#circle 6 wrestling

[harderhart]

got to see the circle 6 anniversary show live tonight and was part of the cleanup+ring crew, what an absolutely fucking insane show. Cleanup was a fuckin process

[tracthousing]

Ashton Day performs something on Ace Perry…

everyone wake up new worst move just dropped. 

[maggotwithanf]

2.5 DAYS TIL NEO!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

LKHAKLDHLSALKASJLK

I just have to finish my Gladiator outfit!!!!!!!

[deathgrindforcutie]

Went to Circle 6 Obey Your Master tonight, main event was fucking crazy and I’m so glad I was there live

anyway here’s Atticus choking Zachary Wentz

[saladscream]

Merlin’s forearms are a mystery.

Truly.

Now, in the interest of putting things into context, everyone within Arthur’s circle of daily acquaintances can be said to boast a pair of forearms (except that stable lad who still does a good job with the one remaining arm at his disposal). So, with the exception of Alfred, everyone has a pair of functioning upper limbs. Some of those forearms are hairy, some are smooth. Some are dark, some are pale. Some are spindly, and some are Percival’s. But the one thing they all have in common is that whatever their appearance, they all serve their purpose – and Arthur has absolutely no interest in them beyond the tasks they can accomplish.

Therefore, pray someone explain to Arthur why it is that the sight of Merlin’s bare forearms inevitably makes his mouth run dry.

It is a complete and irksome mystery.

Arthur is inclined to think that they are, on the whole, just regular forearms. But the way they affect him is both baffling and irresistible.

Percival’s battering rams are arguably a thing of beauty, yet Arthur has never had his heart stumble in his chest while gazing upon them wringing laundry. Elyan has the steel arms of a blacksmith for Heaven’s sake, and Arthur’s breath has never hitched in his throat from catching a glimpse of them carrying hauberks and assorted weaponry. Nor has he lost his train of thought from being unexpectedly confronted with Leon’s fine forearms glistening wet and dripping with bath water.

No – all these things have only ever happened for and with Merlin’s forearms.

Arthur would like to think he is suffering from some kind of weird affliction, or maybe some sort of pointless enchantment. But it all feels much too shamefully visceral and instinctive to be so easily excused by exterior influences.

When Arthur tries to be rational about his untoward obsession, he can argue objectively that Merlin’s forearms are aesthetically average. Neither too hairy nor too smooth. Neither too pale nor too dark. Neither too thin nor too thick.

They’re just… long and solid and beautifully virile.

And they make Arthur’s heart do sickening flips in his ribcage whenever they’re on display.

It is just as well that Merlin favours ill-fitting garments that are too long in the sleeves, for otherwise the spellbound prince would probably get very little done – these forearms are impossible to ignore when they’re in the room in all their twin, deceptively strong, masculine glory.

They’re so unchaste somehow. Arthur finds them entrancing.

Who even heard of such a thing as entrancing forearms?!

A mixed clamour erupts in the tavern, half-cheer, half-groan. Merlin has won his arm-wrestling match, much to the uninformed bystanders’ dismay. Arthur’s knights are in stitches, though, and a raucous Gwaine raises Merlin’s victorious arm high in celebration. He rattles him so vigorously in his drunken mirth that Merlin ends up chuckling with his tunic askew and a more plunging neckline than intended.

Which means Arthur is awarded this rarest of impossible visions – a wanton sliver of pale chest – and has to down his tankard of mead a little too fast to put out the nascent heat in the pit of his stomach.

Tagged: @miyriu @neptunesyellowsands @dollopole @shuukichan @merlininthedogpark @kintsugikid-moonysversion @toomanyfanficsbruh @blueliketheclues @solnishkomoon @evedaser @storigami @bertytravelsfar

1 - Merlin's eyes

2 - Merlin's lips

3 - Merlin's hands

4 - Merlin's throat

5 - Merlin's hair

6 - Merlin's ears

7 - Merlin's legs

8 - Merlin's forearms

9 - Merlin's chest

[kopilot-pop]

[Aespa x Touch-Starved! Reader]

- imagine.

Summary: You’re a just really touch starved cat in a human body, and Aespa adores you.

Warnings: poly!aespa, alcohol, cursing, overabundance of fluff, unseriousness, etc.

A/N: While writing this I had to search if touch-starved meant what I thought it meant. I found out that there’s alot of variations so I just wrote based off of my touch-starved ass. I’m experiencing a very slight writer’s block, so I wrote this as something easy. Thank you all for loving my fics <3

———————————————————————

Even after a year of being a team and an additional 6 months of being in a relationship, your girlfriends never noticed how much affection you really craved.

It’s not like they weren’t affectionate towards you - no, quite the opposite actually.

They love to hold your hand, kiss you, cuddle you, but they hesitated whenever you flinched

You weren’t scared or anything, just not used to that much affection; but they didn’t know that

So the four of them kind of came to think that you didn’t like physical affection at all :0

So it was basically torture to watch them slowly distance themselves (only physically, they still made sure to tell you how much they love you)

But since you were shy and scared to directly ask for their touch, you just sucked it up

But hey, the girls aren’t stupid y’know?

Jimin noticed how much you craved their affection when she decided to wake you up the morning she arrived back from a Paris fashion show.

Her hand was resting on your cheek, gently drawing circles with her thumb as she tried to wake you up for breakfast

When you started to stir she tried to get up

but you snatched her hand back

You were definitely asleep, so she was surprised how strong you were

literally WRESTLING her hand to force it back on your face

“Mmmh… is cold…”

Her nose might have bled a little

Safe to say she took a million photos of you like that and changed it to her wallpaper.

Ever since that incident (that you don’t even know happened), she started to be a bit more forward with pda.

Aeri noticed when you clinged onto her before he had to leave for Tokyo.

