thought "it'd be so cool to be friends with her, she seems awesome." Then I made a simple comment, talking about how my OC (Vec) and hers (Georgie) would definitely be besties in an alternate universe, thinking nothing would come of it. And that one comment spiraled into an entire AU and a beautiful friendship. Krys is one of the most down-to-earth, kind, supportive, funny people I've had the pleasure of knowing. It's crazy to me that I can just text you whenever, whether it AU planning or just random life shit. And thank you for showing me how to make cool shit to make my blog look sick and make cool things for our AU. I love you sm 💜

I'm also honored to be getting to know @angelwings-crossbowstrings, @lazyneonrabbitt, @deansapplepie, @dixondystopia, @enlightndone & @shadowcitrine. You're all lovely, and thank you for being such welcoming presences in this little corner of the internet 💚

And of course, our Royal Council, aka our ‘Quarters of the Undead’ readers/taglist people: @kat-herine00 @gothic-pumpkin @weirdoneattheparty @negansbestie @ffsjustletmesleep @holdmytesseract This AU is still in its infancy, and we have so much planned. Thank you for joining us on this journey so early on ❤️

Works I'm most proud of:

Finding Myself, Finding You (the fic that started it all)

Lydia Rae Vector, OC profile (naturally, I'm most proud of my little unhinged baby angel)

Flattery: Daryl Dixon & Fem!Reader (first attempt at x Reader content)

Something Good (first installment in the QOTU AU)

Thank you all for some of the best months of this year. I love you all, and I'm excited to see what happens in 2025 🖤

[wishmaster]

Morning Wishmaster. I've just followed thanks to my attraction to powerful reality bending entities, wishing to see how magnificent you are if you can grant me this wish. It's quite simple, I think. There is this muscular jock that doesn't have a lot of smarts in the head, so he results to bullying nerds. I wish to merge with him completely, to the point that the past never knew either of us being separate.

Muscle Head

First off, thanks for the follow and I hope you enjoy my content, but I guess you do since you've come to me with a very detailed wish.

Your target is quite amazing to look at, though he is more brean than brain. And damn he loves showing off online. Though he does have the body for it. So firrst of all I want you to get him to wear soemthing of yours, maybe your glasees.

You give him an old pair before you got too dependent on glasses. He slips them on after calling you a dumb nerd and punching you in the gut.

Once on he suddenly feels your gut pain and you begin to feel strange as well, his body now seems to be sucking you towards it, once your ass hits his leathers panst you feel his hard on straining against the fabric, but soon, you feel the powers of his hard on as your two bodies phase in and out until you are totally absorbed by your jock crush. You feel powerful as you both suddenly realize what's happened, in order to make sure you don't end up in the looney bin, the dominate personality takes over which surprisingly is you, Jake always figured being big and strong he'd be a dominate personality, but he quickly folds as your brains merge with his memories. Suddenly your pasts merge, you remember when you were younger and the kids made fun of you because you were smart, so in middle school you started to workout and by highs school you had become this amazing looking muscle god. Once you graduated high school, you spent a few years modeling before heading back to school where you are currently studying to be a compute engineer. For extra cash you show off your amazing body, which you are constantly posting all over the internet.

You've become quite popular and in demand, you've even thought about pausing your studies and embracing your amazing body as your need to be even more appreciated in your new form grows. Suddenly the past forgets you were both separate individuals and now you've completely embraced your new muscled bro form. The more you embrace that side of your new life, the faster your years of smarts start to fade away. You thought you could have it all but the jock deep inside will make sure that's not the case.

[bichietozier-s]

🕷️Catch You On The Web!!🕸️

An Itafushi spiderman socmed au ❤️

In which Yuuji Itadori, newly a sophomore in college who still has not a clue what he wants to do with his life, gets bitten by a radioactive spider and gains new abilities, stats and powers. He's coasting on his raw athletic ability, a full-ride scholarship handed to him despite his less-than-perfect grades, when he realizes he's got way more ahead of him than he'd ever imagined. Including, but not limited to, a newfound crush that also throws him for a loop.

you are reading:

Prologue | Part 5 | Part 6 | Part 7 (coming soon!)

notes:

teehee megumi crisis moment // tw: i think i put kms jokes in this part? i cant quite remember but i usually toss those in with megumi so just a warning 🫶🏻

edit: forgot to add that loml and kirbys gay friend are nobara pov, while the rest are all megumi pov 🙂‍↕️ should be obvious enough who were talking to though! :3

Megumi sat down on his lofted dorm mattress, out of breath, with slightly reddened cheeks and eyes wide. What the hell was that???

