#but i really do want to get better. i suppose i just don’t know how

[pathologicalreid]

merry christmas, please don't call | s.r.

in which Spencer pens an email to you, since you've already blocked his phone number

who? spencer reid x fem!reader category: angst content warnings: nondescript break up, described as spencer's fault, reader is mentioned to have worn lipstick, yearning, word count: 907 a/n: and the worst part is!!! that we both know!!!!! we are doing kind of an unofficial margotmas/reidmas! really i've just been building up christmas ideas for a while lol

To: xreader@gmail.com From: Spencer.Reid@gmail.com Subject: Merry Christmas

Hey,

Spencer shook his head, that was too casual.

Good afternoon,

Much too formal.

Hello,

Too rigid.

Darling,

I passed by the house that you told me you adored. It used to be your dream house; you’d always show me the Zillow listing whenever you were browsing. The owners didn’t put up their Christmas lights this year, and it looks like they’re getting ready to sell. I haven’t been online to check the listing, that was always your thing rather than mine.

Do you remember the house? It had four bedrooms for our kids to sleep in and a library with stained-glass windows. You always told me the stained-glass windows were your favorite feature of my apartment. I keep it covered now; the colored glass just serves as a painful reminder of you.  

Emily called me last week. I suppose no one told her that we weren’t together anymore because she asked what our holiday plans were. I haven’t made any since you left. I’m finding myself hopeful that we get called on a case over Christmas so that I don’t need to be surrounded by the world celebrating while I continue to wallow in the memories of you and me.

That’s all I have now: memories. We made so many of them over the course of three years that I don’t know what to do with them. I’ve always had the sneaking suspicion that having an eidetic memory is a curse just as much as it is a blessing, but with you gone, I know it’s more of a curse. I see you when I close my eyes as if your features have been permanently tattooed on the back of my eyelids, but when my eyes are open, everything is exponentially worse.

You left in such a hurry, so you were bound to leave a few things behind. When I went to make a cup of coffee and found one of your mugs in my cabinet, JJ and Penelope had to practically scrape me off the kitchen floor. There was still a lipstick smudge on it, a piece of our history the dishwasher couldn’t quite wash off. Your necklace was on the bedside table, though maybe that was left behind on purpose. I wish we could go back to the day I gave it to you, you could wear the same green dress, and maybe work wouldn’t get in the way. If I could, I’d call you to ask why you left it behind, but you’ve blocked my number.

There was no need for you to leave me things to remember you by, how could I ever forget you?

I’ve been finding myself grateful that you got so close with Garcia during our relationship, she doesn’t give me any explicit details on your life when she updates me. I never ask, but she knows I want to hear.

It’s a rather odd phenomenon to have once had someone who you shared everything with, only to one day find they want nothing to do with you. I always find myself reaching for my phone to send to a message, or leaning over to show you a line in my book, but you’re not there anymore. I don’t hold any malice in my heart for you, even after you called it all off. My biggest regret is that I couldn’t be the boyfriend that you needed, and I’m proud of you for realizing you wanted someone better. I’m sorry I couldn’t be better.

Maybe I still have some growing up to do. There might be some sort of emotional stunting as a result of my less-than-orthodox upbringing and education, which makes sense when you consider two of my most common nicknames, “boy genius” and “kid.” One day I could find myself in the same place you were, ready for more, but maybe then I’ll be with someone who is ready for the same things as I am. She’ll never be you though. You’ll always hold that special place in my heart.

Speaking of my upbringing, my mom keeps asking about you. Each time we talk on the phone, she asks if she can talk to you, but I’ve been telling her that you’re still working or are otherwise preoccupied. I know I shouldn’t lie to her, but if I tell her, she’ll inevitably forget, and I’ll be forced to recount the story of how I lost the best thing to ever happen to me forever. That would be my eternal damnation. There’s Sisyphus and Tantalus and Spencer Reid, slowly becoming nothing but a myth. I wonder if I’m a story that you tell your friends at O’Keefe’s.

I go there sometimes, just to see if I can catch your gaze, but you’re never there.

I know this is your favorite holiday, and I don’t intend to ruin your holidays with my message. I suppose I just needed to see if you still dream about that house. To see if you still dream of me the way I dream of you.

Merry Christmas,

Spencer

He clicked send nervously, ready to snap his work-issued laptop shut when it chirped with a notification. Surely you hadn’t responded that quickly. Spencer opened his inbox once more, checking the latest email.

To: Spencer.Reid@gmail.com From: mailer-daemon@googlemail.com Subject: Delivery Status Notification (Failure)

Message blocked.

Your message to xreader@gmail.com has been blocked. See technical details below for more information.

[covenofagatha]

A dance with death (and her wife) (Part 1)

@lanfear-is-my-darkmistress

You are a profiler for the FBI when you get called to help catch a serial killer in Westview. (Killing Eve/Hannibal AU)

Word count: 4200

Warnings: descriptions of violence, fear

The phone rings at 7:30 in the morning on your day off and you want to throw it against the wall. 

You had been sleeping – having a very good dream, actually – when the harsh ringtone roughly jolts you out of your slumber. 

“Hello?” you answer groggily, rubbing your face with your hand. If it’s a spam call, you think you might lose your mind. 

“Is this Agent Y/L/N?” A gruff voice asks and you shoot up out of bed into the sitting position. 

You clear your throat and try to sound professional. “Um, yes, this is she. Who am I speaking with?”

“This is Director Hayward,” the man says, and your eyes widen. The head of the FBI is calling you. “Have you heard of the town of Westview?” 

Your forehead wrinkles while you rack your brain for anything that sounds familiar. “No, sir, I don’t think so.” 

There’s muffled sounds from the other side of the phone and then you can hear Director Hayward clearly. “It’s a small town in New Jersey. Nothing special, nothing too out of the ordinary.” He pauses like you’re supposed to recognize it, but after a moment of silence he sighs and continues. “About seven months ago, we believe a pair of serial killers moved into town. Bodies started piling up, seemingly no rhyme or reason to who was killed, only that the victims were all female.” 

“Okay,” you say slowly, trying to wrap your head around all this. If it’s been going on for this long, why haven’t you heard about it? “Are we sure they’re connected if there’s no pattern of victim? Usually men have a type when they do this kind of thing; the women usually look like an ex-lover who broke their heart, or their mom.” 

You can practically hear him roll his eyes through the phone. “They were all killed the same way: poison to sedate them and then their hearts were carved out. And there was a purple azalea left in every single one of the victims’ chest cavities. So we’re pretty sure they’re connected.” Sarcasm drips copiously from his tone and you wince. Way to make a good first impression on the director of the FBI. “And it’s not a man. It’s a woman.” 

This makes you perk up with interest. “Oh?” As a profiler for a branch of the FBI in Miami, you’ve handled your fair share of serial killers. It may make you sound insensitive, but you were only really interested in the female ones. Men were so boring and predictable. Women knew how to make it a challenge, and there was always some deep, underlying motive for why they did it. There was nothing you enjoyed more than piecing together that puzzle. 

“They’re calling her The Witch. The poison used on the victims is like nothing we’ve ever seen before, so we think she must be making it herself. But since female serial killers are kind of your thing–” 

You cut him off before you can think twice, thoughts whirling through your head. “How do you know it’s a woman? Cutting out a heart, that takes a lot of strength. Most female serial killers tend to use gentler methods, like poison, so it makes sense that there’s at least one woman involved. Are you sure she isn’t working with someone though? Lavinia Fisher would poison her victims and then her husband would finish the job.” 

“How quickly can you get to Westview?” He asks, completely ignoring your question. 

“Oh, you want me to go there?” 

He scoffs. “Yes, Agent, we want you to go there. I’ve already informed your boss and he’s given his approval. No one has been better at catching the female killers than you, so we really need you on this. You can take the Miami jet as soon as you’re ready, but they want you there as soon as possible.” 

“Will I be working with the Trenton branch?” 

“Just the Westview PD for now. They’ve assured us that they have their best detectives on the case. But if you need backup, let us know and we can send in some more profilers. Whatever it takes to bring this woman to justice.” He hangs up without another word and you grab your to-go suitcase that you keep packed for times like these. You throw in a few extra sets of clothes just in case it takes longer than expected, and then you’re out the door, driving to Headquarters. 

You walk into your boss’s office and knock on the door. The director of the Miami branch, Tony Stark, looks up at you. “Hope you packed some warm clothes,” he says and you chuckle. You definitely did not.

“Hayward said I could take the jet?”

Tony nods. “It’s out back and already fueled up. Good luck, kid. Be careful, okay?” 

You scoff. “Careful? I’m always careful.” He fixes you with a stern look and you acquiesce. “I promise.” 

“I don’t need to remind you what happened last time you worked on a case like this, do I?” 

It hits you like a punch to the gut and you shake your head. “No, sir, you do not.” But you know he’s going to tell you anyway. 

“That woman destroyed you,” he hisses. “You got so focused on finding her that you stopped eating and sleeping. The obsession completely consumed you.” 

“I caught her, didn’t I?” You mutter, knowing full well that isn’t his point. He slams his hands down on his desk and you jump. 

“She almost killed you,” he almost yells and your face twists at the memory. 

The Scarlet Killer terrorized Miami about three years ago before you finally brought her down. At first, she would sneak into houses of families with twins and slit the parents’ throats and kidnap the kids, but the twins would always resist so she would end up killing them too. 

After a while, she stopped caring about the twin aspect and started killing anyone with children. 

You had spent days in the office, pacing and pouring over the evidence board, trying to make sense of it. There was no DNA anywhere, but there was also no sign of forced entry, so you figured that she was invited into the house somehow. The hunt for children made you think she had lost her own, or had some sort of abusive childhood that made her want to protect kids. She was possibly a twin as well, and very amicable if people were having her over willingly. 

It took two months before you figured out the perimeter of her murders. She was making a hexagon shape with the houses of the victims. Hexagons can represent balance, so you figured she felt as if she was balancing out some score with the universe for something that had happened to her. 

And then one fateful night, you realized where her next target was. A family had just moved into a house perfectly on the border of the hex, as people around the office started calling it, and they had twins. 

You spent almost an entire week camped out in front of their house waiting for the Scarlet Killer to strike. You think during that time, you slept a total of ten hours. Hallucinations plagued you and you would doze off and then wake up babbling something about catching her. Agents would bring food by your car and beg you to take a break, but you kept your eyes strained on the house, determined that you wouldn’t let her get away with it again, determined to prove that you were right about where she’d be.

And you were. 

Except the knocking that should’ve been on the front door of the house, the knocking that would inevitably lead to more death, was on your car window. 

You had jolted awake to find a redheaded woman standing there, looking worried. You opened the door and got out to help her when she had pulled a knife out and stabbed you in the stomach. 

Thank god she didn’t go for her usual M.O. of slitting throats. 

You were able to weakly unholster your gun and take a shot at her as she was running away and by the yelp, you knew you had hit her. A consolation prize as your vision faded to black. 

Somehow, you woke up two days later in a hospital room, Director Tony Stark by your bedside. They had caught the killer a block away thanks to the appendix your bullet had ruptured that rendered her unconscious, a woman named Wanda Maximoff, who had lost her twins in a horrible house fire, and made it a mission to try and replace them.

And her knife had missed anything important, and all you had was a nasty scar and the weariness from everyone else whenever there was a new female serial killer to catch. 

“She didn’t kill me though,” you tell Tony, who rolls his eyes. “I’ll be careful. I won’t get too involved this time.”

He slides open a drawer and takes out a file and a business card that he holds out to you. You reach across the desk to grab the two and you scan the card. 

Rio Vidal, Therapist, Westview. With an email and phone number. 

You hold it up and raise an eyebrow. “You want me to see a shrink?” You already completed your mandated fifteen hours of therapy after the Maximoff incident and you weren’t eager to go back. 

“You don’t have to, it’s just so you have an option. In case you feel yourself becoming too ‘involved.’” 

You purse your lips but you slip it into your pocket and tighten your grip on the file. “Guess I’ll see you whenever we catch her.” 

He salutes you and you make your way to the jet out back. 

It’s a three hour flight and you spend your entire time pouring over the case file. You know there’s still some information that you’ll have to get from the Westview PD, like witness statements and exclusive photos that haven’t been released yet, but what you do have is brutal. 

Photos of shriveled up bodies with barely any skin still on their bones, their cheeks hollowed out, like something sucked the life out of them. Not to be sexist, but you can tell why Director Hayward thought it was a woman. 

Although there’s a gaping hole in their chests where a heart used to be, the cuts are neat, precise. And the blood has been completely cleaned up. What should be the bloodiest crime scene you’ve ever seen is void of any fluid, like the killer methodically mopped and bleached and cleansed the scene of everything. But this also means that the victims are dead before the heart is cut out, from the poison. 

The most chilling thing is the singular, perfect flower placed in the cavity of their chest.

You flip through the toxicology reports but can’t really make sense of anything. One report says one chemical was the cause of death, another report says another. The levels of chemicals in the bloodstream are also different from victim to victim. 

It reminds you of Jolly Jane Toppan, who would experiment with different medicines and chemicals to murder patients at hospitals. 

Is the killer a nurse? A chemist? You’re able to figure out why she’s called The Witch, because it’s like she’s brewing up potions of sorts, but you have no idea why she would bother cutting their hearts out if she’s killing them with poison. 

The precision of the blade also means that her hands are steady. Another reason she could be a nurse. 

You flip through the pictures of all the victims – eleven, so far – and the first victim’s cut is just as accurate as the last victim. This woman is either a natural, or this isn’t the first time she’s killed. 

Pulling out your computer, you search the database for any serial killer cases that match this same type of crime, male or female. You’re still not entirely convinced she’s working alone. 

But there’s nothing. No cold cases, no open cases. She has truly shown up out of nowhere. 

You tap your fingers to the tray table, your mind trying to make sense of the details for the rest of the flight. 

When the plane lands, you’re ushered into an uber and taken to the motel where you’ll be staying. Your rental car is already in the parking lot. Even though Westview is a small town, it means a lot that they’re giving you all these accommodations. 

Your room is complete with a kitchenette, a queen sized bed, and a good sized bathroom. You drop the files on the table, throw your suitcase in the bedroom, and grab your work bag before locking the door behind you. 

The rental car is a small sedan that has a strange smell, but it does the job and you drive through the quaint twisting roads to get to the police station. You park up front, take a deep breath, and walk in. 

No one stops you or asks what you’re doing here (no wonder this case hasn’t been solved yet) so you make your way to the back where you find the Chief’s office. 

He’s a skinny man with a mustache, spots of something that looks like mustard on his shirt, talking to a woman with her back to you. All you can tell is that she has long, dark hair that flows down your back.

“Hi, excuse me?” You say, knocking on the glass door. The Chief stops and the woman turns around to face you and you’re momentarily struck by how attractive she is. “I’m Agent Y/N? The, uh, criminal profiler from Miami? The FBI sent me to help with The Witch case.” 

“Oh, shoot, that’s right,” the man says, wiping his hands on his jacket before standing up. “Chief Phil Jones. This is Detective Agatha Harkness–” He motions to the woman standing there who smiles knowingly, raking her eyes up and down your body. “– our best. She’s been working this case day and night.” 