You guys decided to get dinner together and ended up getting drunk

While walking towards the dorm, you would act like her shadow, stuck right behind her as the two of you waddled back into the house

a very giggly Gigi

“Y/n I need to change-!”

Getting ready for bed and you’re right beside her with a prominent pout on your face

When she gave you a peck to stop it, she noticed the slight twinkle in your eyes (ur so whipped)

If the others held you alot, she’s the one that kissed you alot

So before she removes her makeup she leaves a bunch of kiss marks on your face :0

She kind of panics when you drunkingly tell her you aren’t going to wash your face until she comes back from Tokyo

Minjeong realized the moment she walked through the door and you decided to carry her everywhere (honestly she’s smol)

she smells alcohol on you, making her even more confused

you didn’t even say anything man, just yoinked her

“AH-! Y/n what-?!”

You just grab her and sit down on the couch to watch some shitty show you put on a few hours ago… while finishing 4 bottles of soju.

In a span of 5 minutes, Minjeong suddenly became your personal teddy bear

she hates the smell of alcohol, but watching you snuggle up to her with such a giddy face made her put up with it (she’s whipped)

loves the way you practically melt when she starts to play with your hair

Ning found out about your love for physical affection in the dumbest way possible

You were lounging on her bed, watching an interview she took a week ago, when she started to talk about her sleeping habits

“Oh yeah, I have this bear from IKEA that I like to hug while sleeping. It’s really soft and..”

You started to get annoyed as your girlfriend went on about it and snapped your head up to see the bear staring right at you (it wasn’t, you were just jealous of a fucking stuffed animal)

Now imagine Ningning walking into her room after a photoshoot and you’re just sucker-punching her stuffed bear.

“???Y/N?? What are you doing???”

You ramble an apology/explanation, but all she understands is that you want to be cuddled too (you didn’t say that of course. she just has a ‘Y/n translator’)

She makes fun of you alot after that, but decides to grant your unspoken wish

Just snuggling into your jacket (that you’re wearing btw) whenever it’s cold, hugging you from behind as you get your makeup fixed…

she thinks its cute how you freeze up for a few seconds before melting into her

(it’s poly so im gonna add more)

the 4 of them have a long chat about your actions

and after talking for a while, they come to the realization that you were actively seeking for their touch only when you were half asleep or drunk.

Aeri’s the one that comes to the conclusion that you are touch-starved

So that’s why every Saturday, you’re dragged to the living room to have a movie day with your girlfriends.

You’re slightly nervous when you’re put on the center of the couch.

But by the end of the film, you’re quite literally molding into the couch

Jimin is on your right, with her face leaned against your shoulder as she plays with Minjeong’s hair.

Minjeong is on the ground with her body leaning against your leg.

While Ning is on the other side of the floor, holding your hand in a tight lock.

And Aeri’s the one softly rubs circles on your arm, sitting on your left

you’re just stuck in the middle like:🧍🏻‍♀️

They think it’s adorable how much you can relax with them

One time, an interviewer was being extremely rude, making snarky remarks about you and your performance

and Karina’s immediate reaction was to hold your hand while Ning told him off with a smile on her face

and when Jimin held your hand you genuinely did not care what that man said

another time you were extremely nervous before a solo performance for the MMA and the girls could tell how tense your shoulders were

but they all watched Minjeong lightly touch your neck and your back muscles just relaxing automatically

Ningning’s confused laughter because she didn’t know human bodies could work like that

Fans love watching you melt like a puppy during lives

just clips of ‘Y/n with Aespa vs. Others’ going around the internet

and one of those clips is you napping on the couch when a staff member helps fix your hair

you lean into the touch at first but jolt awake

vs. you asleep again in the waiting room couch when Giselle fixes your hair

and this time you don’t wake up, just leaning more and more into the touch

what they don’t see in that clip is the other 3 squealing and Aeri ending up with you cuddled up inside her arms <3

———————————————————————

[charliemwrites]

it is my borfday. I am now 20 whole years. So I ask: 1fur1 reaction to readers borfday? I have 1fur1 thoughts but they aren't ready yet... They're still cooking

Happy Borfday!!!!! Two decades 🎉🎉

Okay just for you, bean - I’ll make it a full part too, even. This is very fluffy up until the end when it gets just a hint of spice.

(No human boys in this one, sorry!)

You haven’t said a word about it all week - and why would you? You live alone with three dogs. It’s not like they care that it’s your birthday; or even understand what time is, really. (Except for dinner time of course.)

But the day of your birthday dawns, a little rainy. You let yourself sleep in a bit, mumbling five more minutes three times in a row when Ghost nudges impatiently at your cheek.

Eventually you do get up though, giving each of your boys a crooning “good morning” and laying kisses on their precious heads. You stumble to the kitchen to start your coffee, even pull out the fancy beans you reserve for special occasions. While it’s brewing, you start gearing up the boys for their morning potty. The precipitation is mostly mist right now, but you’d rather them not smell like wet dog.

You’re trying to belt a wiggly, impatient Johnny in when your phone rings. Huffing, you tap at the speaker icon and try to wrestle the stupid hood over his big-ass ears.

“Happy birthday, sweetheart!” your mom trills through the phone.

At the noise, Johnny thankfully goes still. You finish securing his raincoat and turn to Konig. Thankfully, he’s much more cooperative about getting dressed - even if he takes every opportunity to lick your face.

“Uh, thanks,” you answer. Honestly, you were hoping she’d forget.

“What are you doing today to celebrate? Going out with friends? Maybe a date…?”

You roll your eyes as you finish adjusting Konig’s (custom) raincoat.

“Definitely not. I was just gonna stay in, order some food, drink some wine…”

You haven’t even finished before your mother is protesting.

“No, no, no, you need to do something special! Not every day is your birthday.”