He posted his vague tweet and instantly flopped back onto his bed, still wearing his jacket with his shoulder bag still tucked around his body. He laid there for a while simply staring at his ceiling, catching his breath and replaying that moment over and over and over in his head.

Again… What the hell was that?????

He certainly got what he’d gone for, getting to witness exactly what the beefed-up jock meant when he said “superhuman abilities”. But, even though he had expected to see Yuuji there after Yuta let him know he was on the team, he truly hadn’t expected the interaction he’d gotten. 

Still, he finds the only thought repeating itself in his head to be, “what the HELL was that?”

The question repeats itself as a way to ask literally, what the hell did he just witness? But also, it functioned as a way for him to ask himself what happened to him. Why did he freeze up so badly? Did he make himself look like a fool because of that? He couldn’t stop staring at Yuuji, but somehow, he couldn’t even muster up a response.

Not even a thank you. 

Shit. Now he would have to seek the other boy out again just to thank him. Or, maybe just this once, he could hold up that facade that he was a heartless asshole who didn’t care about anyone or anything. Especially the guy he’d just met days ago and immediately found attractive despite the lack of a brain in his head.

Oh, yeah. He just thought those words. He found him attractive. 

This was something he could never share with the rest of the world. Under any circumstances.

After another 10 minutes of staring at his ceiling, replaying the scene over and over and over and OVER, still wearing his jacket and bag, he realized that he would never be able to keep this a secret, who was he kidding? Also, he would definitely be seeking Yuuji out on purpose again. Whether to Yuuji’s knowledge or not, he didn’t care.

Did that make him weird? Or a creep? It didn’t matter. 

His phone buzzed in his hand.

He had been laying here for a little over a half hour doing this. God damn he was pathetic.

Why did he have to find the way-out-of-his-league, no-brained-idiot jock attractive? He was doomed.

His phone buzzed in his hand once more, so he picked it up to see replies coming through on his stupid tweet. He huffed out a loud sigh, before hoisting himself up off of his bed, finally removing his bag and jacket, and then responding to them.

Nobara had expertly tracked down Yuta through the internet (read: found him through Yuuji’s private account on twitter) and got his number so she could conspire with him over Yuuji’s own love life.

She had little to no knowledge on this “pizza guy” who wasn’t even the pizza guy, and had never met Yuta before, although she’d heard plenty about him through Maki. From what she could tell though, he seemed like a fine dude.

After the brief introduction she offered to him, Nobara and Yuta began sharing their own stories on the perspectives they had to offer for each boy in question through a facetime call. Nobara needed to know more about this “Megumi”, how he truly fit into all this, and especially if he was even worthy enough to consider as a possible partner for her best friend. And Yuta was simply here to offer that information up to her.

He started from the beginning of this school year, telling Nobara everything he could offer up that might overlap for her. Anything that had to do with Yuuji, from the fact that he lives in the room above Yuta himself and his boyfriend Toge, all the way down to the last time he spoke to him, filling in all of the blanks that had to do with Megumi, as well.

The pieces were already falling into place for Nobara. She was seeing how they were all somehow connected to one another without even knowing or realizing it. 

After Yuta had wrapped up his storytime, Nobara shared hers, which as she had expected, was minimal in comparison to what Yuta offered for her (especially considering she needed some extra intel on who Megumi even was, whereas Yuta at least knew Yuuji pretty well). 

Where Yuta explained the progression of events with Yuuji acting odd, not being able to sleep and all of that, Nobara was able to offer insight on those things. She also was able to connect things Yuuji had told her about with things that Yuta knew of Megumi and what he’d been up to.

And then came that tweet from Megumi, not even an hour before Yuta and Nobara had their girl talk session. 