“Any leads so far?” You ask her. 

“Why don’t I show you what we have so far?” She offers and you nod, following her out of the office and trying not to look at her ass. She takes you into  a different room with a bulletin board filled with pictures and string and post-it notes. You squint at it, trying to take everything in, while you hear more people enter the room behind you. 

“So, Miami, what do you think?” A man taunts and a few others snicker at him. You ignore him, you’ve been used to this your entire career. 

You’re still scanning the board when something catches your eye. The witness statements. They don’t corroborate with each other. From the six people that have seen something, they all agree that the killer had dark hair. But some say it was long, others say just past her shoulders. Some think she was taller and lean, others say shorter and just a little more filled out. There’s a detail from two witnesses that gives you pause though: they say the woman had a mask of sorts on the bottom of her face, almost like a skeleton. The other witnesses make no mention of not being able to see the killer’s entire face. 

You tap the papers. “Why don’t the statements line up?” 

“Surely you know how unreliable eyewitness testimony is,” Agatha drawls, and when you turn around, she’s watching you carefully. 

You frown. “I do know, but it seems like there’s two different people here. So either we have a copycat, which would be unlikely due to there being no change in the level of detailedness from murder to murder, or–” You trail off, chewing on your lip. You’re waiting for someone, Agatha maybe, to finish the sentence, or to tell you you’re being crazy. 

“Or?” She prompts like she’s daring you to go on. There’s a look in her eyes, a look you don’t quite recognize. 

You give the men in the room a glance. Will they laugh? “I really think we’re dealing with two killers here. Working together. One poisons the victims, the other cuts out the heart. I thought it was a man and a woman, but it seems like two women. They’re obviously very close to each other, and they’ve got it down to an easy routine.” 

“Why hasn’t anyone seen two women then?” Agatha asks, but you feel like she’s just guiding you to a realization, rather than criticizing your theory. 

You hum, tossing the question around in your head. “Maybe…maybe because they want us to think there’s only one killer? They’ve fooled everyone, even the FBI. Easy to chalk it up to faulty witness statements.” 

“Why wouldn’t they try to look alike then?” Agatha presses, and your brow furrows. It’s a good point. 

The pictures of the mutilated victims on the board stare back at you while you look for anything you could’ve missed. “Are they toying with us? Do they want us confused? The poison, the cut-out heart, the flower left behind, the different descriptions, it’s like this is a game to them. They’re cocky, they feel confident that they can’t get caught. Maybe both of them are narcissists, but definitely are on the Antisocial Personality Disorder spectrum.” 

“Why do you think they do it?” Agatha says in a hushed voice. You can’t help but notice that she seems excited. 

Is that because she finally might be getting a break in her case? 

“I don’t know,” you admit and she looks disappointed. You spin to face the board again. “There’s no obvious connection or pattern between the victims, so it doesn’t seem like there’s a personal vendetta against them. Nothing stands out about the locations either. It seems like they’re just killing for fun, right now.” 

“That’s pretty dangerous,” she says, and you can feel the front of her body brush against your back. You’ve been so entranced that you didn’t even hear her notice her coming over. “That means anyone could be next.” 

Goosebumps spread over your body at her hot breath on your neck, but her words sober you up. She’s right. You’re not able to rule out potential victims based on how many kids they have or don’t have, like with Wanda, or what they look like or don’t look like. 

“Okay,” you say, nodding your head. “We need to send out a BOLO for two women with dark hair now. Put these descriptions out, tell them to keep an eye out for a skeleton mask? Hopefully we can get some tips and put a stop to this before anyone else gets hurt.” 

“What should we call the other woman?” One of the male officers speaks up and you’re surprised that it’s an actual question. 

Agatha watches you with interest while you think about it. “How about…Lady Death?” You offer and she gives a nod of approval. “Put a BOLO out for Lady Death and The Witch.” 

You make copies of everything that’s on the board and paper clip them together to put in your bag. As you’re packing everything up to go back and leave to the motel (Tony would be proud of you for leaving the station at an acceptable time), Agatha comes over and leans on the table. 

“What do you think their relationship is? Lady Death and The Witch,” she says, amusement lacing her tone when she says their nicknames. 

You shrug. “Sisters, friends, wives? Maybe they’re just two crazy people who met each other and want to kill people.” She chuckles and studies you curiously. 

“You know, we’ve had some other profilers come in, but none of them have been like you. You know your stuff.” 

“Female serial killers are kind of my thing,” you say. “There’s just something about untangling the mystery that’s so much sweeter. Makes me feel…alive. Which I know sounds bad, because so many people have died, and I’m sorry.” 

Agatha looks like she knows exactly what you’re talking about. “No, don’t apologize. It’s exciting, isn’t it? The exhilaration, the moment when you finally get what you want, what you’ve been working toward.” Her voice is low and you nod, leaning in before you can realize what you’re doing. Your gaze drops down to her smirk and then back to her blown-out pupils. “Do you think you’ll be able to find them?” 

“Yeah, I do,” you breathe, and she looks positively delighted. Out of nowhere, the scar on your stomach stings and you grimace. Agatha looks at you, concerned but you brush it off. “I guess I’ll see you tomorrow then?” You ask, standing up and slinging your bag onto your shoulder. 

“See you then, superstar,” she says with a grin and watches you leave. 

When you get back to the motel, you spread all the pictures and notes out, trying to connect some dots. You scribble down Friends? Sisters? Lovers? on a sticky note and press it to the wall. 

Why do you think they do it? Agatha’s question still haunts you. You don’t want to believe that it’s just for fun, there has to be some meaning, some motive for poisoning and then physically removing hearts. There has to be some significance to the flower left behind. 

But what is it? 

Your stomach grumbles so you decide to take a step back and go pick up food from a restaurant in town. As you’re pulling out of the parking lot to come back to the motel with wings and french fries, you get a call from Tony Stark. You accept it, taking a sip from your cup quickly. 

“Hey, Director,” you say. 

“There she is! How’s it going?” 

You shrug even though he can’t see you. “Not too bad. Just went and got dinner. See, I’m taking care of myself.” 

He laughs like it’s the funniest joke he’s heard. “Glad to hear it. Any new leads in the case?” 

“There’s two women, not one. They’re working together.” There’s silence on his end of the line for a second and you wonder if he heard you. “Did you–?

“Yeah, I got that. Shit, so you think you’re looking for partners? I don’t like this,” he says. 

“I’m okay, I promise. What happened with Wanda won’t happen this time,” you reassure him as you turn back into the motel lot. “I’ll check in with you whenever you want. I’ll go see that shrink. I’ll be careful.” You’re worried that he’ll pull you off the case if he thinks you’re too obsessed. Your hyperfixation tendencies almost cost you your life, and you know Tony doesn’t want that to happen to you again. He’s become somewhat of a father figure to you since you started working there, and it’s touching how much he cares.

He hums in satisfaction. “I expect you to eat three meals a day and get at least five hours of sleep.” Before you can protest, he continues. “And I want you to make an appointment with that therapist. Just get ahead of your spiral, maybe talking about the case with someone removed will help you be more level-headed.” 

“I will,” you vow. “Okay, just got back to the motel, I’ll talk to you later.” He says goodbye and hangs up. When you get out of the car with your food, the hair on the back of your neck stands up and your scar tingles. 

Something feels off. 

You get to your door to find it slightly ajar and you frown. You remember locking it. Maybe room service cleans at night? 

“Hello?” You call, pushing it open. Taking a few cautious steps into the room, you scan from wall to wall looking for anything or anyone.

There’s no one there, nothing seems out of place except for your suitcase that is now on your bed. You tentatively walk over to it and unzip it, jumping back like you’re expecting something to pop out. Inside, you find all the clothes you packed gone, and entirely replaced by a new wardrobe. Pulling them out, you gasp when you find cashmere sweaters and silky blouses and comfortable but professional looking pants. There’s a bottle of perfume with the word “Thanatos” printed in perfect calligraphy and you take a whiff. It smells like flowers and wood at the same time and it makes you think of a forest. 

So someone broke into your motel room just to give you some new clothes and perfume? You rustle through the rest of the suitcase and a piece of paper flutters to the floor. 

Heart pounding, you lean down to pick it up. It’s the same sticky note that you put on your wall before you left to get food. 

Friends? Sisters? Lovers? 

Only now, the word ‘lovers’ is circled, with a small heart drawn. You drop the paper like you’ve been burned and run over to where all your case information is and you feel nauseous. 

Nothing has been touched. Nothing is out of place. 

Except for the single purple azalea resting on the middle of the table. 

They were here. 

[boysbeware2]

all the old tptm girl journal entries w the new (if anyone wants to see them again and compare them)

please proceed with caution as many of these could be upsetting to read

disposable girl (jordyn)

(old)

i cant fucking stand this. i try so goddamn hard to make friends, to be attractive to people, to be even somewhat appealing to them etc etc. it never works. i thought it would get better the older i get. thats what i was told. guess what! i was fucking lied to!!! im alwasy left out of EVERYTHING i never get invited to shit and my own friends ignore me all the time. everyone looks at me weird. i cant go in public anymore im so fucking terrified of everyone. nobody fuckinf wants me, man. im so close to doing something stupid i feel so gross and ugly and dumb i should actually just die id be doing everyone a favor LOL

(new)

man, i havent been on here in forever. the internet is kind of dumb. what is there to say? my friend group celebrated our outpatient graduation anniversary the other day, that was pretty nice. we’re all trying to figure out housing stuff, nora’s been helping with that. freyja + mayra + kairi found a place already (how are they so responsible??) and the rest of us are trying to find places near them so we can visit more often. i never expected to have such a big group of friends. if you told me 2 years ago that i’d be living like this, i wouldn’t believe you. it’s still surreal to me. i’m not sure what i did to deserve them. same goes for my girlfriends. i don’t wanna say who just yet, we’re still figuring things out, but i’m just so thankful for them. i feel so lucky to have a second chance at life. i really didn’t believe people when they said it would get better, and then it did. how funny…..

irreverent girl (kairi)

(old)

I do not want God to see me anymore. I do not want anymore eyes on me. This is near unbearable. I have no one to turn to. My mother is in the church. Many of my friends are in the church. They would tell me to find hope through Christ. They would tell me to pray to Him. They would tell me that He will save me. He must not remember He made me, and if He does, He simply does not care. I know this is unbecoming of me, and I don't mean to be dramatic. I am simply depressed, nervous, and I cannot tell what's real and what isn't anymore. I know I'm supposed to hear God speaking to me, but I do not, and I am tired of straining my ears. I just want to see a doctor. I want some kind of tangible solution. I do not want to pray anymore. Praying hurts. I only do it when I am afraid, but I am afraid much of the time. I don't want to be unheard anymore. I do not want to hold out hope for someone who does not act like they're there. I am hurting. I am hurting. I am hurting. Belief is hurting me. The idea of God is hurting me. I need an out. I am hurting.

(new)

When I have a job and money and I can move away from my shitty Mormon parents

splitter girl (tahira)

(old)

theres something so broken in me thats beyond saving. so i dont know why i keep trying to be saved. i meant to kill myself when i was 18. i didnt. all ive wanted to do lately is kill someone or something. i havent. im too much of a pussy to plan anything concrete, no matter how much i hate everyone around me. no matter how much i get off to videos of people dying or how much i love cutting myself i cant actually take action against other people. i am fucking purposeless. i was born from evil and i will always be evil and i cant even live up to that. i hate myself i hate myself i HATE myself and the universe hates me too. i dont know what to fucking do at this point. i talked to one of my friends about wantingto die and they said smthn about hospitalizing myself. maybe. i dunno. i dont know what else there is for me/. my eyes are fucking burning from lookign at my computer for so long adn not getting any goddamn sleep. i am not a good person. i dont think i can be helped but i just dont wanna fucking keep goign to school and being around people and pretending like everything is norma;l. i cant keep doing it. what the fuck is wrong with me whagt happened. why cant i be loved or feel love for other people when did something change in me that switched the aggression and affection parts of my brain. im hyperventilating ill be back. maybe

(new)

getting myself onigiri from this one good boba place 2nite bc im 8 months clean…… its the little things~ ^^

fainéant girl (freyja)

(old)

i know i dont hate being disabled... i just hate being disabled in a society that makes existing difficult... but sometimes i really just dont want to be disabled anymore. i dont want my family to lecture me about how i could be helping out more, or how i should get a job. i dont want teachers to keep asking me whats wrong or the fuckin uni counselor to try to get me hospitalized. i dont want to be in so much pain anymore, to feel so exhausted that i cant even do so much as prepare food for myself, let alone do anything meaningful or fulfilling. its not fair. i shouldnt have to stay inside and sit in the dark all day,. i should be able to have friends. to talk to people and to go out with them and to feel like i am alive. its lonely and traumatic to suffer through this and on top of that no one around me understands, and they never fully will. i am tired of trying to justify my existence to everyone, to explain the pain that i am in and why i shouldnt have to experience it. i know the problem isnt me. i know i live in a world that isnt built for me. but if the world cant change then sometimes i truly feel that i should just stop living in it. my lifespan is already shorter than everyone else's anyways. what difference does it make

(new)

my qpps didnt seem to appreciate me playing Alien Kids Alien Rap for them. Do they even love me

caliber girl (nora)

(old)

唉～It is 3 AM and I should go to sleep but I can’t. I have a work zoom meeting early in the morning and I gotta hit the gym also because I haven’t done leg day in like… weeks. Oh well, it doesn’t even matter. My value is depleting but I don’t think I care anymore. The turnaround date for my code is also in a couple of days and I haven’t made any progress. I keep getting the same error and I’m too tired to figure out what’s wrong. I might get fired at this rate LOL(笑). If that happens, I think I’ll just consider ending it all. Not that anybody will miss me. God I sound so weak and pathetic right now. When did it get like this. How did it get like this. I’m sure I’ll be fine. I’ve been through worse before and this is nothing. Ugh, why is it so hard to breathe? My chest hurts and I feel like something is wrong but I don’t know how to make it go away. Should I call someone about this? No. No one is awake or around to help. I’ll be fine. I’ll just sleep it off. Shake it off… shake it off…

(new)

My Tamagotchi beeped during a meeting fml

chocolate box girl (morgan)

(old)

i thought i was doing better but i cant stop thinking about them. their touch, their interests, their smile, everything. the worst part is that i miss them, after all of what they've done to me. i was 13. i dont even feel justified calling it rape since our relationship was so muddy... they never yelled at me or was angry at me, they just got so sad when i tried to speak my mind, and got all my friends to hate me when we finally broke up. i never said no so i feel like im insulting actual survivors by feeling violated. i wasnt even trying to get into a relationship with them, it just happened... i feel like everyone around me wants me in the same way they did, even though im an adult now and i dont even try to make myself appealing. i wish i could trust people not to take advantage of me, and i feel disgusting and selfish for feeling like everyone has ulterior motives of getting me to fall in love with them, or worse. that's so self centered of me. i dont know how long i can keep doing this

(new)

girl help i cant stop looking at anime figures on japan yahoo auctions !!!!!