And thank fuck for that, you think, shaking your head.

“It’s not that big a deal,” you insist. The boys crowd as you lead the way to the back door and prop it open. They seem oddly reluctant to leave your side. You assume it’s the rain and shoo them off, your mother still on speaker.

“Well if you won’t do anything, I will.”

“Ma, you really don’t need to—“

“Dinner will be at 6:30. Don’t be late!”

And she hangs up. You groan, run a hand down your face. Well. At least it’s only dinner. You can still do the rest of your plans.

“Boys!” you call, noting that they’re mostly just congregating at the edge of the yard. They instantly return to your side, even Johnny - who has a tendency to make you chase him in the rain.

They each file inside, sit and behave while you remove their raincoats and hang them to dry. As usual, they follow and crowd while you make up your coffee. Add a bit of whiskey just for fun; you won’t need to drive for a while.

The boys climb onto the couch with you, happily arranging themselves in a warm circle. Konig at your back like a living pillow. Johnny on your right, head in your lap. Ghost just in front, pressed against your shins and warming your feet.

You settle in with a contented sigh and sip your coffee. Even put on a show you’ve been meaning to get to.

Midway through the episode, Ghost slips off the couch and slinks off. You notice in the back of your mind, but he tends to be the moodiest of your boys and figure he just wants some alone time.

When he comes back, you hum at him, kissing his muzzle as he takes your other side. As the next episode is loading, Johnny hops down.

“Biiiiig stretch,” you coo, grinning as his back legs extend. He wags, licks your hand in parting, and trots off. You hear the doggy door clatter, figure he didn’t do all his business after all.

About an hour later, the doorbell chimes. You jump, but… the boys are oddly quiet. Usually they’d be rioting that someone dares come to the door. This time, though alert, not so much as a growl.

Put off, you pad to the door and check the peephole. Just a delivery man with a… frankly monstrous bouquet.

You open the door, prepared to tell him that he’s made a mistake. But he says your name and address and tells you happy birthday, gently handing it over.

You blink as he saunters back to the truck, almost don’t notice Ghost standing sentinel right beside you.

“Huh,” you muse, finding him watching you. “Who d’you think ordered me flowers?”

He makes a little “ruff” noise. You snort and close the door. It’s a beautiful arrangement, you must admit. All your favorites. It even came in a vase!

You inhale the sweet scent and sigh, unable to keep from smiling. Usually you think flower arrangements are a bit silly, so expensive for something that will last so little time. But it’s been ages since you last got one and someone clearly put thought into it.

You offer each of the pups a sniff, laughing when Konig sneezes a bit. You set the vase on the kitchen counter where it won’t become a casualty of any enthusiastic tails and you’ll get to look at it regularly. Try to look for a card but there isn’t one.

Hopefully, whoever sent it will reveal themselves by asking if you like it.

You settle on the couch again with a lingering smile, scratching at Ghost’s ears when he presses his face against your shoulder.

Another hour passes in peace when there’s another knock at the door. Again, the dogs stay eerily quiet. This time, you’re greeted with a huge bag of items.

You unpack it on the couch, Johnny sitting by your knee. A new plush blanket, a pretty mug, a video game you’ve heard good things about, the next book on your reading list, your favorite candies, and even an expensive new pair of headphones (since Johnny ruined your last ones).

You let him sniff curiously at each item, amused by his involvement in your gift unwrapping.

“Wow,” you breathe, staring at your pile of gifts. “This is more than I’ve gotten in years. I don’t even know what to do with it all.”

You start by eating some of the candies. Johnny’s tail wags furiously the entire time, even when you remind him that candy is Not For Him.

At some point in all the craziness, Konig’s scurried off somewhere. Not surprising, you figure. All the guests must have made him shy. He’s not a fan of really anyone but you.

Eventually he returns, though, and you’re sure to welcome him back with praises and kisses before he climbs into his spot. You happily return to your show, scratching absently at your snuggly pack.

Just around noon, there’s one last knock at the door. Your favorite takeout place, including a box of the really good German pastries that you never let yourself get more than once every other week. Fresh baked too!

You hum happily as you eat, wishing you knew who to thank for it.

“I feel utterly spoiled,” you laugh as you save the rest of the pastries for later. “I definitely don’t deserve all this.”

A deep bark nearly startles you. Konig. He hardly ever makes a peep!

“Listen to you, baby!” you coo, wiggling your fingers to entice him closer. He comes to your side instantly, chin on your stomach, staring up at you with big mismatched eyes. “Such a lovely voice. Ich liebe dich, Herr Konig.”

He wags happily at you, a big, silly canine grin on his face. When you duck down to hug him, he leaves kisses all over your face and neck.

By evening, you’re in a good enough mood that you’re not completely dreading the visit to your parents’ house. You get dressed, kiss each of your boys goodbye, and leave.

It’s not… bad per se. Sure, your mom makes your sister’s favorite meal, and your dad doesn’t even realize why you’re there at first. Your sister’s husband also keeps making weird comments about you being single and your biological “clock” but—

Well, you’re just there for dinner. At least your mom made homemade cookies; a classic you’ve always enjoyed. But not even that is enough to make you stay longer than absolutely necessary, making your excuses that Konig still gets separation anxiety.

The drive home is long and you feel exhausted from putting on the “grateful daughter” song and dance. When you pull up to the house, though, you perk up when you see another package.

It’s a… basket? You carry it inside, too dark to see what it is on the porch. Immediately greeted by the boys, you don’t get a chance to look at it at first. But once you do…

It’s a self care basket, you think. A ridiculously nice bottle of wine, a bath bomb, body cream, sugar scrub… a bottle of the lube you always use. New lingerie. A toy. Not just any toy either. One you’ve been putting off buying because it’s close to a hundred pounds and you’ve got three big boys to feed.