“So, obviously since you don’t know Megumi, you wouldn’t know about this, but…” Yuta trailed off as he ran to grab a screenshot of Megumi’s recent tweet to send to Nobara. “Look at what he tweeted a little while ago,” he said, the sound of a shit eating smirk evident in his voice.

“Oooooohhhh, interesting, okay,” Nobara hummed out, pursing her lips, her face showing her deep, deep thought process. “And this is after he supposedly went to a practice for the football team?”

“Yeah, and like, he said he only wanted to go because he’d heard some other dude from the team talking up this other guy who apparently had superhuman strength or some shit,” Yuta said, not realizing exactly who the “guy with superhuman strength” was. 

But luckily, Nobara was a professional at gossip. So she caught on incredibly fast. 

“Oh! So he was going to specifically check out Yuuji, got it,” she laughed, saying it sarcastically and assuming they were both on the same page. Well, they certainly were now. 

“WAIT-” Yuta yelled. “NO WAY.” 

Nobara looked back at him through her phone screen with raised eyebrows.

“OH MY GOD, YOU’RE RIGHT! HE WANTED TO GO TO WATCH YUUJI! TOGE!” Yuta looked off to the side of his phone screen where Nobara couldn’t see, or hear, Toge. Soon she was watching Yuta communicate with his mute boyfriend, signing out of habit even though it wasn’t necessary as he yelled about Yuuji being the reason that Megumi wanted to go watch the football practice.

He finally came back to the phone screen, a huge grin plastered on his face. “I can’t believe I didn’t catch on to that before, but I guess I didn’t really have all the details on Yuuji’s weird increase in strength,” Yuta said to Nobara. “But, do you think he even knew it was Yuuji? I mean, I hardly knew anything about Yuuji’s strength and shit, Megumi definitely wouldn’t. They only met for the first time a few days ago, and clearly Megumi was as disinterested in Yuuji as he is with anyone else. If not moreso. He also told me he didn’t even know Yuuji was on the team, I suppose…” He trailed off at the end, realizing that Megumi definitely didn’t know it was Yuuji prior to going.

Nobara thought for a moment. “Yeah, I guess you have a point. He probably didn’t know it was all Yuuji they were talking about, but if he didn’t know then, judging on that tweet, he definitely knows now,” she stressed the word ‘definitely’, laughing as she finished her thought. She was right on the money with that one.

After the two talked for nearly two hours, they finally ended the call with Nobara needing to get started on her hour-long-before-bed-self-care routine, promising Yuta an exciting update by the end of the night.

“What are you gonna do??” Yuta asked, morbidly curious of what this devious girl he just met was capable of.

“I’m requesting assistance from the queen, of course,” she wiggled her eyebrows, before bidding him goodnight, and telling him to extend that to Toge as well. 

As soon as that call ended, she flew to text her girlfriend, roping her into this wildly massive scheme she was planning.

author's note:

SO SO SORRY FOR THE LONG PAUSE BETWEEN UPDATES GUYS AAAHHH i got super duper sick (i had pneumonia 🤪) and then i just have been lazy and keep putting off actually formatting the post for this bc it takes me like a good 20 minutes at LEAST bc of how i do it eugh BUT ITS HERE NOW!! next part is not yet in the works but it wont be as long of a break inbetw i prommie 🫶🏻🫶🏻🫶🏻

and as a reminder pls just ask to be added to the taglist if youd like 🙂‍↕️

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@meme-ty7 @runfrme @poemeater @gemicorn

[sweetmage]

Okay LAST last thing while I'm on the topic because these other instances have been festering in my brain and I need to get them out, but this same thing happened to me when I posted about why I personally like the tower ending and found it hopeful despite it's bleakness and talked about some of the aspects and implications I feel are often overlooked but that I liked and HOOOO boy, the response to that. The comments, the anons... yeah, I still love and adore the tower ending and it has had a lasting positive impact on my mental health in its message and the note it ends on but I'll be damned if I ever post about the specifics of why I like it again lol.