taxidermy girl (mayra)

(old)

I don't remember ever not having a sex drive, is that normal ? I was born and then it was all downhill from there, something happened to me sexually i think, I don't know what happened, because I don't remember much, but something happened and I was beaten for it and yelled at and my mother hated me, and now I am an adult and I try to have sex, and I'm not there mentally, even if my body is participating, I feel like I am in the past again, being beaten and yelled at . I want to keep trying, I want to have fun, to feel safe in someone else's arms, to reach the heights of pleasure, but my mind scares me so much, I haven't been able to eat anything today because I feel so horrified by my body . If I was good I would have been born as a nonsexual being, no parts, no desires, no instincts, a blank slate, too empty to be enjoyed . Do you know what it feels like, to have your mother tell you people want to sexually abuse you when you are a child, and then to be made fun of by your peers for being so ugly, to have your middle school and high school classmates joke about how much they don't want to have sex with you ? I am illicit and undesirable at the same time, I am everyone's last option, I am nothing and still too much, rotting deer meat on the side of the road . I wish I had been born as something beautiful and pure, I wish I could start over, that whatever that initial sin was had never been committed .. I want to start over

(new)

Went to a kink event the other night and everyone was so nice … The low lights were fucking with my vision so one of the hosts helped me navigate the place . I ❤️ you random disabled ally with a pup mask on

chemical girl (joy)

(old)

LMAOOOOO im too angry and miserable to be around. i think i just need to give up at this point because theres clearly like. something broken inside me that cant be fixed. that has 2 be it because i try to talk and i just sound cold, i try to make a joke and it comes out overly edgy and unfunny, i try to be like everyone else but its too much. i cant even be a collection of the positive traits i see in others, i try to replicate it and it comes out warped and wrong. im either fucking enraged or in abject misery or way too happy and nobody can keep up with me. the thing is i dont even blame them. i wouldnt want to be around me either. do u know what thats like? being someone you wouldnt want to know? i keep hoping that one day ill wake up and suddenly be normal, the mood swings will be gone and everyone will like me and i wont do stupid shit that pisses them off. but i know that day isnt coming. theres no hope for me and i want to say sorry to everyone who has ever had the misfortune of knowing me but i know it wouldnt do anything. theres nothing i could ever do to make myself right

(new)

i need to convince my gf to take me to Round One again soon

refraction girl (nataana)

(old)

i don't want to do this anymore. i'm going somewhere better

(new)

talked with my psych and i’ll be starting TMS soon, it’s some thing where they put magnets to ur brain and it’s supposed to treat depression.. trying to temper my expectations bc i’ve tried so many treatments that just do nothing for me, but i’d be lying if i said my hopes weren’t riding on this. i want to confidently say i’m glad to be alive. i feel like i’m getting closer to that

nurse parallel/machine girl (xiomara)

(old)

I am so excited... Tomorrow my experimental outpatient treatment plan begins!!! I'm beyond delighted. I have complicated feelings about my DID being in remission, but it's nice to feel stable enough to be in charge of something this big, and to not have terrible gaps in my memory anymore. I still don't remember everything that happened to me, but maybe I don't need to. At this stage of my life, I feel content. I can confidently say everything was worth it. I want to help others feel that way, too. I think I can.

(new)

I’m meeting up with a new friend tomorrow… I feel nervous, but it’s a good nervousness, I think!

[starrysturnz]

baby, it’s cold outside!

pairing. matthew sturniolo x reader

summary. when a harsh blizzard hits boston, matt and y/n get snowed in. with the power out, they brainstorm an alternative way to keep each other warm— and where better to do that than by the fireplace?

warnings. smut; softdom!matt, fingering (fem!receiving), unprotected sex, implied creampie, overstimulation (fem!receiving) if you squint. so much fluff. they love each other so much it’s gross.

word count. 1k

author’s note. sorry i’m posting so late… BUT it’s 10:30pm EST so technically it’s on time. this was supposed to be longer but i was traveling today and i didn’t have the energy to keep writing. kisses!

masterlist | taglist | starrysturnz’s christmas countdown

© starrysturnz. all rights reserved. dividers by @cafekitsune.

“i think that’s enough candles, matt,” y/n laughed, the flickering of the flames reflected in her already shining eyes. “you’re going to wear out the lighter.”

matt glanced up just long enough for her to catch the mischievous grin on his illuminated face, setting the pine-labeled jar down. “it’ll last, baby. i can always go get us another one if it dies.”

“not in this weather, you won’t,” the girl scolded, gazing out the window at the white void and snagging a blanket out of the nearby storage closet. “i don’t care how close the corner store is, you’re not going out in that.” she shivered at the thought, coming up behind her boyfriend and draping the fluffy material across his shoulders. her fingers tickled their way around his waist, clasping tightly and hugging him close so she could relax against his back. 

matt’s shoulders jostled her as he chuckled. “c’mon, you know i’m not that stupid. i’d just go next door and ask mr. martínez to lend me one.”

“please. mr martínez hates us. he’d probably let you in just to push you off his balcony.” 

turning around in her grasp, matt opened his arms and ushered y/n into his embrace, securing the blanket to cover her frame. “then it’s a good thing there’s four feet of snow on the ground waiting to catch me, huh?” he swiped the tip of her nose with his knuckle, pulling her in to lay a kiss against her forehead. 

“whatever. i’m not going down there with a hairdryer to thaw you out. you’re on your own.” 

“a space heater would work better, no?” he mused with a smile. “speaking of… we gotta get some heat going in here, it’s freezing. how ’bout a fire, hm? keep us warm ’til they get the power lines back up?”

he felt her nod against his chest. “you do that. i’m gonna go grab the duvet.”

⁺⁎˚

“m-matt…,” y/n whined from beneath him, “please, don’t stop. please.” 

“i’ve barely gotten started, baby,” matt spoke lowly, nosing at her flushed cheek, “why would i stop now?”

a breathy sigh filled the space between them, “because you’re evil, and you’re a tease.”

“if i was evil, would i do this?” she gasped sharply as she felt his fingers curl inside her, hitting that special, spongy spot that always left her weak in the knees. his thumb worked hard on her clit, and a shiver shot down her spine; this time, not from the cold. 

actually, they were quite warm. matt was the one to suggest they build a makeshift bed by the fireplace, and in hindsight, y/n should’ve known he was scheming for more. but she couldn’t lie and say it was uncomfortable or impractical— the many pillows and blankets beneath her made for a really soft mattress, and she was nothing if not cozy. 

but the girl was bordering on impatient. it’s not her fault! it’s just that they’d been doing this for a while now, and the poor girl wanted more. matt’s a giver at heart, and she knew this could go on all night if she didn’t say something. 

“matt…,” she whimpered desperately, hands finding purchase in his hair. a dull ache bloomed at the base of his skull as she tugged. “m-matty—”

“matty?” he laughed. “someone’s desperate… poor thing.” his fingers never relented, and it wasn’t long before her first orgasm finally took over. 

“oh… oh, my god, matt!” y/n’s voice sounded through the small living room, her hips lifting off of the sheets and grinding into matt’s hand as she started coming down from her high. 

“’s right, baby,” he pulled his fingers out, and a whine of discomfort tumbled from her lips. “that’s it, you’re all right. i got you.” 

matt took the opportunity to take his girlfriend in. the sight of her beneath him, half aglow in the firelight, laying like an angel in their improvised bed surrounded by candles. he felt like the luckiest guy in the universe. 

“baby,” his hand came up to her face, stroking her cheek softly with his knuckles, “you’re shaking.”

y/n’s brow furrowed just so, eyes opening to meet his. “oh… sorry….”

“’s nothing to be sorry about. are you cold? i can grab another log to throw in there, or maybe we have another blanket—”

“i have a better idea.” reaching between them, she palmed him through his calvin kleins. 

matt, sucking in a breath through his front teeth, hung his head low as he gathered himself— if he came from one touch alone, he’d never live it down. y/n would make sure he never heard the end of it. 

“you sure you don’t want some water first? maybe just a minute to relax a little? i can wait, promise.” 

the girl leaned up, pressing the tip of her nose to his. “matt,” she whispered, “please fuck me.”

matt smiled and wasted no time ridding himself of his boxers, almost losing his balance and toppling onto her in the process (she laughed at him and offered no help, naturally). he groaned as he sunk in, swallowing her moans with his mouth, fingers finding her clit once again. a shudder ran through her spine at the stimulation. 

“you’re perfect,” he breathed against her neck. wet kisses littered the area, a roadmap of his favorite freckles and blemishes. “what did i do to deserve you?”

y/n wanted to tell him he was born deserving of everything good, but her lips were stuck in a permanent ‘o’ shape. she was putty in his arms, his thrusts jostling her back and forth against the pillows. 

“love you… so much, baby,” those the last words she heard before her second high, matt following soon behind her. a few moments came and went before she nudged his shoulder, and matt took that as his cue to ease up. 

“i love you, too,” y/n broke the silence. “but i think mr. martínez probably wants us evicted now.”

[cassiewritessalot]

thinkin’ bout you ༉‧₊˚.

jj maybank x fem!reader

୨ৎ summary: reader moved away from obx when they were 15 as her dad got offered a better job, in michigan. jj and reader have always had a crush on one another, but what will jj think when he sees her back in obx after 4 years?

୨ৎ warnings: none? lmk if i missed anything!

୨ৎ cassie’s notes: hii!! as requested, here is ‘thinkin’ bout you’, hope u love this one, more coming soon i pinky promise! with love always, cassieeee <3.

7 years old..

y/n walks down the hallway with her sofia the first backup on her back and her hair in two pigtails, trying not bump into any of the older kids. as she approaches her class, she sees her teacher talking to a boy she’s never seen at her school before.

“Don’t worry jj, everyone will want to be your friend, it’s okay.” y/n overhears the teacher whispering to jj before deciding to put her stuff down in class and take her seat.

the bell rings, indicating it’s time for their lessons to start, and y/n’s teacher walks in holding the new boys hand.

“Everyone, i’d like you all to meet jj, let’s all help him feel welcomed!” the teacher exclaimed excitedly and jj had a nervous look on his face, y/n unknowingly had a smile on her face as she observed the boys looks.

“Jj, you may take a seat next to y/n.” the teacher points to y/n’s desk as she raises her hand to help jj locate her better. he walks over and takes a seat next to the girl, feeling his nerves ease up a little.

“hi! i’m y/n l/n,” the girl turns her body slightly to face jj and puts out her hand, waiting for him to shake it.

“i’m jj, jj maybank.” the blond boy greets back and grasps the girls hand, smiling for the first time that day.

11 years old..

“jj slow down!” y/n shouts excitedly as she and jj rush down to the beach, surf boards in their hand. jj decided that today would be the day he teaches y/n how to surf, as he is the best surfer y/n knows.

“hurry up! the waves are just the right size to surf!” the boy exclaims with a wide grin on his face, the two shortly arrive near the shoreline and swim out past the shallow water and jj helps the girl swiftly get onto her board.

“okay, see you got it, now just watch me.” he mumbles, and began to swim out deeper, leaving the girl alone shortly as he catches a wave. he balances effortlessly on his board with his arms wide out, his face glowing with concentration and excitement. the girl clapping her hands together and cheering for the boy, matching his look of excitement.

he then swims back to y/n on his board.

“that was amazing jay!” the girl continues to clap her hands together and praise him.

“thank you y/n/n.” the boy smiled at his best friend.

the rest of the afternoon was filled with laughter, cheers and stolen glances. the two stayed in the water until the sun began to say goodbye and their parents forced them to come home. the two youngsters falling asleep with smiles on their faces.

15 years old..

“jj! c’mon don’t do this!” y/n exclaims with tears coating her eyes. she thought bringing jj to the beach, their favourite place, to break the news would help but unfortunately it didn’t.

“you don’t do this! y/n you’ve been my best friend for 9 freaking years, bro! how do you expect me to be okay with this?” the blond boy raises his voice at her, making her look away from him while shaking her head and rather towards the waves crashing against one another.

“it’s not like we’re never gonna see each other ever again jj! it’s just 4 years.” y/n begins to try and reason with the boy.

“yeah because 4 years isn’t a long time at all,” the boy rolls his blue eyes as he looks at the girl.

“do you really you think i want to leave you jj? because i don’t! but what am i supposed to do?” y/n attempts to reason with jj for the second time.

“y’know what? forget it y/n, you should probably go finish packing your bags.” jj says in a stern voice and then gets up, leaving the girl his heart yearned for.

“jj get back here, don’t walk away from me!” the girl stands up and runs towards where jj is and grabs his wrist, stopping him from walking away.

“please, just wait for me.” the girl pleads with tears slowly running down her face, the blond boy gently wipes the tears away with his thumb but does not say anything. instead, he walks away, leaving her behind, in the sand with more tears threatening to make their escape from her eyes.

she watches jj’s figure disappear, once he’s completely out of her sight, she turns her body to face the ocean, watching the waves hit one another as more tears roll down her face.

the day y/n leaves..

she places the last bag of her items into the car and close the trunk. she had already received farewells from most of her friends like kiara, pope, and john b, even sarah cameron. the kook princess. as she walks away from the car she thinks about jj and their last encounter which was just a few nights ago.

she contemplated with herself multiple times since that evening, asking herself if she wants to see the boy one last time before she leaves, but then again remembering how upset he was. she decided that seeing him in person wouldn’t be the best choice, so as her father shouts at her to get into the car, she pulls out her phone and sends the boy a text.

jayj

jay

wait for me, please.

seen

after seeing the boy left her on seen, she got into the car. she didn’t look back, she refused to look back, but little did she know, jj was sprinting towards her house after seeing the message. he felt bad about the way the conversation went a few nights ago and wanted to make up for it. unfortunately, just as he arrived at her house, he saw the car leaving. he didn’t try to stop it, he knew he’d always wait for her.

4 years later- 19 years old..

y/n kept in touch with almost everyone she was friends with back in obx, everyone except for her jj. she would have weekly video calls with the pogues, finding out all the drama through the grapevine. whenever she asked about jj, it would be the same answer.