At first you think it’s your ex but…. No. No, everything in this basket is things you’d pick for yourself. Things he never knew you well enough to buy. And he’s too cheap besides - and too much of a stuck up dick to ever dream of patronizing adult toys.

You hesitate over it. But….. well, you’ve already brought it inside. Doesn’t matter if you use any of it or not; and it’s stupid to let it go to waste.

So you feed the dogs and wander to your room.

And it. Is. Decadent.

You linger in the bathtub for way too long, giggling at the sparkles in the water, sipping wine and nibbling on German pastries. Even sacrificed one of the roses from the bouquet to let the petals float in the water. Start the first couple chapters of your birthday book, sigh and talk nonsense to your boys, all of them lingering in the doorway but behaving.

And when you finally get to bed, you run the battery out achieving your “birthday orgasms”. (Remain shockingly uninterrupted by any of the boys.)

Sometime before midnight your dream of gentle hands cleaning you up, pressing kisses everywhere. Voices whispering “love you” and “happy birthday”.

It’s the best one to date.

(Again, happy borfday!! I love you and I hope this was a good gift 💕)

Main Story | Konig pt.2 | Price pt.1

Masterlist

[just-aake]

Everlasting Devotion - Part XI

Pairing: princess!Natasha Romanoff x fem!reader

Summary: Sequel of Boundless Devotion Series. MedievalAU. With her coronation over, Natasha is now the queen of the Romanov Kingdom. However, the position comes with challenges from both old and new enemies as Natasha tries to maintain the peace while also navigating her relationship with you.

Masterlist Part 1 | Part 2 | Part 3 | Part 4 | Part 5 | Part 6 | Part 7 | Part 8 | Part 9 | Part 10 | Part 11

Warnings: light angst, violence, death

Words: 2513

The three of you navigate the quiet alleyways, shadows stretching across the cobblestones as Redwing glides ahead, scanning the area for Sitwell. 

The tension between you and Natasha lingers in the atmosphere, though you’ve made no effort to address it.

Instead, you keep a deliberate distance from her, your focus locked on the path ahead, and Natasha feels the sting of your cold shoulder intensely.

She knows she mishandled things—should have told you about having Sam and Redwing keep an eye on you—and now she’s left to wrestle with how to make things right.

A quiet sigh escapes her lips.

The sound draws your attention, and for a brief moment, you glance back at her.

Natasha straightens, her heart flickering with hope, but the moment is fleeting. 

Once you see she’s relatively okay, you quickly shift your focus back to your conversation with Sam, effectively shutting her out again. 

“So, how far can Redwing fly?” you ask, tilting your head as you watch the falcon hover effortlessly above.

Sam perks up immediately, his tone turning proud. 

“Oh, he can make it all the way to the Mar-vel Kingdom and back in a day. No problem,” he boasts, clearly delighted to share the falcon’s capabilities.

Your expression softens into genuine interest as you nod, absorbing every detail Sam shares.

Natasha watches you from a step behind, the faintest smile softening her expression despite herself.

She’s always admired the way you connect with others, your genuine curiosity and openness drawing people in. It’s a quality that makes her heart ache even more at the thought of you feeling shunned and ridiculed recently. 

To her, it’s unfathomable how anyone could associate you with Dreykov’s scheming persona.  

Your thoughtful hum pulls Natasha out of her musings.

“And he can find anyone?” you ask.

Sam nods with certainty.

“Greatest tracker I’ve ever worked with.” 

As if to prove his handler’s point, Redwing emits a short chirp and begins circling a spot some distance ahead, drawing all of your attention.

Sam glances back at her with a serious nod.

“Found him,” he states simply, quickening his pace toward the location to scout the area. 

You fall in step beside Natasha, keeping your word to stay close to her, though you maintain your pointed silence.

Natasha bites the inside of her cheek, glancing at you from the corner of her eye. 

With Sam far enough ahead, she seizes the opportunity to address the lingering tension. 

Natasha takes a deep breath, steeling herself as she nudges your shoulder lightly.

“Y/n,” she calls softly, her voice a quiet plea.

You don’t respond, your gaze fixed ahead, and Natasha’s heart sinks. She takes another breath, her words tumbling out earnestly. 

“I’m sorry,” she begins. “I should have told you about Redwing. It’s just…” She hesitates, searching for the right words. “Ross had his men following you, and I knew he wouldn’t stop unless there was some kind of surveillance to replace his.” 

Your eyes narrow slightly at her words, though you still don’t look her way.

Natasha hurries to clarify, her voice faltering.

“Not that you need to be watched,” she says hastily. “I just wanted to make sure you were safe. That’s all. I swear.” 

Her voice falters as you continue to remain silent, and she sighs heavily, running a hand through her hair as frustration and regret simmer within her. 

“I really am—” Natasha freezes mid-sentence, her words catching in her throat as she catches the faintest hint of a smile tugging at the corner of your lips.

Her eyes narrow in suspicion.

“Wait a second…” she mutters before letting out an exasperated sigh. “At what point did you forgive me?”  

You finally look at her, a playful glint in your eyes. 

“At the first ‘I’m sorry,’” you admit with a shrug.

Natasha exhales sharply, shaking her head. 

“You were messing with me this whole time?”

“Maybe a little,” you confess with a soft chuckle. “I told you, it’s cute when the charming princess gets flustered.” 

Natasha rolls her eyes, though a faint blush dusts her cheeks. Reaching out, she catches your hand, stopping you and turning you to face her.

“You know,” she mutters, a teasing smirk playing on her lips, “having your queen grovel for forgiveness might be grounds for punishment.” 

Laughing lightly, you step closer, leaning into her body, your voice dropping as you reply in a challenge.