This also happened when I made a post discussing my personal intepretation/headcanon of Panam having BPD and how that was comforting and interesting to me and how I could see a lot of myself in her. Had someone reblog with a tirade about how they have BPD but they hate Panam so they don't agree with my opinion and think I'm wrong because they don't personally relate to her... Great! Why are you taking my personal intepretation and experiences as a personal attack on you and your opinion? Lmao

Not to mention every time I posted something positive or an analysis on Anders, Sebastian (DA2), or Gale (BG3) people could not resist telling me how much they hate those characters and hate people who like them, and want to kill them, like come on man...

God forbid I post how I loved Veilguard and its my favorite game in the series. My years long Dragon Age special interest ended because of the way the fandom reacted to that game and had a field day putting hate in the main tags and making people who liked it their personal punching bags.

It's just so frustrating. My following on this account is much bigger than I ever wanted it to be and I'm honestly suffering for it because I can't even have a fun and comforting little time anymore without anything I say being fodder for discourse or permission to be a hater or a personal affront to the apparent main character of the universe's holy opinion.

Not to mention all the racism I have and still receive for bringing up genuine issues like Larian and the BG3 fandom's anti-blackness and mishandling of the topics of abuse. God forbid someone say "hey, can you maybe stand up for the actual marginalized people who are affected and maybe put even an ounce of the effort into that that you put into defending your fictional blorbo?"

It's like people are allergic to kindness and tolerance and understanding. People are so self-centered that they cannot even handle not being the sole arbiter of correct opinions and moral authority for even a second. Just block people, man. Block tags and character names and critical posts. Just keep it to yourself if you can't have an open mind to others. If you're so sensitive about your opinion on fictional media that you're prone to meltdown if you see something you don't personally agree with then please genuinely seek professional assistance and take some time away from the internet. No one needs or deserves to be that angry all the time. No one should take pleasure in beating down people who just wanna relax and have fun and take comfort from something in a world that is on fire.

You're attacking and insulting real people over fictional headcanons and innocent opinions man. How is this normal?

Man... 😔

[demonsword586]

if my hcs pissed y'all off sm can u just fucking block me also saying that im advertising paimon as female just bc i HEADCANON him (im emphasizing it for u since y'all can't fucking read) as transfem and used she/her prns bc i said she's a gyaru when y'all could've just blocked and called it a day but no u and ur friends were literally jumping me on my asks and telling me to make my own post abt it but when I did suddenly im making a tantrum and that im weird??? USE UR DAMN BRAIN OMG

I JUST SAID AN OPINION AND U LOSERS TOOK IT SRSLY AND NOW IM THE BAD GUY FOR MAKING POSTS ABT IT???? y'all were literally being weird to me when it's literally been a week since that paimon post can u be srs for one fucking second

"no one is telling u hcing paimon as transfem is wrong" but y'all hate it when i use she/her prns BE FUCKING FR???

God,at this point I don't even see the point of replying to you when all the answers are already said by the others.

The only reason why I haven't blocked you yet is because I still had some small hope you would admmit you were in the wrong but it seems like that won't be the case.

I just don't see any point in trying to argue with a child's mentallity. Please get out,close up your mobile and enjoy some nature.

Also I love the dedication you put in just to piss in my inbox. Did you go through all the accounts who said something mean about you?~ How cute!

Also just to make it clear to your simple-minded self,in any post you make about Paimon you use she/her as if that is their actual prns. But it's not. If someone who has no idea about whb saw your blog,they would think Paimon is female. And ince they play the game,they would be disappointed once they realize it's a guy. That's why people are so careful with what they say on the internet. Because misinformation is made,accidently or not. There are also people who can be sensitive to this kind of topic. You have to be very careful when it comes to sexuallity and sexual topics in general. Many have bad experiences with it and even misgendering can be a trigger.

Seeing from how you don't have any bit of sympathy towards hurting other people with your rude speech,I can only assume you don't have many real friends so you go on the internet and then rage here instead.

I'm done with this topic now. I come here to relax and have fun,not argue with an immature idiot.