“he isn’t here.”

jj knew about the weekly video calls and refused to be in the same room where the call was happening. he couldn’t bare to listen to her voice and know she wouldn’t be in that same room.

he missed her terribly. he missed surfing together on the beach, and watching the stars after. he missed having her in his arms. he missed going on boat rides with her on the HMS pogue. he missed her smile, the way her eyes lit up whenever she saw him. he missed his girl.

she missed her boy. she missed the way his blond hair would flow in the wind as they raced down towards the beach together. she missed how his eyes lit up as he gazed at the ocean. she missed his presence, and the way his arms felt around her.

the week before y/n came back to obx, she only told kiara, sarah and cleo, cleo being the newest addition to the group and y/n couldn’t wait to meet her.

the four girls decided that sarah would make up an excuse, leave the chatue and pick y/n at the airport and then bring her back to the chatue and surprise the group. they all knew it would be risky because of jj, but they were all excited none the less.

the day y/n landed in obx, it was late in the afternoon, she waited patiently for sarah at the airport, sarah’s excuse being that she’s going to go buy some more beer. as sarah arrived at the airport, she alerted y/n. once the two girls found each other, they found themselves in a bone crushing hug. tears coated both of the girls eyes before they made their way back into the vehicle and caught up with one another.

once they arrived back at the chatue, the sun was beginning to set, casting an orange-pink hue in the sky. the pogues were gathered in the backyard, in the hot tub or just lounging around. sarah and y/n quietly walked into the backyard, excitement filling both their bodies.

jj and john b’s back was facing y/n and sarah as the two boys sat in the hot tub, cleo and kiara were standing outside the hot tub as they waited for the other 2 girls arrival and pope was facing jj and john b.

pope was the first to notice that y/n was back, he suddenly got quiet and had a shocked look on his face. jj didn’t notice as he reached to get another beer, however john b and turned around and saw the girl aswell.

they both immediately got out of the hot tub and ran towards the girl who beamed with a smile on her face as she ran towards them aswell, throwing herself into their open arms.

jj noticed the absence of his best friends and turned around to look for where they are. he stopped in his tracks as he saw john b and pope pulling away from the girl he hadn’t seen in 4 years, his eyes going wide. kiara and cleo then pulling her into another bone crushing hug, excitement seething through all of them.

jj slowly stood up from his spot and got out of the hot tub and made his way over towards the group, a look of shock still planted onto his face. as the two girls pulled away from y/n, she locks eyes with jj. the rest of the pogues worried about how the next few minutes will go.

y/n slowly takes a step forward. “hey jayj,” she spoke, her voice barely just above a whisper. jj didn’t say anything, instead, the boy pulled her into a hug. a hug they both needed but never knew they did.

as his arms go around her waist and hers around his neck, tears rolled down the girls face as she was finally in her favourite boy’s arms again. the two hugged in silence as the surrounding pogues watched them with a smile on their faces, happy to see two like how they used to be.

“i missed you.. so damn much y/n/n.” jj mumbles lowly against her ear.

“i missed you more jay, you have no idea..” the girl said, her face burrowed in the blond boy’s chest.

jj finally realised that his girl was back, she was back in his arms, just where was made to be. he then pulls away from the hug with a smile plastered to his face, making the girl smile almost identically to his.

“you’re back.” he said as he swipes his thumb against her cheek, her hand going up to grab it.

“yeah i am..” she says with a smile, her face glowing. the two finally got a good look at each other and realise just how much more attractive they’d become over the 4 years of not seeing each other.

“you guys know we’re still here right?” john b asks making the group burst into laughter.

the rest of the night was filled with lots, and lots of catching up, laughter and beers. the group spent the entire night outside, talking about anything and everything. as time went by, the night went by, most of the pogues went inside the chatue to get some sleep. however, jj and y/n decided to take a walk alone, to their favourite place.

by the time the two got to the beach the sun was slowly beginning to rise, casting a light blue sky as they sat down in the sand together. the two didn’t say anything for a while, they just watched the horizon, until jj spoke softly.

“i waited, by the way, 4 years.” he doesn’t look at the girl, but she turns her head to look at him.

“i know you did, thank you.” the girl spoke, matching the softness he spoke with.

the boy finally turns his head to look at the girl his heart yearned for. when their eyes met, they both start leaning in. as their lips brush against one another, y/n’s arms find themselves around jj’s neck once again and his place themselves on her waist, keeping her in place.

after several minutes of kissing, they both pull away for air.

“i’ve wanted to do that with you since we were 13 y/n.” jj says with his eyes closed as his forehead rests against y/n’s, whose eyes are also closed.

“well now you can’t do it anytime jay.” the girl says as she removes an arm from jj’s neck and finds his hand, interlacing their fingers together.

they pull away from each other, a look of love in both of their eyes, before bursting into giggles. their laughter soon dies down as they gaze at the ocean, the waves are calm, soothing almost.

“i love you.” the girl says after a moment of silence, jj looks down at the sand then back up at her, a gentle smile on his face.

“i love you more, mama.” jj says as he leans forward and places a kiss on her forehead. the girl then rests her head upon his shoulder as they watch the sunrise and waves.

the end..

[vonlycaonwife]

Lycaon relationship hcs

Omg I went off on this, this was supposed to be for someone’s request but then I accidentally went completely self indulgent. So this will be made into its own post!

Warnings: nsfw (under the cut), knotting, bdsm

Honestly seeing Lycaon in a relationship is like seeing fireflies in the night. It's so whimsical and almost magical, even if it is reality and down to earth.

He's just so sweet and romantic, a lot of the time not meaning to! Like he just naturally would do these little things that make your heart melt.

Though in the beginning he definitely was nervous, not so much to the point of it being obvious to a stranger. But the rest of the members definitely had fun seeing him overthink his actions.

These three would definitely be asked a lot of questions, mainly Rina though since she would have better advice (debatable) than Corin or Ellen.

But! Once the relationship has been through the first couple of months everything is pretty smooth sailing.

He doesn't really question what to do, mainly because he would communicate with you very clearly and often to make sure everything is alright and he's not overstepping.

If his partner isn't a thiren I can imagine him fearing about potentially overstepping because of the possible habits thirens have when in relationships.

One I feel is them being a bit more territorial, though how it's shown is dependent on each person. For Lycaon I feel that for him it's very subtle, like making sure his scent is on you. I can't see him getting aggressive publicly unless someone was making his partner uncomfortable.

Another thiren custom I highly feel is a thing is partners grooming each other. Since it's a common thing amongst animals for bonding, thirens most likely have that instinct as well. So I can see him insistenting on brushing your hair and maybe doing your makeup if you wear any. And he wouldn't really complain about you returning the favor, you would definitely see his tail wagging as you brush his fur.

Also! Another important thing you see more commonly than others is definitely him using more casual prosthetics than the ones we see usually see him. While they would be cyber enhancements as well, they wouldn't have the same modifications as his work ones. I can't imagine him letting just anyone see him use those, so you would be very special to him to see him using those.

Do I have to even mention that he's like the best when it comes to taking care of a sick partner? THIS MAN-

While I don’t believe he would call out of work for a simple cold, he would already have everything prepared for you. Like medicine beside your bed along with a warm meal in the microwave (to keep warm).

But if it's worse than that you can guarantee that he's staying around to make sure you recover at a speedy pace.

Nsfw under the cut

Okay but it's very obvious Lycaon restrains himself a lot to put on a more sophisticated approach.

So when to sex with him you really would have to show him how much you trust him to let him fully relax and not hold himself back during the act.

Even then I don't think he would want to do things roughly that often, maybe only when he's really stressed and needs to release it. Though if that were to be the case there is always a safe word.

As a thiren I do believe he potentially goes through a rut, but it's not really something that happened often until he met you. And even then he most likely prefers to not undergo that since he would lose control of himself.

But! That doesn't mean I don't think he's kinky, I definitely believe he is.

I can see him having a small bdsm thing, but it's only surface level. He mainly would only ever bring these into the bedroom once he knows there's a great amount of trust between you two.

He very much gives soft dom vibes, but it's also obvious that he also has the potential to be a mean dom. I mean come on they're clearly hinting at him being a bit sadistic, even if surface level.

Also I have to say this, he definitely has a knot. (YOU CANNOT STOP ME I AM A FURRY BITCH *ahem* anyway-) But in order for that to ever come into play he would prepare for several weeks, since I can't imagine him not having a big dick and putting a knot on that sounds painful. 

But also I feel like he would only ever do penetrative sex if he's very confident about spending the rest of his life with his partner. Since wolves do have a habit of mating for life.

So it would take awhile to get to that point, and even longer once he's agreed to it since again, prepping you could take a bit.

Another thing I feel I should bring up is him potentially keeping his prosthetics on during sex. It would be the casual ones I've spoken about, but I think he wouldn't take them off for extra leverage and also comfortability (as I feel like in zzz they're most likely advanced enough in tech to where they're pretty comfortable to wear a lot).

Though on the off chance he doesn't have them on you would more likely than not ride him.

Actually speaking on positions, he's definitely a missionary or mating press guy. Maybe would do stuff from behind if he's bending you over a counter or desk. 

Though that would only happen when at home, since I highly doubt he would want anyone to walk in on him while in the act.

[raylaismad]

“Why did you take Him from me,” said Life and Death.

Chaos didn’t look and the other, “I didn’t take anyone from you.”

“You were supposed to die first. You’re supposed to be The Canary. You know that.”

Chaos sighed, “You know that’s not how that works,” the being spread its burning wings, “I was never going to stay a consistent pattern forever, that’s not how I work, You know that.”

Life and Death whipped Its head around, “It wasn’t supposed to be Him. You know how much He means to me.”

“You know about Your curse. If You really wanted Him alive, You would have stayed away.”

Life and Death glared at Its equal, “You don’t get to speak about curses,” It’s pitch black wings puffed out, “and You don’t get to speak of staying away from people You know You’ll only hurt.”

Chaos sighed, “This is just like You isn’t it,”

Life and Death tensed, “You know nothing about me.”

Chaos said, “I know that You always blame others for the misfortune You cause. I know You are over emotional. I know You hate not to get Your way,” Chaos rolled Its eyes, “but most of all I know that You hate to see me win.”

“I do not!”

“But You do! I know You do because You are trying to blame me for His death when I did nothing!”

“You laughed at His grave!”

“You laughed at Mine.”

“…”

“Do You hate that I survived? Do You hate that I tried and I managed to almost make it? Was that why You killed Me? Is that why You killed Her?”

“Jimmy..”

“Shes a better sibling than You ever were.”

“…”

“All I did was survive.”

“…”

“You were always the lucky one.”

“I’m sorry.”

“Leave Me.”

—————————

Zero clue what possessed me to write this anyways @solidaritygaming-fanblog, @grian-fanblog, @moss-moths-eyes-and-whimsy cry lmao

[vitalverstappen]

Bigger Isn't Always Better - P. Gasly

summary: getting a Christmas tree was supposed to be simple, but luckily both you and Pierre's minds are stuck in the gutter

pairing: Pierre Gasly x girlfriend!reader

warnings: a lot of innuendos guys, like a lot. i was listening to a nonsense christmas while writing this

word count: 2.1k

masterlist

Getting the tree had been a fiasco in itself. You had driven an hour to the tree farm, spent hours walking around, trying to pick the best one, chopped it down, drove it back home, and lugged it up a flight of stairs, only for it to be too tall. 

As you stood in the living room, staring up at the tree that now loomed over you like some kind of giant, it felt like every single step had led to this moment of inevitable defeat. The tree was so tall that it nearly brushed the ceiling. 

“Well, this is great” you muttered, pacing around the tree and eyeing the absurdly high branches. “We really outdid ourselves this time, didn’t we?” 

Pierre, who had been standing by the door watching you fume, grinned, clearly taking pleasure in your frustration. “Hey, at least we tried to get the perfect tree,” he said with a shrug, as if the effort was worth something. 

You spun around to face him, raising an eyebrow. “Tried? It’s looking like you in the mornings. ‘Tried’ is not the word I’d use.” 

Pierre took a slow step toward the tree, examining it as if it were some kind of puzzle to solve. “I mean, it’s still a good tree. We can just… trim the top a little. It’s not the end of the world.” 

Your eyes widened in disbelief. “Trim the top? You want me to cut the top off the tree after we spent all day getting it here? That’s gonna look ridiculous.” 

He let out a soft laugh, enjoying pushing your buttons. “It’s just a little trimming. It’ll make it fit. Plus, you know what they say - bigger isn’t always better.” He smirked at you as if he had just won the argument.

You felt your eye twitch at his smugness. “I don’t care what they say,” you shot back. “We’re not getting rid of the classic tree shape.” 

“Yeah, you always liked it a little bushy.” He joked, the smirk still plastered on his face. 

If looks could kill, Pierre would be dead with the one you gave him in response. 

He raised his hands in mock surrender. “Okay, okay, no cutting the top. But we could… cut the trunk? It’ll still keep the tree shape.” 

Your eyebrows raised slightly as the suggestion settled in. “Are you gonna do it?”

Pierre paused, his smile now long gone as he considered your question. “I mean… I could.” He walked closer to the tree, inspecting the trunk like a lumberjack sizing up his next challenge. “It’s just a matter of cutting a few inches off the bottom. The tree will still be straight, I promise.” 

You folded your arms, eyeing him skeptically. “I don’t know, Pierre. Last time you ‘fixed’ something like this, we ended up with half a bookshelf.” 

He gave you an exaggerated pout. “That was one time. And it worked out and became a gorgeous nightstand, didn’t it?” His grin returned, more mischievous than ever.

You groaned, rubbing your temples. “Fine, but if this tree ends up crooked or falling over by Christmas morning, I’m blaming you.” 

“Deal. But I’m confident it’ll be fine. I’ve got this under control.” He said before turning back to you. “But could you help me get this back outside?” 

You blinked, unsure you’d heard him correctly. “What?”

Pierre gave you a shrug, clearly enjoying your confusion. “Well, if I’m cutting the trunk, it might be easier to do it outside. Less mess, you know?”

“You realize this is a two-person job, right?” you sighed, already moving toward the tree. “Because I am not carrying this thing by myself.” 

Pierre’s eyes sparkled with the challenge. “Exactly. We’ll make it a team effort. Besides, how hard can it be?” 

Famous last words, but you grabbed the end of the tree’s base anyway. Pierre started on the other side, his face set with a grin of determination. Together, you carefully maneuvered the tree through the living room, sidestepping furniture and trying not to bash the branches against the walls. 

The thought of bringing it through the garage crossed your mind, but it was hard enough getting it up the stairs of the garage, you couldn’t imagine trying to get it down them. 

But by the time you reached the front door, sweat was starting to bead on your forehead, and the tree was definitely looking like it might be more trouble than it was worth. Still, there was no turning back now. You’d made it this far. 

You pushed the door open, and Pierre started pulling the tree through, only for it to get stuck in the door halfway through. 

“I knew it,” you muttered. “It’s too big.”

Pierre, undeterred, pulled harder. “Come on, it’s just a little tight.” 

“Just how you like it, huh?” you quipped back as you continued to shove the tree.

With one final push, the tree finally slipped free, the branches brushing against the outside of the house as it tumbled down the steps. You both stared down at it for a moment, panting from the effort, before Pierre turned to you with a knowing smirk. 

“See? Piece of cake.” 

“Yeah, if you call nearly killing us with a Christmas tree ‘a piece of cake,’” you said, wiping your brow. 

“Oh come on, we’ve had rougher times” Pierre said, patting your bum as he walked to the garage to grab the saw. 

As he walked back to the tree, you followed reluctantly. The enormous thing was now resting awkwardly on the front lawn, its branches splayed out in all directions. The tree, which had seemed so majestic inside, now looked comically large next to the house. It was impossible to ignore how ridiculous the situation had become. 

“So,” you began, eyeing the trunk again, “how exactly are you planning on cutting this thing?” 

Pierre didn’t seem the least bit fazed by the towering tree. “Simple, it’ll just lose a few inches on the bottom,” he said, walking over to the trunk with the saw in hand. 

“As long as you’re not the one losing a few inches” you remarked, your eyes scanning your boyfriend’s body.