“Then punish me, my queen.”

Natasha’s breath hitches for a fraction of a second, the warmth in your tone and the proximity sending her heart racing.

But before she can respond, you step back with a knowing grin, your eyes sparkling with mischief. 

“You’re unbelievable,” Natasha mutters under her breath, though the smile tugging at her lips betrays her true feelings.

“And you love it,” you quip before stepping to follow Sam toward Redwing’s signal.

Natasha huffs, shaking her head as she refocuses on the task at hand, though a faint, lingering smile refuses to leave her face.

The alley stretches ahead, cloaked in dim light and deepening shadows as you all silently approach the narrow entrance where muffled voices echo from within. 

The three of you press against the wall, staying hidden. 

Sam raises a finger to his lips, signaling for silence as he leans forward, peeking cautiously around the corner.

“It’s Sitwell,” he whispers, his voice barely audible. “And he’s not alone.”

Natasha creeps forward to peer around the corner, her sharp gaze taking in the scene as the lord’s voice becomes clearer. 

“It’s not my fault that Commander Hill took over Rumlow’s operations before I could!” Sitwell’s voice is frantic, a mix of frustration and desperation. “She locked everything down.”

“And what of the weapons?” a second voice asks, calm yet menacing. It’s muffled, belonging to the cloaked and masked figure pinning Sitwell against the wall. 

“I—I don’t know where they are!” Sitwell stammers, his voice trembling.

The figure’s grip tightens as they brandish a knife, the blade gleaming faintly in the low light.

“We had a deal,” the figure hisses, their tone laced with quiet fury. 

Sitwell fumbles frantically, producing a glowing stone similar to the one Natasha had seen before at the tavern. He offers it to the figure, his hand shaking.

“Wait!” he pleads. “I can get you more! Rumlow wasn’t the only one who knew the man who made them—I do, too.”

The figure hesitates, taking the stone and examining it. They motion for Sitwell to continue.

The lord swallows hard, seizing the chance to plead his case.

“Rumlow had a deal with him. He was supposed to deliver secrets about Dreykov and Romanov’s Widow operations in exchange for the weapons,” Sitwell says hurriedly. “But he double-crossed him and used it for himself. Now, only one person can give him what he wants.” 

“Who?” the figure demands.

“Lady Y/n—she’s the one he’ll trade for,” Sitwell blurts out, his voice shaking.

Natasha stiffens, her head snapping toward you. Her expression hardens with a mix of alarm and fury.

Sam clenches his jaw, his focus shifting to her as if awaiting orders. 

Natasha looks between you and the alleyway, her mind racing, before coming to a decision.

She gestures for Sam to take you away.

With an acknowledging nod, Sam starts to nudge you back, but you shove his arm aside when you realize that she intends to stay. 

The masked figure tilts their head, processing Sitwell’s claim, before their attention snaps to the faint movement from your group.

Their gaze locks on Natasha, their body tensing in readiness.

In an instant, they shove Sitwell to the ground and bolts.

“Secure Sitwell!” Natasha commands Sam as she charges forward after the fleeing figure.

Natasha closes the distance quickly, her movements precise as she grabs the figure’s cloak, yanking them back.

The figure stumbles but smoothly pivots on their heel, delivering a swift kick toward Natasha’s head.

Natasha ducks under the attack, but with surprising skill, the figure follows up quick with a sharp kick aimed at her torso. She blocks it at the last second with her arms, but the impact forces her to stumble back. 

You’re immediately at her side, steadying her with firm hands.

“Thanks,” she mutters breathlessly, her eyes never leaving the figure. 

The cloaked individual looks between the two of you cautiously before they suddenly lunge, their knife flashing as they swing at Natasha with calculated precision. 

Natasha pushes you away from her side as she sidesteps each swipe, narrowly dodging the blade.

Grabbing the figure’s wrist mid-swing, Natasha twists sharply, forcing them to drop the weapon with a metallic clatter. She traps their arms in a hold, locking them in place.

“Now!” Natasha shouts to you.

Understanding her unspoken command, you move quickly, delivering a powerful kick to the figure’s side. The impact forces a grunt from them as Natasha releases her hold, letting them stumble back into the wall. 

The glowing stone slips from the figure’s hand, falling to the ground.

The moment it hits the pavement, a loud crack resounds, and an intense, blinding light explodes outward, flooding the alley with a searing brilliance.

“Get down!” Natasha yells, shielding you with her body as the light engulfs the area.

The overwhelming brightness disorients you both, your vision obscured for several long seconds. When the light finally fades, Natasha blinks rapidly, her sight still hazy as she surveys the alley.

But after a quick scan, it’s clear that the mysterious individual is gone.

Natasha curses under her breath when there’s no trace of where they went. Only the faintly glowing, fractured stone remains on the ground, pulsing weakly with light.

“Damn it,” Natasha mutters, frustration evident in her tone.

Your hand comes to rest on her arm, grounding her for a moment.

She turns to you instinctively, her eyes darting over you, scanning for any sign of injury. Her hands come up to cup your face, tilting your head slightly to inspect every angle. 

“I’m fine, Natasha,” you assure her softly, gently pulling her hands from your face and placing them back at her sides. 

The warmth in your touch lingers even as you step back, creating a subtle distance between you. 

Your eyes flick briefly to where Sam stands, your awareness of the others pulling you back into your carefully maintained composure.

The sound of a struggle draws Natasha’s attention to where Sam restrains Sitwell, who thrashes ineffectively in his grip.

“Unhand me!” Sitwell shouts, his voice sharp and panicked.

Natasha stalks over to the squirming lord, her presence looming with command.

“Who was that?” she demands, her voice cold and threatening.

Sitwell recoils at her tone, his earlier bravado crumbling into fear. 