[morhido]

Following on from this post, i said in the end notes of this chapter that i had cut out a big chunk of the outline but would post it onto tumblr if people were still interested in seeing it, so here it is :>> don't mind the fact that it's oddly detailed for an outline lol, i had at least half of this fully written out in prose before deciding to scrap it

(For anyone just scrolling through the sfth tag who has no idea what i'm talking about, this is referring to my au fic where jimmy from toby's secret pocket is spiderman lol :3)

Now. 

Kit clancy did not stay up late because he was thinking about jacob doohickey and his date.

He stayed up late because he'd fallen down a youtube rabbit hole of laughing at conspiracy theorists on the internet.

That being said, he was only made aware of how suspicious he must have looked when doohickey walked in and his eyes immediately snapped towards him like a meerkat.

If doohickey noticed, though, he didn't comment on it as he hung up his coat.

"Hey, look at you, being home on time," kit said, for lack of anything better to say. It wasn't like doohickey was particularly known for his tardiness, but an actual friendly greeting would have thrown him off way more than their regularly scheduled insults.

In turn, doohickey just shot him with a puzzled look. "You're awake?" 

"It's not even midnight. 'Course i'm awake." 

"It's 11:37. That rounds up to midnight." 

He huffed. "And you call me a fuckin' know-it-all. What are you, a cop?"

Doohickey's jaw pinched in a way kit knew means he was trying to hold back a laugh. Kit did no such thing and smirked victoriously.

"Soo," he chirped as doohickey walked by again, shucking off his blazer. "How was the date?"

Then he internally began to panic a bit because Fuck is that a normal question to ask a platonic male friend?

Doohickey frowned as he opened up his bedroom door, threw his blazer onto the bed, and closed it again. "Since when do you give a shit?"

"Okay, damn. Kill a guy for being curious," he scoffed, trying to lay on his annoyance as thick as possible. Which only served to annoy him even more, because god, when did this become so difficult? When did i have to start putting effort into this?

Doohickey must have been tired, because instead of retorting anything clever, he just shook his head lightly, walked over to the couch, and leaned over with a smile. "It was fine, clancy. Happy?" 

"Over the damn moon," he said in what he hoped was an easy smile. "You treat him nice? Give him the flowers? Pull out his chair?" 

"Fuck yeah i did." He chuckled a bit before padding over to the kitchen and beginning to rummage through the cabinets. Because kit knew he liked to reward himself with snacks after a job well done. "Giggled all cute when i did, too. We got a second date for whenever's he's free next week." 

"Huh. Good for you."

Doohickey paused briefly. His hand skirted a pack of cookies that kit had bought because the flavour looked interesting, only for them to taste like satan's armpit. So of course doohickey liked them.

"You tired?" he asked with an odd sort of gentleness

"What makes you say that?"

He tossed him a look as he pulled one of the cookies out and returned the rest of the pack. "If this was tomorrow morning, and i said, 'hey, the guy i just went on a date with said he wants to see me again next week', you would say, 'i'm surprised he didn't run away screaming at first sight, lucky you'." 

He rolled his eyes, desperately pushing away some of the building nervousness in his chest. Because. Yeah. That's probably what he would have said, on a better day. "Well, maybe i'm tryna be nice." 

"And you care about being nice all of a sudden?"

They could have gone on for hours like this, really. They had before. It always annoyed the shit out of anyone listening, but after a while kit always managed to forget there was anyone even there aside from doohickey.

But hearing his voice when kit was this tired was sending all sorts of emotions around his brain and he did not want to deal with that right now.

"Fuck this. Fuck you," he said without venom as he pulled his blanket over him. "I'm going to sleep."

He sensed some sort of expression of annoyance, and didn't check to confirm.

"Oookay," doohickey said, sounding somewhat relieved, and walked over to his room. "Yeah, me too. Night, clance."

"Goodnight."

The door closed. Kit was left in his own thoughts once again.

He turned to his side and returned to the static of youtube, hoping it could fill in the silence until he fell asleep.

[dhampling]

moon river

“Remember when you asked me why?” “Why you cared?” He recalls with a joking menace on the last word, leaning back on his palm and bringing his chalice to his lips. “Yeah.” - probably the most personal thing i will ever post on the internet disguised as a reader insert. enjoy! w/c: 813

A considered silence, the earliest hours of the morning. The occasional break, the glug of wine into a silver chalice. Two. The city below still alive in a quiet amber hum.