Pierre chuckled, shaking his head as he got into position. “Let’s just get this done, and we can move onto the good stuff.”

With a deep breath, Pierre set the saw against the tree’s trunk and started to cut. The sound of the teeth grinding through the wood made you cringe a bit, but it was too late to stop now.

Minutes later, the trunk was a few inches shorter, and the tree now stood a little less… intimidating. You both stepped back to survey the results. 

“Well, that wasn’t so bad,” Pierre said, wiping his hands on his pants. “Though you’re usually the one with sticky stuff on your hands.”

Your hand playfully slapped his bicep as a smile formed on your lips. “Shut up, Gasly,” you took a deep breath. “But I admit, it looks better. But if this thing falls over in the middle of the night, I’m never letting you live it down.” 

Pierre smiled, brushing off the warning. “I’ve got it under control. This thing’s not going anywhere.”

As you made your way back inside, dragging the tree carefully behind you, you realized the adventure wasn’t over yet. There were still lights to hang, the ornaments to place, and the inevitable arguments about where to put each decoration. 

Once the tree was nestled in its stand, and looking less like it was going to put a hole in your ceiling, you and Pierre carried down the boxes of tree decorations from the attic. 

“Alright, let’s get this show on the road,” Pierre said, placing the last box down in the living room. 

“I don’t think this disaster movie can get any worse,” you muttered, rubbing your temples  

He opened the first box, revealing the lights, which were tangled in a mess. The smile on his face faltered for a second before reappearing. “I swear these were in perfect condition last year,” he muttered, trying to untangle them while attempting to look entirely unbothered. 

“Yeah, instead they look like how we were last night.” You laughed as you walked into the kitchen, leaning against the counter.

Pierre’s eyes twinkled as he glanced up at you. “Okay, but you loved that mess. At least, that’s how you sounded.” He pulled the lights apart with exaggerated care, his smirk only growing. 

It took a few more minutes of Pierre wrestling with the lights to get them completely untangled. Once he did, the two of you worked in tandem wrapping the tree with the incandescent glow. As you did though, your boyfriend somehow managed to get the entire string tangled around himself. You couldn’t help but laugh as he stood there, looking like a Christmas decoration in his own right, with the lights wrapped around his ankles, arms, and one around his neck. 

“You’ve got to be kidding me,” you said, struggling to stifle your laughter. “It’s like looking in a mirror.” 

“I mean I was gonna use the garland to be festive, but if you’d prefer the lights, I guess I can make that work,” he winked 

You shook your head as you helped unravel Pierre. “I think we should just stick with tape.” 

Pierre’s smirk never wavered as you untangled him from the lights, and after a few minutes of carefully removing the mess, you both returned to your task. The tree was quickly adorned with lights, and the vision was finally coming to life. 

The two of you slowly worked through the box of ornaments, placing each one carefully on the branches. If you were with any other person in the world, the moment would have been almost peaceful. But you were with Pierre, and anything that man did was far from peaceful. 

The sound of glass and plastic hitting the carpet filled your ears as your back was facing Pierre. You took a deep breath before you turned around to look at your boyfriend, and two ornament balls on the ground. Thankfully, they were still in one piece, but Pierre’s eyes widened as he looked up at you. 

“That wasn’t supposed to happen…” he began, a sheepish grin on his face. 

A chuckle escaped you as you sighed, thankful that the ornaments were still intact. “I just can’t believe that your balls finally dropped.” 

Pierre stared at you for a moment, his grin slowly shifting into mock offense. “Oh, you did not just go there.” 

You raised an eyebrow, smirking as you crossed your arms. “Oh, I did”

He let out a laugh, shaking his head. “I should’ve known.” He bent down to pick up the ornaments, carefully placing them back on the tree.

“Just be careful,” you said, watching him with amusement. “If you break one of my favorite ornaments, I’ll never let you hear the end of it.” 

Pierre gave you a sincere smile. “I’ll be gentle, don’t worry.” 

You gave him a knowing look in response. “We both know that’s a load of shit.” 

You both continued decorating, the teasing somehow making the moment more enjoyable than you could’ve imagined. As you added the final touches, Pierre took a step back to survey the tree. 

“Mon cheri, I have to admit, it looks pretty good,” he said, a satisfied grin on his face. 

“I know you do,” you replied, a smirk dancing on your lips as you took the spot next to him. 

Pierre pulled you in, his lips brushing against yours in a light, teasing kiss. As you leaned in again, he pulled away, a smirk on his face. 

“So,” he began, his arm getting tighter around your waist. “You think you’ve been naughty or nice this year?” 

You rolled your eyes, a smile tugging at the corners of your mouth. “Nice, obviously,” you teased, leaning into him.

Pierre leaned closer to you as well, his mouth only centimeters from your ear as he spoke, his voice slightly raspier than before. “Are you sure about that, mon amour?”

You felt a shiver run down your spine as his breath tickled your ear, the playful tension between you growing. You pulled back slightly, meeting his eyes, and smirked. 

“Why don’t you decide then?” you teased, a flicker of mischief in your eyes. 

Pierre’s grin widened at the challenge, his eyes darkening with amusement. Without a word, he threw his shirt off and scooped you up in his arms, purposefully resting one hand on your ass as he carried you. You knew exactly where this was going, and you had been anticipating it all day. A laugh escaped you as your body pressed against his chest, feeling the warmth radiate from him. 

“You’re unbelievable” you said, but the words were more playful than reproachable. You leaned into him, feeling the steady beat of his heart under his bare skin. 

Pierre chuckled as he made his way into the bedroom, “Oh, you have no idea.” 

Maybe you didn’t have a clue, but you did know you were ready to be his Vixen. 

[the-boy-meets-evil]

where you belong | kmg

(where the holidays bring you back to the person and place you need to be.)

pairing: mingyu x fem!reader genre: exes to lovers (lite) | fluff & smut rating: explicit, minors DNI word count: ~1.2k warnings: kissing, smut, oral sex (f receiving), fingering, unprotected sex (don't do this, they're in love), that's really it

note: SURPRISE EM! 💕🫶🏻 this is for my baby @gyuswhore for the secret santa event hosted by @camandemstudios. i was so happy to get you and i hope you're surprised that it was me. this was a lot of fun!

tag list: @tinyelfperson, @dokyeomkyeom, @miriamxsworld, @hongrizon, @klecksstorys, @gyuminusone, @aaniag, @straykidswhoo789, @kimseokgen, @beomesbabe, @haolistic, @vanishingboots, @babybae-shisui, @harrythepottypus, @okiedokrie, @nuttywastelandmentality, @writingbarnes, @tomodachiii, @gyuhao365, @jjin-kun, @divinityyyy, @dibidibidismynameisleeknow, @tinkerbell460, @aidanjoon, @cookiearmy, @tusswrites, @kaepjjangiya

There’s something about the holidays that always has you reflecting on the last year. It’s kind of a way for you to figure out what works and what doesn’t before starting fresh in the new year. The past year has been a blur of keeping busy and projects for work. It feels incredibly fulfilling in so many ways. All things considered, it’s been a really good year for you. 

Yet, you can’t keep your mind off the start of the year when you and your boyfriend broke things off. It isn’t some sad story of heartbreak or someone doing something horrible. You both just realized, as you spent New Year’s Eve apart because of work, that maybe it was a sign to give yourselves a chance at something different. Both of you agreed that it made the most sense. Life was pulling you in different directions and it felt like the time to really push forward in your separate work lives. 

If it’s meant to be, it’ll always find a way. You genuinely believe that. So, when your ex walks into the tiny little coffee shop two days before Christmas, you take it as something of a sign. You shouldn’t even still be in the city and this isn’t a coffee shop you’ve ever been to before. But, your travel plans got delayed and you’ve been meaning to try this place for months. His eyes land on you from his position by the counter and he doesn’t seem surprised either. Your heart constricts a little at that shy smile and the way his shaggy hair bounces as he shakes his head. 

“I can’t believe my luck,” Mingyu says when he approaches. “I figured you’d be gone.” 

“I had something come up last minute. I was supposed to leave last night,” you say and he smiles. 

“I’m not sure I want to leave at all now,” he admits. “I’ve been thinking a lot about you.”

“Yeah, same,” you admit. 

“I just moved and I actually live around the corner. Do you want to catch up?” he asks.

“Let me just get my coat.” 

Catching up goes from filling each other in on the last year to Mingyu cooking the best meal you’ve had in ages to lounging on the couch and laughing over silly shows. It’s easy to fall back into such a sense of comfort with him. Every part of you still seems to know every part of him. Some things you would have to explain to anyone else just instantly make sense to him. But, it feels different too. It feels like the last year has allowed you both to realize what’s actually important. Maybe it taught you how to better prioritize your time. 

Something else is easy, too. You fall back into bed with him without a second thought. This is different now, too. Sex wasn’t ever an issue, but he wants you to show him exactly what you want now. Wants it to be perfect for you. The kind of thing that you can’t ever get over. You’re not really sure you ever got over him the first time and you want to tell him you don’t plan to let go of him this time.

“I’ll teach you whatever you want to know,” you tell him. 

“Teach me how to be good for you,” he answers, breathless. 

And you do. Mingyu is a giver, always has been. This is more than that, though. This Mingyu wants to map your reactions to every little thing he does. He wants to watch the way you squirm when his tongue flicks against your clit just right. Wants to memorize the way your thighs squeeze his head when he licks into you. Even if it’s always been good, it’s never been like this. It’s never felt like he’s worshipping your body in quite this way. 

With a moan, your back arches against this bed and your hands scramble to find purchase on something. Anything. You try to keep up a stream of instructions like you said you would, but Mingyu’s also a very fast learner. It doesn’t take him long until his mouth is moving in the perfect way between your legs. Only take one comment for him to add a finger. Doesn’t need to be told how to hit you just right with those fingers. You’re a writhing mess and you’re not even sure that you can think straight anymore. He’s got you seeing stars as you come hard on his tongue and his fingers. 

“I’m not sure you need me to teach you anything,” you say after catching your breath for a second. 

Mingyu’s got a bit of a smirk on his mouth, still glistening a little. “Maybe I just like hearing you talk me through things when you’re coming undone.”

“Oh, it’s like that?” you joke back. 

“We can see if you need to teach me anything else,” he says with that sparkle still in his eyes. 

“You’re not done with me?” you ask and try not to sound too hopeful.

“No,” he says and kisses you before you can respond in any way. 

It always seemed crazy to you to think that someone could kiss you stupid. Until Mingyu kisses you like that after nearly a year apart. Until you remember all the kisses for every different occasion. Now it just seems crazy to think there’s anyone out there for you other than him. He keeps kissing you as he settles his body between your legs, hovering his body just over yours so that he doesn’t put too much weight on you. Keeps kissing you as he uses a hand to line himself up at your entrance. Keeps kissing you as he slowly presses into you. The pace is slower than you want, filled with all the things you’re feeling. All the affection and reverence that he’s always shown you. 

“Mingyu, please, I need more,” you finally moan out. 

And it happens like that again. He lets you teach him just the pace that you want. He lets you set the rhythm alternating between slow, languid strokes and hard, fast snaps of his hips. Everything else around you disappears. All you see is the love in his eyes as he takes you in. Everything about this moment is perfect. The absolute best way that you can imagine to end the year. Almost as good as him pushing you to a second orgasm just before he follows right after you.

It seems too early to be awake if the light coming in through the cracks in Mingyu’s curtains is any indication, but the smell of coffee wafts tantalizingly into the bedroom. You’re incredibly thankful that you changed all of your holiday plans to stay with Mingyu. It clearly isn’t just the post-sex haze that has you wanting to stay. Your heart is full to bursting with warmth. He’s always been it for you and you’re thankful that you get to spend another holiday with him. 

So, you pull on a baggy shirt Mingyu has lying by the side of the bed and slide out of bed. You walk over to the window to see what’s making it seem a little brighter outside. Amazingly, snow falls gently in beautiful, swirling patterns. The whole world is quiet and you know you’re exactly where you’re supposed to be. 

I hope you enjoyed it ❤️

[childrenofcain-if]

When I saw the snippet where Mc was being just plain mean, I came running to ask you how would it go if an argument breaks out between Mc and C because Mc is a little too condescending about C's broken knee which leads to them getting called out for being an arrogant jackass? My Mc means well but god they're such an asshole 😭

the only clearly audible sound in C’s suite was the low hum of the heater working overtime against the december chill.

but you could still hear C’s uneven steps, their limp heavier than usual as they crossed the room. you supposed that ever since they had told you about it, they’d gotten more comfortable about not hiding it from you anymore.

yeah, the limp wasn’t new, but it was worse tonight. C’s gait was uneven, jagged, every step catching slightly as if the bones in their knee were grinding against each other. you’d been watching it for weeks now, how they soldiered through it, jaw tight and posture straight, as though sheer willpower could replace cartilage.

tonight, though, after watching them wince when they thought you weren’t looking, you decided it was enough.

“C,” you began, and they stopped in their tracks. the way they turned, furrowed brows and jaw clenched, should have been enough warning to stop you from saying the next words. but you were you—brazen, brilliant, thoughtless. “i noticed you’re limping worse than usual. maybe it’s time to consider getting a cane.”

you saw their expression hardened immediately, but you kept going, your voice infuriatingly calm, like a teacher correcting a student.

“it would make things easier for you, don’t you think? i mean, i know it’s not ideal, but considering the structural integrity of your knee—”

“the structural integrity of my knee?” C repeated your words incredulously. “you’re really pulling out your SAT vocabulary for this, aren’t you?”

“what are you talking about?” you asked, your own voice rising now, confused about their reaction. “i’m just trying to help, C. god, i don’t know why you have to make everything so difficult.”

“are you this fucking dense?” C’s voice cracked on the word, and they took a step closer to you, their hands clenched at their sides. “you think i want to be like this? you think i don’t know how i look, how i walk? i don’t need your—” they broke off, shaking their head, their face a mask of barely-contained fury.

“i never said any of that,” you said, but it didn’t seem to matter.

“no,” C said, their voice cold. “you didn’t have to.”

you could feel the argument spiraling out of control, but you didn’t know how to stop it. instead, you reached for something—anything—to regain the upper hand.

“you’re being obstinate,” you said, and the word felt strange in your mouth, too big, too formal, but you didn’t care. “you’re acting like an overly sensitive child.”

C’s eyes narrowed, and they let out a harsh, humorless laugh.

“obstinate,” they repeated, rolling the word around like it was a sour taste in their mouth. “jesus christ, could you sound any more condescending? do you ever stop trying to sound like you swallowed a thesaurus? what, you think using words like that makes you better than me? smarter than me?”

“that’s just how i talk,” you snapped, your voice sharp and venomous, the words spilling out before you could think them through. “i’m sorry if it’s not simple enough for you to understand. i’m sorry you always jump to conclusions without hearing me out. i’m sorry that your father never bothered to teach you words like that—he was too busy bashing your head against the wall of your old house while you apologized for even existing.”

the room went silent.

C stared at you, their mouth slightly open, their chest rising and falling like they couldn’t quite catch their breath. their face was now pale, and their chalcedony green eyes blazed with something that wasn’t just anger—it was hurt. deep, raw, soul-deep hurt that made your heart squeeze uncomfortably.