“I don’t know!” he exclaims. “They’re just…some black market arms dealer. Rumlow had a deal with them.”

Natasha’s expression hardens, remembering the way Sitwell targeted you at the council meeting, making you experience all sorts of discomfort as he questioned you. 

“All your talk of loyalty to the kingdom, yet here you are—a traitor.” 

Her words cut like a blade, and Sitwell visibly flinches.

“No, Your Majesty,” he pleads, desperation creeping into his tone. “I was trapped in Rumlow’s deal. When he didn’t fulfill his part, they came for me. I had no choice.”

“That’s a pathetic excuse,” Sam scoffs, tightening his grip on the struggling man.

Natasha steps closer, her icy glare silencing any retort from Sitwell.

“If you want even a chance at leniency, you’ll tell me who Rumlow was working with. Who made these weapons?”

Sitwell hesitates, the weight of her demand pressing down on him.

Finally, he opens his mouth to answer.

But before he can speak, a sharp whistling sound cuts through the air.

An arrow buries itself in Sitwell’s chest. His words die on his lips as his body crumples to the ground.

Natasha’s head snaps upward, her sharp gaze locking onto a shadowy figure perched on a rooftop above. 

The figure’s silhouette is menacing, their face obscured, but Natasha doesn’t miss how their focus shifts directly to you.

“Natasha,” you whisper, your voice tinged with worry as you instinctively grab her arm, tugging her back. 

But Natasha immediately moves to shield you, pushing you behind her protectively.

Her eyes narrow dangerously as she glares up at the figure.

For a moment, they linger, their presence a silent threat, before disappearing into the darkness.

Only once Natasha confirms the area is safe does she drop her hand from your side.

Sam kneels beside Sitwell’s body, his expression grim.

“He’s gone,” he confirms.

Natasha clenches her fists, her frustration mounting.

Sitwell’s death has left more questions than answers, and her mind churns with thoughts of who these mysterious figures could be.

Before she can voice her thoughts, she notices you moving away from her side.

Natasha turns to see you kneeling beside the fractured stone, its faint glow drawing your attention.

The light pulses weakly, almost hypnotically, and your hand hovers inches above it. 

Natasha remembers her earlier experience back at the tavern when her hand had brushed the similar stone on the attacker’s glove—the flashes of the worst moment of her life and the fear that had gripped her mind and heart.

“Y/n, don’t touch that,” Natasha warns, stepping forward and reaching for your arm.

The moment her fingers graze your skin, your reaction is sudden and uncharacteristically harsh.

You swat her hand away with surprising force, startling her.

Natasha pauses and pulls back from you, her eyes widening in shock. 

“Y/n?” she calls again, softer this time, her voice laced with worry as her eyes search your face.

For a brief second, your expression is distant, your eyes unfocused. Then you blink rapidly, as though shaking off a haze, and your gaze shifts to her, confusion flickering across your features.

“What’s wrong?” you ask, your voice tinged with genuine puzzlement at her expression.

Natasha’s lips press into a thin line, her sharp eyes scrutinizing you. 

“You pushed me away when I tried to stop you,” she says cautiously.

“I did?” Your brow furrows in surprise, and your gaze darts back to the now-dimming stone. Its glow fades completely, leaving only the cracked surface behind.

Natasha watches you closely as you stare at the stone, your expression unreadable.

The silence stretches between you, heavy with unspoken questions.

“Y/n?” Natasha says softly, her hand reaching for your arm again.

This time, you don’t pull away. You turn to face her, your eyes meeting hers.

“You don’t remember?” she presses, her voice gentle but firm. 

You hesitate for a moment, your hands fidgeting nervously in front of you at her words, but then you shake your head lightly and give her a reassuring smile.

“I'm sorry, my body must’ve still been on the edge after everything that just happened,” you reply softly.

Natasha studies you for a moment longer, unease flickering in her chest.

Whatever had just happened, it wasn’t normal like you’re suggesting. And as much as she wants to press further, she holds back, not wanting to push you too hard.

“That’s enough for today. Let’s head back,” she finally says, her tone steady despite the worry lingering in her gaze.

You nod silently in agreement before making your way out of the alley. 