The Lower City wall. One of the clandestine turrets just along from the Szarr Palace, blankets around shoulders.

“Can I talk to you about something?”

He turns his head in a dozy cant. Lids heavy. Looks at you through a slow blink, dark lashes.

If this were only weeks ago he’d have been skittish at the suggestion. ‘The guard’ would have gone up, the desperate need to keep you close.

How he luxuriates in your company now. Unwavering. Devoted. Proven. Known. Revered.

The Absolute nothing but a brain in the water.

“Anything.” Astarion smiles lazily. 

“Remember when you asked me why?”

“Why you cared?” He recalls with a joking menace on the last word, leaning back on his palm and bringing his chalice to his lips. 

“Yeah.”

He hums in acknowledgement, edging you on at your own pace. A calm quirk plays at the very corner of his lips.

“I saw some of myself in you.”

You let the statement hang for a moment. He swills the red nectar around his teeth and swallows slowly.

“You did, did you?”

“Yeah.’

You lift your own chalice. The stars above never looked brighter than they do now, the clearest of cool nights; the lax billow of sails far along the Chionthar, the couple you see stumbling blindly from a middle-distant tavern. The final call from within. 

‘A lot of my life has been spent making people feel exceptionally wanted. Stealing their hearts to whatever extent that’d allow me to get the reaction I wanted. A mechanical ploy - never cruel, not forced as such - but learned nonetheless. Reading faces, bodies; holding both with reverence.’

You sip. The water sparkles.

‘Giving to whoever promised adoration. Making the occasional someone feel loved enough to keep me safe in their head. A campfire tale.’

There’s a mirth to your smile, teeth glazed in wine and white bread.

‘From the moment I met you I knew there was a vulnerability to you. I loved it.’

Astarion pokes you with his elbow, clicking his tongue but remaining quiet. 

‘You’re beautiful. Those who are so damn godsly-blessed as you rarely have the insecurity I could smell from you, from the knife at my neck. From the fear in the furrow of your brow.’

You know he aches for the sun.

But as the moon catches his profile you see he is the ultimate divine here, now, in this light; at your side. Gossamer to the tips of his curls. Soft, heavy; tongue whetting his lips, mapping constellations in his glorious mind and listening.

Listening to you. 

Without witness. Without reward.

‘And it seems we were both playing the same game. The worst bit is I didn’t even know I was playing one.”

There’s a beat of silence before he opens his mouth to talk.

“In the moment you never do, do you?’

He understands. Gods, he understands. He takes the threads of your lives and weaves them together, just as you’ve done this whole time.

‘You just do what you have to. What feels right. Whatever is going to give you the response you need.”

He was being forced to do what he had to. You did it because you had to. 

It’d be so easy for him to play points in the viciousness of his situation, but he sees that there is familiarity - a gap, as wise as an ocean and simultaneously as small as a grain of sand - in the sentiment. 

You wonder where the point scoring mindset comes from. Why each experience has to be weighty and balanced against another. Why you compare yours to his in any coherent sense.

Then you see the smile.

Ruinous. Saccharine. Eyes of red honey. A hand covering yours.

“Listen, because I won’t repeat it.’

You look at him and you see every dream you’ve ever had. The golden mornings, piles of riches, robes of silk. A house in the clearing. Chickens. Children. A lover so infallible they won’t scare. Your charm, your wit and irreverence; a life of a charm offensive, and all of it evaporates the minute he takes your fingertips in tiny kisses.

‘It worked. You won. You never have to fight like that again. To convince, to perceive the thoughts of others and how they may benefit you or otherwise.’

He rolls his hand in the air, starbound; sweet. 

‘I love you. Irrevocably. You did it. My darling, you won.’

His head shakes a little from side to side as he sips.

‘Admittedly not a flawless prize, but one you’ve won fair and square. Devoted entirely to you.’

Astarion pauses to think. Looks to the moon on the river.

‘Rest east, lover. You’ve got this, and I’ve got you. From here on out.”