“fuck you,” they said finally, their voice low and trembling with barely-contained fury and tears. “fuck you, fuck you, fuck you.”

“C—” you started, but they flinched when you stepped closer, their body jerking like you were the one who struck them.

“don’t,” they said, their voice sharp and broken all at once. “don’t fucking touch me.”

and then they were gone, the door slamming behind them so hard it rattled the walls.

you stood there, the words still hot on your tongue, searing and damning. you could still see the look on their face, the way their eyes had gone wide and vulnerable, the way they’d looked at you like you’d taken something sacred and smashed it to pieces.

you sank onto the couch, your head in your hands, the weight of your regret pressing down on you like a boulder. you hadn’t meant it. you hadn’t meant any of it. but meaning didn’t matter now. the damage was done.

you’d known—instantly, the moment the words left your mouth—that you’d crossed a line. not just crossed it, obliterated it. and now, the consequences were as painful as the regret slicing through you.

and you were alone, left to drown in the bitter aftertaste of your own words.

[ynmnrmt]

The book hits me in the chest. It doesn't hurt, not really, I don't suppose I can complain about this anyway since I always knew it might turn out like this.

"You do not get to do this to me!" says Rachel, all fiery, as she tackles me to the ground and sends a swooping, weightless sensation down my spine. My heart starts to beat out of control, in fear I expect. "Nobody gets to do this to me! What, did you think I was going to be your good girl?"

This is the wrong response for that teeth-clenched scorn, but I fumble out "Well, not that exactly." I don’t think there really was a right response there, it just makes her angrier. Her nails dig into my arms, it makes whatever nonsense I was going to say next catch in my throat. If she were anyone else I would be thinking of all the ways I could use my bugs to disable them or otherwise get them off me, but this is different, because it is Rachel.

"I fucking hate you, Taylor," she snarls, so close I can feel the heat of her breath in my mouth. "I fucking hate you."

"I don't hate you," I tell her, trying to suppress the tears.

Rachel slumps slightly. For some reason the feeling of her big, sinewy body on top of me makes me think of the time I had sex with Brian, although I don't know why. "No," she sighs, "I don't hate you either." My tears dry up instantly.

"I probably shouldn't be trying to use some stupid book to relate to you better," I confess, it was one of those situations where it would either make everything okay forever or completely ruin things.

"No, well, I probably overreacted, its the sort of thing you do, you – you nerd." Her grip on my arms gets a little looser, but she's still on top of me, weighing me down, my heart's still going like a drum. "There's just something about you that, ugh, you pissed me off so bad, I was about ready to bite you."

"Maybe you should." That just comes right out, she looks as surprised as that as I am. "I mean, this isn't from the book now, but it makes sense, if I did something that pissed you off that much then obviously you'd be tempted to respond that way, so, um, maybe you should. To show there’s no hard feelings. I wouldn't mind."

Her eyebrows narrow, again there's that wonderful swooping feeling where my legs turn to jelly. "This isn’t a trick, is it? You won't go running off and tell the others 'boo hoo, Bitch bit me'?"

"No! No, I would never, this can just be between us."

She grabs my right arm with both hands now, and raises it to her mouth, slowly and methodically as if she's waiting for me to object. Then she sinks her teeth into it, those hard points, her soft lips, I whimper. Then I gasp when she immediately releases me, the relief from a pain I didn’t really feel, and she asks "Are you okay? That wasn't, like, too much?"

"No!" I insist, again it just tumbles out of my mouth with no conscious thought, though I mean it very sincerely. "No, that was great, I mean, fine. I - I think I liked it."

"I, uh," Rachel looks wrong-footed in a way I've never seen her look before, and I yearn to reach out and caress her and hold her in my arms and tell her it's okay, she is my friend after all, but the way she's straddling me I cant get off the ground. I think I like that, too. "I don’t want to hurt you, Taylor. I know sometimes you piss me off, and then I get pissed off, but I don't want to hurt you, not really."

"You're not hurting me, Rachel," I say gently, still doing my best to get across how I want to hold her and caress her and everything. I smile up at her, carefully not not showing my teeth, even though I doubt she'd find that a threat to her dominant status. "Not in any serious way, you're not. In fact, maybe, maybe this could be a relatively healthy way of dealing with it, if I piss you off again. You can just take me aside and give me a little nip," and here she does, playfully, her front teeth pull at the skin of my arm and I wriggle with a deep and heartfelt satisfaction, "and I'll know exactly what you mean and then I'll know not do the thing that upset you in future."

She shakes my arm lightly, with a little "RR-rr", then adds "I don't know, Taylor." Suddenly I realise that yes, she's right to be concerned, this sounds like an incredibly abusive dynamic on the face of it even if from where I'm laying - still trapped between her thighs - it sounds absolutely perfect, and makes me glad we can be such good friends. "Because, the thing is, I'll probably end up biting you a lot."

"That's okay!" I definitely just let that fall out of me without thinking, but even after some consideration I conclude that yeah, it's absolutely fine.

"Just thinking about that book - I'm sorry, it's pissing me off all over again." The colour rises in her cheeks, I desperately hope she will work this out by biting me, maybe a little harder this time. For a moment there is a little struggle, I do not really want to get free of her grasp and she does not want to let me. "Seriously, what was your plan there? Were you going to," for a little moment, the words catch in her throat, "put a collar on me, and tow me around on a leash?" Oh God, that probably is what it would all have been leading up to, I'm about to messily sob out another apology when she says "How would you like it if I did that to you?"

How would I like that? Immediately my heart flutters as I imagine her strong fingers pulling the collar tight around my neck. Not too tight, I'm sure she wouldn't do that, just tight enough so I really feel it, usually I really don’t like those sorts of sensations but I’m mysteriously convinced this would be different. "I don’t know," I whisper, already feeling the tightness, my throat closed up further than I'm completely comfortable with. "Maybe we should try that."

Rachel says nothing, but she immediately gets off me, which is slightly disappointing, and goes rooting about in a chest of drawers. I cling on her elbow, to look through the drawers as well, to help, obviously I would help her do that, she's my friend. "Most of these are flea collars," she says apologetically, "and the chemicals on those would really mess up your," I flush a little, feeling her eyes on my throat, and then she realises what I'm doing and she flushes a little too, "you wouldn't want that, anyway."

"Oh, what about this one?" I say, and pull it out into the light. Its made in old green leather with brass studs, it looks quite classy. If it was black leather it would just look like something from a kinky bondage dungeon, which of course it isn't.

Here it is, a million times more exciting than I could possibly have imagined, as she brings the ends together under my chin. Oh dear, now I think I am showing her my teeth, but she doesn't seem to mind. "You need to say, if it's too tight," she warns me.

"I trust you," I say, it sounds stupid now I've said it, we've spent a few lovely bites establishing that. When she pulls it closed and buckles it on it's perfect, there is just the tiniest amount of pressure, the awareness that it is there and she has done this to me, but I can breathe comfortably and there's no awkwardness with the blood thundering in my jugular.

Rachel slips a finger through the ring on the collar, I don't even think she's very much taller than me but this jerks my head upward anyway. "Maybe we don't need a leash, maybe we could make it work like this," she says, so tenderly, her other hand grasps my arm again and she has me completely under her control, she might have a point. But then she lets me go and goes back in the drawers, and before long, there it is, she clips the end onto the collar and she officially has me leashed. "So," she declares, all boisterous again in a way that makes me weak at the knees, I like her so much and she's such a good friend, "what did your stupid fucking book say to do now?"

"I don't know," I say. "I haven't read it, I wanted to be sure you were okay with it before I seriously tried to use any of its ideas on you. I thought it would be incredibly disrespectful if I didn't do that."

Rachel's hard eyes turn liquid. With one hand holding the leash steady in place, her other strokes my cheek. I am so incredibly glad we are still friends, after all this, and suddenly I realise what it is, I'm not in control here, I have given her control and I've done it willingly and I feel good about it. Then she says "Give me a woof."

"Woof! Bark!" I say out loud, and drop to my knees, if there was any possible way that I could wag my tail I would do it now. Rachel laughs, I rub my muzzle, or rather my mouth, against her hand.

"Good girl," she intones, and for her to say that makes me feel so wonderful, I know how she feels about cutesy expressions like that, and to have her say it to me, so light-heartedly, it doesn't even matter how I feel about it, I am only glad I can make her happy.

"Did you think I was going to be your good girl?" I repeat her words back to her, I think we're at a point where that can be lighthearted - and it is, she laughs again, after having seen her so angry it is indescribably wonderful that she is so happy. I wish there was a special button I could press to do this for her, but then, I try and calm myself down, this is what it is to interact socially and to have a friend like Rachel. There isn't some simple solution for this, it is a constant ever-correcting ballet, showing her again and again that she is my friend and I trust her and I want her to be happy. Then she presses the button to retract the leash, and it jerks me upward out of my dog act, straight up against her. I worry I have overstepped a boundary, I can feel her heart throb in her chest, the taste of her breath in my mouth again. For some reason I want her to press the button again and drag me in closer. "Woof," I say again, not even sure what I mean by it.

"Yeah," she exults, so smug and satisfied I could melt right here, I would be a puddle on the floor if she wasn't practically holding me up. "Keep woofing for me."

"No, you'll have to train me," I have absolutely no idea where this has come from, but how bad could her training process possibly be? Her giving me treats, and telling me no? Oh no, I think I want her to train me to woof when she says more than anything else in the world. I want to woof for her, I want her to make me woof, and just as that too is about to slip out of me like an oyster suddenly she tilts her head slightly - Oh God, something gives way in my underwear, it doesn't seem like I've peed myself but that is the only possible explanation for how wet I suddenly feel – but instead of what I thought would happen there she draws me in close and throws my hair aside so she can give my ear a little nip. I squirm, my vision blurs, I never want it to end.

When she lets go I feel the urge to chase after her, as if she’s a stick thrown for me, a magnificent red-haired stick. Fumbling over the words, clearly brute-forcing out a sentiment that doesn’t quite come naturally but is clearly there, she tells me.“You taste good.”

"You feel good," I insist, unsure how to deal with that lovely compliment except by turning it straight back onto her. "And, if this is what's come of me getting that stupid book, I'm sort of glad I did." I just keep pressing the sore spots, don't I? No wonder she was tempted to bite me, and yes, now she does again, on my cheek, my ear, my shoulder, every time it makes me that little bit weaker in the knees.

“Pff! God, you have too much hair,” Rachel growls, when she spits out multiple tresses I see what she means. But once she’s gotten them out of the way she squeezes me between her teeth and I hope it leaves a mark, and then that turns into "I probably should have known you just wanted to be nice to me. For whatever stupid reason you have."

"I'm glad," oh God, I can feel myself starting to well up, it's just too much, "I'm glad I've got you, here, to tell me where I went wrong."

"Well,” she says, pondering over it, "probably no harm in pointing out that normally my dogs wouldn't be wearing clothes."

"Oh! You're right! Woof." I gladly raise my arms and Rachel lifts my shirt, I giggle when it has to go over the leash as well. As it comes free it knocks my glasses askew – I raise my hand to fix them, but Rachel’s doing that already. Then I undo my trousers and they fall down as if lubricated. Normally I'd feel incredibly vulnerable being in my underwear in front of someone fully clothed, and I do, but I also feel completely safe and strangely contented, if a little cold, just a little.

"Those too," Rachel inclines her head at me. If we weren't such good friends I'd have said her tone was permeated with a kind of hungry desire.

"I'm shy," I tease, it's not really a lie.

With one sharp motion she pulls me in close again, yes, I'm not cold any more, and as her teeth close gently on my neck I feel her reach up my back and fumble with my bra strap. I'm quite glad she didnt unhook it in one go, I'm enjoying the process and would like it to last as long as possible. Perhaps she gets that too, because when she has uncooked it she doesn't pull it off immediately, just stands there holding it open, and stops biting me to say with desperate awkward sincerity “You – are comfortable with this?”

“Yes!” Even the words are starting to sound like little barks, but it’s so incredibly, gloriously refreshing to be able to be completely honest with her – with anyone, although especially with her. Suddenly buying the book seems so stupid, stupider even than when I was worried it would make her never want to speak with me again. Why learn about dog psychology when you can just be the dog? “And I hope you’re comfortable with it, too,” I add quickly.

“Yeah,” she says, slightly baffled. But that just lasts for a moment, and then she smiles at me again, and it’s like the sun coming up. I shrink down in the face of all that warmth, my knees haven’t completely gone but something about having her tower over me seems so natural and wonderful, and then I hug her around her waist, feeling the dog hair on her t-shirt up against my cheek. She pets me and really shakes my head around as she does it, rougher than she was with me before, it makes me feel like part of the pack.

“I know what else a dog would do,” I say, slightly breathlessly.

“Yeah?” says Rachel – and then I scamper behind her, the leash laps around her legs, and I start sniffing. This probably would be a bit strange in any other circumstances, but right now, I’m basically just saying hello. Oh God, that’s it, her wonderful smell, wet dog and pine needles and that little tang of her sweat. A dog probably wouldn’t have their hands up on her hips to do this, but I don’t think that matters.

“Your jeans fit really well,” I tell her. It’s quite hard not to notice.

“Thanks. They’re from, uh, Goodwill.” I keep sniffing at them, I’m fairly sure she had them on yesterday too, which is good, she’s started to permeate them a bit, I’m smelling her and not just her clothes. I end up enjoying the experience so much that before I know it my face is resting on the denim, and I feel her underneath it, all that muscle but still so soft.

“Taylor…”

I jerk out of this stonewashed blue reverie. “Oh! I’m sorry.”

“No, it’s fine, if you were a dog I’d say you were being very friendly.”

“Well, good.”

“I bet your book didn’t even think of this.” Then I pad back around in front of her, and look up obediently. For a moment, her face tightens up – then she lets out a burst of uncontrollable laughter, and I’m really glad to see her suddenly get so loose and carefree like this. This is exactly the result I had hoped to get. She gets down with me, onto one knee, and says “Sorry,” as she fusses my hair, I close my eyes and lean into it, “you looked really funny.” Would that be wounding, in some universe? It’s hard to see how, objectively crawling around on the floor being a dog does seem quite funny.

“Woof,” I say. Rachel immediately tenses up with a suppressed giggle. “Don’t worry about it. I like having you training me.”

“This isn’t so much training you, it’s more like I tell you what to do and you do it.” When Rachel says this, I panic slightly at the thought I’m doing it wrong. She fusses my hair with both hands, which does reassure me. “No, it’s okay. Oh, I think I might have something for this.”

Rachel goes back to her drawer, I follow again, although down on all fours this time I can’t see what she’s after.

“I got given this,” she explains, “I’d never actually use it for training dogs, but now seems like the perfect time.” And she spritzes me with a squirt bottle, square in the face. I squeal, I should probably try to communicate dismay but really I’m just laughing. I go to back away, but since that’s absolutely the last thing I could possibly want I simply drop to the ground. Rachel stands across me, spraying me over and over, and as I look up at her square face and broken nose from below, as well as catch a little splash of her bare tummy under her shirt, I realise what I’ve been feeling all this time – it’s jealousy, that’s it, I’ve been feeling jealous of how heartbreakingly beautiful she is. “Bad girl! Bad girl!”