But Natasha lingers in place, turning her attention back to the fractured stone on the ground. Her mind races with the mystery of its power—and the brief, unsettling moment when it seemed like you weren’t entirely yourself.

~~~~~~~ ⧗ ~~~~~~~

Part 1 | Part 2 | Part 3 | Part 4 | Part 5 | Part 6 | Part 7 | Part 8 | Part 9 | Part 10 | Part 11

a/n: And we're back. 😁 Time for more mysteries, secrets, and challenges for the two. Thank you for your patience and for reading!

If you asked to be tagged and I missed it, please let me know again.

Taglist : @midastouch013, @2silverchain, @dvrkhcld, @observeowl, @x-drowned-x, @fireandblood-3, @natsxwife, @leequifey, @blacklightsposts, @srt-sah, @scar-letwidow, @likefirenrain, @autorasexy, @natsbiggestfan1, @lex13cm, @iheartjohansson, @tofu9162, @unexpected-character, @natashasilverfox, @acciowriting, @qtreesfanstuff, @mrsrushman, @inarayofmoonlight, @viosblog112, @inarayofmoonlight, @maximoff-jp, @natashasilverfox

[kr-starz]

Modern Highschool Arcane AU headcanons !!

(Vi & Jinx)

Jinx and Vi are still teenagers, their age gap would be like 3 years in this AU, so when it's Jinx's freshman year Vi's already a Senior.

People were genuinely surprised finding out the little chaotic science geek and the sports-minded athlete were SISTERS since they were so different friend group and personality wise.

(Cait & Vi)

Vi is a jock! She does winter wrestling and she's the best in her weight group. She's also involved in fall and spring sports. Baseball and football are her other seasonal sports.

People know Vi to be just a sports junkie, she has pretty good grades but nothing exceptional.

She's not so great at science , which forces her to be tutored.

Vi and Cait met in their sophomore year, she needed some help improving her grade in order to be eligible for the spring season sports since she was failing history at the time, so Caits assigned to help her out.

Caitlyn’s a goody two shoes icl, like she’s apart of the student council and her mom’s the superintendent. She’s in ROTC and she’s so very loud about it, she’s basically the FACE of the program.

Cait and Vi get close because Vi keeps seeing Caitlyn around and she’s become sort of a hallway crush, but with her fuckboy attitude Vi tries to flirt the second she realizes that she’s somehow managed to get Caitlyn as her tutor!

Cait is used to people flirting with her, she usually brushes it off since she’s a man magnet. Vi on the other hand, is weirdly making her flustered? It’s strange, really.

Cait and Vi start getting closer and eventually start dating the year after.

(Ekko & Jinx)

Ekko and Jinx are the same age but Ekko's older by a few months so he brags about it.

Ekko D&D nerd. He dragged Jinx into it, she only complied since Ekko asked so nicely (he threatened her kindly)

Jinx isn’t into extracurriculars, did track in middle school so she’s exceptionally fast and she’s in the track and field team in high school but she skips practice A LOT but the coach lowkey needs her so she doesn’t get punished.

Jinx has straight A’s but she skips classes and has days where she just can’t attend class so she does some of her work online (it’s like 70/30) in person-online; she has accommodations in her 504 plan that lets her listen to music all the time and lets her leave class whenever.

Jinx is just a nickname that was given to her while she was a kid since every sports team she cheered for ended up losing (she only ever went since she wanted to see what Vi was up to) and she was Jinxing every game which DID hurt her feelings when she was like 6 but now it’s kind of funny since she doesn’t care for sports.

She’s slightly uncomfortable letting random people call her Powder now since she introduces herself as Jinx, only her closer friends call her Powder.

She no longer Jinxes games now though but it was funny while it lasted.

Ekko and Jinx have this weird rivalry-friendship-situationship where they ARE childhood best friends who back each other up but they refuse to pair up together when working on projects since they wanna see who can get better grades or impress more people.

Ekko and Jinx is like “the boy/girl next door” trope since they’ve been casually hanging just whenever since they were little itty bitty kids. So people kind of know Jinx as “that girl friend he’s always around” and Ekko as “that boy friend Jinx is always around” to their respective classmates and acquaintances.

Ekko and Jinx used to get the “wait you guys aren’t dating” comment at least once a month. (They’re not dating just yet)

Ekko is in the art club and has never considered doing a sport (Ice hockey has intrigued him more and more every year though) and he’s in a bunch of clubs to compensate. He established the D&D club, being in a little “green thumb” club for plant parents, afterschool computer-science club which is run by Viktor and Jayce. He’s got a pretty decent variety of friends because of it and larger social circle. He’s known to be this friendly little nerdy guy and people either love him or think he’s weird.

When Ekko doesn’t have extracurriculars to focus on he’s out practicing new skate tricks,

Ekko is the plant dad of the CENTURY, he has like 20 plants in his room, he’s nurturing a garden in his backyard and he has the prettiest bushels of flowers in the house. He’s got the greenest of thumbs.

Jinx has a black thumb and kills every plant in a 20 mile radius. No but seriously, when Ekko tried giving Jinx a plant to take care of as an attempt to bond, it DIED within a week. (She drowned it) and when he gave her an easier plant to take care of, she fed the thing rubbing alcohol and didn’t notice until it was DEAD.

Ekko asks Jinx to Hoco, that’s when they started dating. Everyone calls it like “oh my god finally” “you weren’t dating before?” Etc. it’s really cute but there’s minimal changes!! They just start like, kissing or something.

[darkficsyouneveraskedfor]

Long Snake Moan 6

My warnings are not exhaustive but be aware this is a dark fic and may include potentially triggering topics. Please use your common sense when consuming content. I am not responsible for your decisions.

Character: Loki

Summary: your boss gives you a task you’re not prepared for.

As usual, I would appreciate any and all feedback. I’m happy to once more go on this adventure with all of you! Thank you in advance for your comments and for reblogging ❤️

The last ten minutes of work have you squirming in your seat. When that tickle in your stomach began, you assumed it was anxiety. Usually, you look forward to the end of your work day but not this one. No, it’s something else. Something different. 

The sensation is vibrant and virulent. You feel your pulse racing in your throat and your heart flutters uncontrollably. The text on your screen appears softer around the edges and your skin burns hot.  

Sweat beads in your scalp as you swelter and the shift of your thighs makes you squeaks. It’s then that you notice the slickness pooling in your panties. What’s happening to you? You can feel the stain seeping through your skirt. 

“Darling, I believe the hour has struck,” Loki’s voice precedes him. 