“Woof! Bark!” I get slightly more frantic as she coats my face with moisture, without even meaning to I grip her legs, to make absolutely sure I don’t somehow fall away. Finally, at long last, Rachel really seems to be enjoying herself, and I try not to feel too pleased with myself for having brought that about – I don’t care anyway, not really, the more important thing is the connection I’ve made with her. Not too long ago I wouldn’t even have thought something like that was possible.

The door handle rattles, it startles me but I am very secure where I am here. Rachel jumps a little too. Suddenly Lisa is framed in the doorway, absolutely astounded, her eyes flickering back and forth between us. “What’s going on?” she asks.

Rachel hesitates. I understand that all too well, it seemed so obvious and natural between the two of us, but having to explain it to someone else is strange and awkward. So I pick up the cue, and explain to Lisa, quite simply, “She’s making me wet!”

i'll say it. if wildbow wasn't a fucking coward he'd have made Taylor trying to train Rachel into being a Good Dog a central plot point but instead we were just straight up robbed and this book never comes up again

[danishphoner]

The Last Shadow Puppets: fulfilling your kinkiest fantasies

Alex Turner and Miles Kane stand on one side of the success of The Last Shadow Puppets, who played Open'er Festival. On the other, you can see multitudes of fans trying to find evidence of the so-called ‘bromance’ of their favourites. And they, as if out of spite, only provoke further fantasies of their admirers. Even during the interview, they talked to me about fulfilling their kinkiest fantasies. See what else I managed to talk to them about!

Written by Katarzyna Gawęska Originally translated by everybodytriesbeinghuman on Tumblr

Translation below

Your duet is comparable to John Lennon and Paul McCartney’s, Steven Tyler and Joe Perry’s. Let’s start from compliments – what do you appreciate most in a teamwork?

MK: I think, it won’t be anything new, if I say, it’s thanks to Alex that our every song is so polished – no one else could make them better. Thanks to him, I am trying to push my own boundaries and, to be honest, I wouldn’t be so eager to do that without Alex. I suppose both of us could say that about our teamwork. We just understand in what creative direction each of us is heading towards. It’s difficult to explain, because we don’t need words to describe our thoughts, which melody each one is working on, which song he’s trying to make – cheerful or sad. I don’t know how it works – it’s just that sort of chemistry between us.

How is your work different from the Arctic Monkeys one or from your solo career, Miles?

MK: When I’m working solo, I’m sad, because I turn into a little frightened boy.

AT: When we are working on The Last Shadow Puppets records, we don’t know who's going to sing what. And because of that, we surely have to change our ways of writing, we don’t know everything from the get-go. It’s easier for me to write a song aimed towards myself – I’m writing a certain lyric, melody and I know I am going to sing it, so I’m already aware of my own possibilities. And the way Miles plays the guitar gets me really excited – his music takes me into a whole new world. When it disappears, this excitement is gone. It may sound like working with AM wouldn’t give me any satisfaction – I want to highlight it isn’t like that. With Miles, it’s just… different.

MK: I remember, one time Alex came up to me and said, “I want to see how you spit, while singing >>sick puppy<< in >>Bad Habits<<”. I called him a madman afterwards.

AT: Yeah…

MK: But he was right. No one else would say something like that to me, It was beautiful.

AT: You see, Kasia, I just tell Miles about my fantasies, and he tries to fulfill them, even when they are very kinky, like in that case.

Alex, you just explained, why your fans are suspecting you two of having a romance. You are very close to each other, but an artist needs a little more space and freedom to create, right?

MK: While making this record, we gave each other lots of space. EYCTE is the last song which we wrote. It was created from other unfinished pieces. It was supposed to be thousands of different tunes, but we made it into a one. Before I came into the studio, Alex sent me a demo on which he played the organs and then added different lyrics to it. That’s how it came out, and it’s a great example that Alex had a lot of space. When we played this song, I felt like I’ve never heard it before, which obviously wasn’t true. I was listening to the same thing as before but in a completely different form. And because of that, I started to feel excited again.

“EYCTE” is also your album’s title. Did you give your fans what they were expecting?

AT: Definitely! We hid it behind a red curtain, and underneath is everything they desired.

And what were your expectations for this record?

MK: We tried to bring something fresh into our work. We wanted to make this album different from the previous one. In some way, we got over with it and decided to not force things. It’s just me and Alex, that’s how we are and we don’t wanna change. And I think it turned out very well.

Your album cover turned out very well as well. When people see it, they want to give it a listen.

AT: I think when an artist decides to put something on the album cover or its booklet, they do it in order to show the listeners exactly what they’re gonna get from it. Actually, I don’t really know why I just said that, because it’s pretty obvious. Sorry, I’ll stop binding my time. Let’s say I made six albums, maybe five of them succeeded. The photography on the cover is a dancing Tina Turner. I’ve discovered it a few years ago and immediately thought it would fit perfectly, especially after changing the background to gold. There is a lot of grace in this picture, which is an element in TLSP’s music. It’s a dynamic portrait, which reflects our work brilliantly. As you may have noticed, it’s hard for me to describe some spectrums. Right now, I don’t know how to explain the fact that this cover is an amazing picture. The emotions you start to feel when you see it. Well, you’ve mentioned it by yourself, and I’m very glad you’ve noticed something so wonderful. I can only hope that more people will follow your thinking, and this cover picture will eventually make them listen to it. And yeah, maybe the sounds won’t disappoint them, either.

When I am listening to your tunes, I feel relaxed and calm. Then it hits me and I start wondering how it had come, if the lyrics are so aggressive and sexual. What does going from one extreme to another bring to your work?

AT: Another interesting thing you’ve noticed! It’s incredible that someone gets what’s happening inside my head! I’m telling you how it is. I very often find myself thinking that if the lyric drags on the right and the music on the left, then if we make both of those elements function we’ll create a balance. None of the elements will lean too much on it’s side, because it will be balanced by the opposite. Despite that I won’t generalize and in the “Bad Habits” case it’s the other way around – everything is dragged to the one side. I mean, there are some bows, which create a totally different impression of what our band is like. Not all the time everything has to be black and white – grays in our music are also very welcome. Personally, I’d rather listen for the rest of my life to what you’ve mentioned: meeting extremes in any song. I love that feeling when I turn on a tune and I think I know where how it’s all gonna go, and then the creator shows that he's playing with me and that, in reality, I know nothing. I don’t like predictable tunes.

Talking about lyrics, I couldn’t resist asking. Alex, there are very little lyric-writers better than you. People describe your style as poetic yet simple. Personally, I would agree with that. But how you would describe your writing style?

AT: You ask questions, which require thinking! Maybe… No, that’s not it. Or maybe… That one not as well…

Miles, maybe you’ll try to help him?

MK: For me it’s easy. Alex’s lyrics are like attempts to cross the Nile river on a raft. That’s how surreal they seem to me.

[Laughs] I think that’s the best comparison out there.

AT: [Laughs] Miles has a talent.

MK: No need to thank!

AT: And I still don’t know how to answer it. Miles handled it good, and I think that you [Miles] would describe me better than I could myself.

I’ll let go of descriptions, but I’ll ask you about the general sound of the album. Do you pay lots of attention to the technical side of making music? This album doesn’t seem modern, it’s more like…

AT: Something from the future?

I planned to say, like something from a few decades back, but your different perspective seems very interesting.

AT: [Laughs] We cut a deal then! But it’s a really fascinating situation! We were very excited that for the first record to make everything in an old-fashioned way. This time we weren’t so stubborn about making it so retro-like. We didn’t cut it off completely, but it just wasn’t as important. There are some old-fashion sounds on this record, but if you hear them on the radio, you’ll notice they sound modern. But I get your point! So remember that we still get excited over old amplifiers and such [laugh].

I know that you make new music all the time, so any plans for a new album?

AT: Oh yeah, absolutely! It’s like our… resolution. Resolution to make a new record. Now we are considering various options, we think a lot about the direction we should head to. I am working on a melodic scenario. Yeah, yeah, yeah. We won’t disappear that easily.

[hwa-stars]

Passenger Princess

Genre: fluff

Pairing: idol Choi Jongho x fem named reader

Summary: Since your boyfriend has his own car, why don't he help you drive?

Word count: 1.5k

Jongho sat sprawled out on the couch, flipping through channels on the TV, while Minseo paced back and forth in front of him. Her arms were crossed, eyes narrowing as they landed on him.

She had been trying to convince him to give her driving lessons weeks ago, and now, she was determined to break him down.

"Jongho." She said, her tone edging on a whine. "You’ve had that car for months now, and you still haven’t let me drive or teach me more. What’s the deal?"

He glanced up at her, already knowing where this conversation was headed. “I told you. It’s brand new, and I want to keep it that way.”

"It’s a car, not a museum exhibit! Cars are meant to be driven, you know?" Minseo threw her hands up hands up in frustration.

Jongho sighed, shifting uncomfortably. It wasn’t that he didn’t trust her—he trusted her with pretty much everything.

But his car? The one he had saved for and just recently purchased? The thought of something happening to it, even a tiny scratch, made his stomach churn.

“I trust you, but anything could happen." He said cautiously, trying not to provoke her further.

Minseo rolled her eyes, clearly unimpressed with his reasoning. "You’re being dramatic. You've seen how much effort I have made. What’s the worst that could happen? You don’t trust me to drive?"

“No, it’s not that—”

“Then what?” She interrupted, her hands on her hips. "Come on baby, how am I supposed to get better at driving if you never let me practice? You can sit right next to me and guide me when you think I'm doing something wrong but I’ll be careful, I promise."

She had a point, and Jongho knew it. For weeks, she’d been bringing it up, and for weeks, he had been putting her off, giving her the same excuses.

Minseo wasn’t the type to give up easily, and the way she was standing now, staring him down with a determined gleam in her eyes, made it clear that he was running out of time. He either had to give in or face her endless pestering.

"Although, if you don't want, I can't force you." She sighed, looking at him. "I can ask Wooyoung, Yunho, or Hongjoong if they can teach me in their cars. If you don't feel comfortable, you don't have to worry."

Jongho rubbed the back of his neck, knowing he was about to lose this battle. "Alright, that's enough." He sighed, defeated. "Fine. I’ll teach you how to drive thats what boyfriends are.”

Minseo’s face lit up instantly, her lips curving into a wide smile. “Really?”

“Yes." He muttered, standing up from the couch. “But if anything happens to my car, I’m holding you responsible.” Minseo laughed, already grabbing her jacket.

“Don’t worry, nothing’s going to happen. I’ll be extra careful, you’ll see.”

Jongho grabbed the keys with a sigh, his heart already racing at the thought of Minseo behind the wheel of his beloved car. But the excitement in her eyes softened his worries just a bit. After all, he had promised to her girlfriend.

☆☆☆☆☆

The sun was low in the sky when they arrived at an empty parking lot, casting a warm, golden glow over the space. Minseo stood by the driver’s side door, bouncing slightly on the balls of her feet as Jongho handed her the keys. His fingers lingered for a moment, and he cleared his throat, letting go reluctantly.

“Alright, first things first,” Jongho said, sliding into the passenger seat and buckling his seatbelt with a firm click. “Adjust your seat and mirrors. Make sure you’re comfortable and can reach everything easily.”

Minseo’s hands shook slightly as she adjusted the seat and mirrors. She glanced over at him, searching for reassurance.

“You’re doing great." He said softly. “Take your time.”

With a deep breath, Minseo placed her hands on the steering wheel, positioning them just as she had read in the manual.

“Like this?” She asked, glancing at Jongho.

“Exactly.” He said, his voice even and calm. “Now, remember to press the brake before you shift into drive.”

She did as instructed, and the car purred softly as it shifted into gear. The silence hung between them, and for a moment, Jongho’s grip on the edge of his seat tightened. Minseo noticed and smirked.

“Relax.” Minseo said with a grin as she chuckled at her boyfriend's face. “You look like you’re about to have a heart attack.”

“Maybe a little.” He admitted with a chuckle. “But I trust you. Just take it slow.”

Minseo nodded, focusing as she gently pressed the gas pedal. The car rolled forward smoothly, and her eyes lit up with excitement. They made slow laps around the lot, with Jongho giving pointers here and there—“Check your mirrors,” “Ease into the turn,” “Brake a little earlier next time.”

At one point, she miscalculated a turn and the car jolted slightly.

“Oh!” She gasped, her face immediately going red as she lifted her foot off the pedal. “I’m so sorry.” Jongho reached out, placing a reassuring hand on her shoulder.

“Hey, it’s okay. Mistakes happen. Just breathe and try again.” His tone was steady, warmth evident in his eyes.

Minseo took a shaky breath, her nerves calming as she felt the gentle weight of his hand.

“Thanks.” She whispered, regaining her composure. She took the turn again, this time more smoothly, and Jongho’s smile widened.

“See? You’re already improving.” He said, pride lacing his voice.

They spent the next hour driving around the lot, practicing turns, braking, and even a few parking attempts. Each small mistake was met with encouragement, and Jongho never once raised his voice or showed impatience.

If anything, he seemed to grow more relaxed as Minseo gained confidence, and by the end, he was sitting back with a content smile.

“Alright." He finally said as she parked the car and turned off the engine. “I think you’re ready for more than just parking lots.”

☆☆☆☆☆

The lessons continued over the next few weeks, moving to quiet neighborhood streets and eventually to more bustling areas. Jongho guided her through parallel parking, three-point turns, and navigating intersections.

There were moments of doubt, like when she stopped too suddenly at a light or hesitated before making a turn, but Jongho was always there to reassure her.

“Remember." He said say low and soothing. “You’ve got this. Trust yourself as much as I trust you.”

And slowly, Minseo did.

One afternoon, Jongho turned to her with a proud smile after she executed a flawless turn.

“You’re ready for your driving test.” Minseo’s eyes widened, her mouth falling open.

“Do you really think so?”

“I know so.” He replied, squeezing her hand.

The day of the test came, and Minseo was fidgeting as they waited for her turn. Jongho sat beside her, calm and confident, and gave her a playful nudge.

“Nervous?”

“A little." She admitted, eyes darting to the door where the instructor would appear any minute.

“Don’t be." He said, his voice a quiet anchor. “You’re ready.”

The test itself felt like an eternity, but when she returned with the instructor and a beaming smile, Jongho’s heart swelled with pride.

“I passed!” She shouted, running to him.

He laughed, catching her as she threw her arms around him.

“I knew you would,” he whispered, pressing a quick kiss to her lips.

☆☆☆☆☆

Months later, Jongho tossed his car keys to Minseo without a second thought. They were heading out to the KQ building, and he didn’t even blink as she caught the keys and slid into the driver’s seat.

“You’re letting me drive again?” Minseo asked with a smirk, starting the car. “You’ve really changed, Jongho.” He shrugged, getting comfortable in the passenger seat.

“You’re licensed now, aren’t you? Besides, you’re a better driver than I am.”

“I think that’s the nicest thing you’ve ever said to me.” Minseo grinned as she pulled out of the driveway. “I’m putting that on record.”

Whenever the other members of Ateez found out, they couldn’t help but tease Jongho.

“Minseo drives your car now?” Wooyoung had said one day, eyes wide with mock disbelief. “You don’t even let me drive it!”

“Looks like someone’s the passenger princess now.” San added, winking.

Minseo never let him live that down. Each time they set off, she’d grin and say. “Ready, passenger princess?”

Jongho would roll his eyes, but the playful banter made him smile. Sitting in the passenger seat and watching her laugh, with the wind blowing through her hair and that familiar look of confidence on her face, Jongho felt something deeper than pride.

It was happiness, pure and simple, seeing Minseo shine, feeling her joy, made every teasing comment worth it.

As they drove through the city that evening, with the glow of streetlights casting a warm hue over everything and quite music in the background.

“I like having you as my passenger.” She reached over and squeezed his hand as Jongho chuckled.

“As long as you’re happy, I’m happy.” He take his hand and kissed the back of it and laced with his.

And he really mean it.

[bubybubsters]

Fruit Skewers, Laced Drinks, and the Whole Shabang

A/n: @tsunami-of-tears I AM YOUR SECRET SANTA!! ik crazy right! Anyway here’s your mix of angst, a lil bit of fun, and vague holiday spirit! I HOPE YOU LIKE IT LOL but it fine if u dont…

MERRY CHRISTMASSS or HAPPY SOLSTICE.

thank you @acotargiftexchange for hosting this lovely event.

word count: 2.1k

Eris POV

Most people don’t think of the spymaster of the Night Court as an avoidant person. In fact, when people do think of him it’s often when they’re committing a crime or sitting in shadows that look like they’re moving, or even seeing him on the street and finding him pretty.

Well Eris found the spymaster to be a very avoidant male. Yes, he was good looking and smart and the whole package. But Eris found he sucked and communicating. Not even in the normal way people sucked at communicating, in a way that he didn’t even try to talk about anything. All the spymaster did was kiss Eris’s weak spot until the heir gave in and stopped trying to make a half-decent conversation. 

Then again, Eris supposed one could defend Azriel’s actions. Considering their families, their past, the rejection of same sex relationships in the Autumn court, Beron, Morrigan, and every other little detail. 

However, none of that changed what had happened a few years ago at the solstice court meeting. The two of them had had a little too much to drink and got a little carried away. The night had ended with Azriel in Eris’s bed and the morning after the cold air from a very open balcony window had greeted Eris the moment he woke up. 

And still, a decade later, they hadn’t said a word about it. What they had done was fuck so much that Eris had found more new kinks he didn’t know about in ten years than he’d found in a century.

“What in the cauldren has you sighing every few seconds?” Eris blinked, his mother’s voice pulling him from his thoughts. Shit, he was still in the dining room eating dinner with his mother. Well, she was eating; his food was untouched.

“Sorry.” 

“What’s up with you?”

“Noth-.” He was cut off by a single raised brow that spoke volumes. “It's a romantic problem…”

His mother smiled. “With the shadowsinger, yes?”

Eris grunted in confirmation, choosing to not question how she knew about his so-called “relationship.”

“What’s wrong? Obvious problems excluded, of course.” Her words dragged a bitter smile to his lips as he thought of what he should say. He could tell her the truth and simultaneously put her in danger if anyone found out. Or he could lie. The fact that the choice he made came so easily concerned him to no end.

“He won’t talk unless it relates to court problems. All he wants to do when we’re alone is have sex.”

His mother grinned. “I never thought I’d see the day you complained about too much sex. Guess there’s a first time for everything.”

Eris grumbled something unintelligible and rolled his eyes.

“In all seriousness, find a time and place to talk. One where it’s too public to do anything but it’s just private enough to have a conversation. Also you need a reason he can’t leave. For example, if Rhysand assigned him to stay by your side and make sure you don’t do anything stupid. The best chance you’ll get to do this is at the annual solstice high lord meeting. Since everyone knows Beron won’t want to come considering it’s basically just a party… You’ll have to go in his stead and someone from each court will likely be watching you because nobody trusts the autumn court.“

Eris raised his hand, trying to stop the flow of information. “Perhaps, write it down?”

His mother chuckled. “Y’know I’m actually preparing you for your high lord duties. You really can’t be seen taking notes during a high lord meeting; it shows weakness.”

Eris rolled his eyes. “Stop teasing, we both know Beron doesn’t remember shit. He just does whatever he wants.”

“Yes, but you wish to be a better High Lord than him. Can’t do that if you copy him.”

“Well since I’ll be such a better high lord than Beron, it won’t be considered weak to take notes.”

His mother shook her head, a smile dancing on her lips.“I’ll write it down, but you just need to trust yourself.”

Eris said nothing. He knew he couldn’t trust himself around Azriel. It always led to him giving into the spymaster’s whim.

Az POV

“OY AZRIELLL!!”

He barely refrained from groaning as Cassian pulled the curtains aside and sunlight came streaming in.

“Go away.”

“BUT TODAY’S THE PARTYYYY!! YOU AGREED TO LET FEYRE, NESTA, AND ELAIN DRESS YOU UP IF YOU LOST AT CHESS. AND YOU LOSTTTTT!!”

“Because you all cheated.”

“You never said we couldn’t!” Cassian is practically singing as he dances around Azriel’s bed, trying to prod him awake.

Azriel groaned. “I’ll be up in 30. Now get out.”

Cassian pouted but ultimately decided to leave before Azriel could change his mind and argue that he would have won if they hadn’t fed him too many bottles of Rhysand’s expensive wine and cheated. 

Fifteen minutes later, Azriel warily dragged himself from bed. Normally, he would be fine, in fact he could be a morning bird. But all the wine he’d drank last night seemed to have caused a pounding headache that he doubted would get better.

He took a quick shower and dressed in casual black clothes before heading out. On his way to the River House he grabbed a pastry and jumped off a random balcony.

Letting himself freefall, Azriel’s thoughts wandered to forbidden territory. Eris would be at the party tonight. The fireling’s scent was ingrained in Azriel’s mind- smoke and crisp autumn leaves. 

Azriel sighed. He knew Eris wanted to talk, it was devastatingly obvious. The hurt that flashed in those amber eyes whenever Azriel brushed him off seemed an ever prominent companion in his day to day life. But it just wouldn’t work. Eris was going to be High Lord and Azriel was… well Azriel.

“He’s here!”

His high lady’s voice floated through the air, effectively cutting his thoughts short. He landed and glowered at Cassian.

“The party is at 8 in the evening.”

“Yes and?”

“It does not take twelve hours to get me ready.

Feyre cut in, “Of course it doesn’t. But do you really think we have things prepared? This bet was last minute and made drunkenly at around two am.”

“All the more reason we should agree to not do it.”

“Nope! Just an excuse to go shopping.”

Azriel groaned but a slight smile played on his lips, maybe he could use this distraction from Eris.

Eris POV

At precisely 8pm Eris and his advisors winnowed to the dawn court. Ever since that High Lord meeting during the war, the dawn court had been all the high lords preferred spot to meet. Eris wasn’t sure why but it was fine with him, just as long as nobody was in his court. 

They were greeted by a female that showed them to a dimly lit ballroom. Most of the other High Lord’s were already mingling and Eris spotted Vivian, Mor and Feyre. Azriel’s probably here then. Good.

Eris sighed, dismissing his advisors and heading for the food table. Picking up a skewer of grapefruit and some unidentified berries, Eris dove in. One could argue the only reason he came to these parties was for the food. More often than not, his first thought was complaining about the autumn court food. It wasn’t bad, in fact, Eris loved the spices and bold flavors, but after a few centuries, you occasionally long for something else.

Something refreshing. 

A light touch to his thigh urged him to pause his munching and look down. One if Azriel’s shadows was curled around his leg, seemingly looking up at him with puppy eyes. 

Eris suppressed a smile and looked around to find the shadowsinger already watching him from a dark corner. He did a double take, blinking in disbelief at what he saw. Azriel, the feared spymaster of the night court was wearing a light blue t-shirt and loose, frilly, white pants. And he looked good. Eris hesitated, grabbed another fruit skewer and headed his way.

“Fireling,” Azriel greeted, plucking the extra fruit skewer from his hand.

Eris made a sound of protest, mouth stuffed with food. “Was mine.” 

“You look like a toddler given access to his favorite candy store at these parties.”

Eris frowned, waving his hand, trying to get his rebuttal across without opening his mouth.

Azriel chuckled, biting into the stolen skewer. He groaned in satisfaction, gobbling down the rest of the skewer before Eris could finish his.

“What in the world are you wearing?”

“It was a bet.” Azriel waved his stick where fruit was seconds before. “These are good.”

“Did all that food just disappear?”

“It was good.”

“You’ve never had them before? These parties have been going on for a decade.”

“I’m usually too distracted by you.”

Eris chokes on his last piece of fruit. “Huh?”

Azriels lips twitched, “That wasn’t very heir like.” He tutts, wagging a finger. “The rumors seem to be true, you’re gonna be overthrown by a brother.”

Eris raises a brow. “Firstly, you cannot be talking, have you seen yourself in those clothes? Besides wouldn’t you miss me, beloved spymaster of the feared Night Court?” He leaned closer, lips almost brushing Azriel’s ear. “After all, you do seem to have taken a particular liking to me. Or shall I say, a liking to fu-”

Azriel clamped a hand over his mouth. “Not here,” he hisses.

“Where else then?” Eris sticks his tongue out, liking the scarred hand covering his mouth. “All you wanna do is fuck whenever we’re alone. So why not speak here? Your shadows can ensure nobody hears us.”

Azriel frowns. “I’ve been meaning to talk to you about that.” Eris raises a brow as if to say, do tell. “We should stop.”

“Excuse me?”

“It’s never going to work out and we don’t seem to have any special connection. It’s also a hassle since we’re from different courts and it really would be convenient for both of us if we stopped. Besides, if you really need pleasure that badly, there are some wonderful places across Prythian that could serve one’s needs.

Eris gawked at Azriel. His jaw was practically on the floor in shock and his body had gone slack. Azriel, the guy who never talked and always convinced Eris to fuck was the one calling off this ‘situantionship.’ Adding that the one time he did talk was to inform Eris of good pleasure houses. Well, sorry mother, guess you wrote that down for nothing.

“Right, like you weren’t the one practically leaping on me every time. But by all means, go ahead, end us. It’s not like anyone else will ever understand you like I do. And of course we aren’t mates because why would the mother put someone like you with someone like me.” Eris finishes his last sentence off with a growl, teeth bared.

Azriel’s brows twitch, “What is that supposed to mean? Am I not good enough for a future High Lord?”

Eris shakes his head, attempting to stop the sudden feeling of emptiness in his heart. He turned form the male and his bright clothes.

“Whatever Azriel. I’m done with you.”

Az POV

Okay, so he might have messed up. He’d basically called Eris not special and not worth the hassle. He’d also said he knew a lot of good pleasure houses, which wasn’t a lie, he did. But the male he’d been fucking for the past decade probably didn’t want to hear that, even though they hadn’t said they were exclusive. Not that that was an excuse. All in all, Azriel regretted everything. Especially since the moment the red-haired heir had left, a beautiful, deafening, snap, echoed in his ears. 

The other side of the bond was foggy which made Azriel assume Eris had absolutely no idea. Great. That was not helpful in his current position. What was he supposed to do? Go up to Eris and say, ‘by the way, we’re mates! Sorry for saying we have no special connection, could we reconcile?’

Azriel sighed, deciding to get a drink. He approached a rose-gold cup with a pink-tinged liquid inside. After sniffing it, he downed the drink in one gulp. The liquid fogged his head, making it hard to think. But it tasted good. Like the pumpkin spice lattes that Eris would sometimes give him. He hummed, going to grab another cup.

He stopped, a sudden realization settling in. He had taken the first cup, nobody else had drank one all night. He knew because Thesan always said that once a drink was out, it was out.  Azriel slowly looked up. People were watching him, eyes drilling into his skull. Shit. What the fuck was that drink?

‘Whatever Azriel. I’m done with you.’

Azriel’s head shot up. That was Eris’s voice, those were his words, his tone, his accent. It was Eris yet Eris wasn’t even in this room. 

What the fuck?

‘I’m done with you.’

Azriel hissed softly. This was bad. Hearing voices was a sure sign of 1. crazyiness, 2. in this case, a love potion, 3. being cursed. It was most likely the second option, which was definitely not ideal. 

A small crowd of onlookers gathered, seemingly waiting for a reaction.

Azriel’s shadows surrounded him, almost laughing at their master. He couldn’t even blame them if they took Eris’s side in this matter. Sure, Eris had said some horrible things but at the end of the day, Azriel was the one to start the whole situation to begin with. 

So he closed his eyes, and let his shadows control wherever he goes, just as long as it’s out of this damn room. 

The only thing?

He didn’t expect to land right on top of a half-asleep Eris Vanserra.

dividers by @saradika

lol idk i like it- I tried to leave an open ending…

[salsflore]

[princessefemmelesbian]

Maybe I’m just being dramatic but it does legitimately scare and sadden me to see that a lot of transandrophobia truthers are literally just…young boys. Like, actual children. Like you’re not even old enough to vote yet and you have your whole life ahead of you and yet you are being manipulated into joining an mra group that hates trans women with a passion and thinks that men are oppressed in society for being men, and constantly uses Black men as their talking point in order to sound diverse and inclusive, meanwhile they’re also appropriating and misusing terminology specifically created by Black women to talk about our own oppression in order to get their misandry point across…to say nothing of the fact that the largest people in this group(including but not limited to its creator!) have misogynistic rape/detrans kinks centered specifically around preying on lesbians and trans women and this is something that is normalized and defended by the vast majority of transandrophobia truthers, or at least defended viciously by every single transandrodork that I’ve ever encountered who argued with me(a lesbian!!!) that actually there’s nothing wrong with getting off to the corrective rape of women because two consenting adults can do whatever they want in the bedroom(yeah right)! Not to mention I have yet to come across a transandrophobia truther who wasn’t also a raging die-hard Zionist.

And that’s why it disturbs me so much to see young trans boys jumping onto this transmisogynistic hate train like you guys realize these men don’t have your best interests at heart, right? They’re only going to manipulate you into being a sexist entitled asshat who shuns and bullies the trans women in your community and sees them as oppressing you. Like I know you’re still in middle/high school but you can still think for yourselves, you can choose to be better than this, you can choose to actually learn about feminism and realize that it’s not actually misandry that oppresses you, it’s transphobia. Misandry doesn’t suddenly become real because you slap a trans paint over it that’s not how it works that’s not how intersectionality works that’s not how any of this shit works. There are better trans men to talk to about trans issues who know that the patriarchy is real and don’t shit on trans women in order to speak out about trans topics, so go seek them out, okay? You absolutely do not have to listen to shit that the “male supremacists but trans” group of lowlives has to say. Hell, tell them to fuck off instead! Please, I promise you that there are much better options, there are ALWAYS better options, and you still have time to escape before they fully radicalize you into basically being an incel. There will ALWAYS be another way. ❤️