You shudder at his deep tone. It ripples over you and strangles a moan from your throat. He appears from behind the monitor and circles around the desk. He looks down at you as you peer up at him in confusion. 

“Are we ready?” He asks with a sinister smirk.  

He is so handsome in that moment. His eyes are brighter, his nose is like that of a roman statue, and his jawline is etched just perfectly. And his shoulders and arms, the ways his suit is tailored just so to his figure, his chest looks delicious. 

“Darling?” He slithers. 

Your eyes flick back up to his face and you brace the armrests and twist your body, rubbing your thighs together as you whimper, “what did you do?” 

“What did I do?” Darling, I’ve been waiting patiently. What ever is the matter?” 

He pushes his jacket back and shoves his hands into his pockets, putting on leg out in a slanted stance. Your gaze is drawn to the front of his trousers. You barely keep from lunging on him as you teethe your lip. 

“Something...” you groan as you wrestle with the throbbing in your core. You feel empty. You need him inside of you. No! Not him! This isn’t-- oh! It hurts! “You did this.” 

“Did what?” he purrs playfully. 

Your agitation is underlined in desperation. You push yourself to your feet and sway towards him. Your body rebels as your mind screams for it to stop. You grab him by his belt and he snickers. 

“Oh, aren’t we bold,” he puts his hand around your wrist, “have some decency, you little minx?” 

“No, no,” you chant to yourself even as you tug at his buckle. 

“Someone might see us,” he taunts, though sounds less than concerned at the prospect. 

Your whine as your dozy eyes flit around. You drag him with you as your eyes fall on Tony’s office door. He follows with another laugh. You beg yourself to stop but you can only be witness to your own defeat. You pull him inside and slam the door. 

You angle him towards the desk as he brings his hands around your face, his thumb stroking your cheek as he forces your chin up. Your foggy eyes stare up at him as your heart hammers. You feel that little skip more than before. You spread your hand around the rigid shape beneath his trousers. He groans as you squeeze. 

“I assure you, darling, I am in every way a god,” he boasts. 

“Shhhhh...gggrgggg, Lllllll...” you can’t make words. You have only gibberish as you free his buckles and yank on his pants. He stops you and tuts, turning you against the desk instead. 

“Darling, please, I have vowed to be a good husband, so let us not squander this moment on impatient lust. This is our wedding night, you will want to remember this forever,” he drags his hands down your arms and you quiver. 

He traces over your chest, squeezing until your moan and spasm, then continues down your stomach and waist. He cherishes every part of you on his descent. He grips your hips and lifts you with no more than a twitch. He puts you on the desk and you garble as your head bobbles, your tongue threatening to loll out of your mouth as the pressure in your cunt radiates through you. 

He drops to his knees with a hum. He grabs the split in the back of your skirt and tears. You yipe as he rents the fabric easily and frees it from under your thighs. He tosses the shorn tweed over his head as he pushes your knees apart. His breath clouds hotly along the front of your sopping panties. 

He nuzzles you through the cotton and tisks, “darling, you are eager.” 

“Stop,” you drone. 

He rubs his nose against your panties and you squeak. His fingers tickle up your thigh and your quakes. He hooks his fingers under the cotton and pulls your panties aside with a brush against your folds. You whine and he flicks his tongue into your warmth. 

You cry out and fall back onto your elbows. Something clatters to the floor as Tony’s monitor wobbles dangerously. You don’t care. You throw your head back and tilt your hips as you give into Loki’s cool tongue. Your eyes roll back behind their lids and you sigh at the relieving melding of hot and cold. 

You bend your legs around him as you welcome him in. You hiss as you thrum into his mouth. Even as he toys with you so expertly, you’re desperate for more. It’s so good, so good, but not enough. 

“Ah, please,” you beg without a thought in your lust-addled mind, “Please, please, more. I want more. I need--”  

You fall back into a stream of nonsense and writhe on the desk. He hums as he laps you up, his finger teasing along your entrance. You clamp your thighs around his face and reach to push on the crown of his head through the drape of the skirt. You rock your hips into him and he seals his lips around your clit. You squeal as he sucks until you’re about to burst. 

He stops before you can. You shiver and sob. Your nails curl into the slack tweed skirt, “What...?” You quaver. 

“Mmm,” he drags his wet lips along your pelvis, “say my name, darling.” 

“Loki,” you moan again, “please--” 

He dives back in and renders you speechless once more. You latch onto his head and gnash your teeth. It doesn’t take much more for him to push you to your peak. You curl up as you hug his head and cling to him as you cum into his mouth. 

You’ve never felt anything like this before and you never want it to stop. Nothing else matters but this feeling. 

[mattsobvimyfav]

roommate (Matthew Sturniolo)

pt 6

It had been a week since the fight with Matt. We havent talked really at all, no apology from him and not a word out of me. I leaned against the kitchen counter, my red Solo cup practically untouched. The party was packed, music thumping so loud I could feel it in my chest. Chris had invited me, but, he’d wandered off to talk to his hockey buddies. I didn’t mind much—I wasn’t really in the mood to socialize.

“Hey,” a voice said, pulling me out of my thoughts. I turned to see a guy I didn’t recognize standing next to me. Tall, dark hair, and a cocky smirk that immediately made me wary.

“Hi,” I said politely, offering a small smile before taking a sip from my cup.

“I’m Drew,” he said, leaning closer so I could hear him over the music. “What’s your name?”

“Y/N,” I replied, keeping it short.

“Well, Y/N, what’s a girl like you doing standing here all alone?” he asked, his tone dripping with confidence.

“I’m not alone,” I said, nodding toward Chris across the room. “I’m here with a friend.”

He glanced at Chris, then back at me. “Doesn’t look like he’s paying much attention to you. Maybe you should let me keep you company.”

I forced a laugh. “I’m good, but thanks.”

Drew didn’t take the hint. He stepped closer, “Come on, you look bored. Let’s go upstairs. It’s quieter, and we can actually talk.”

“No, thanks,” I said firmly, stepping back.

“Don’t be like that,” he said, his smirk faltering. “I’m just trying to be nice.”

“And I’m just trying to enjoy the party,” I shot back, crossing my arms. “Not interested, okay?”

His expression darkened, and he reached out to grab my wrist lightly. “Why are you being so fucking uptight? I’m just asking for some company.”

Before I could pull away, another voice cut through the noise.

“She said no.”

I turned to see Matt, his jaw clenched and his eyes blazing. He stepped between us, shoving Drew’s hand off me.

“Who the hell are you?” Drew asked, glaring at Matt.

“I’m her roommate,” Matt said, his voice low and dangerous. “And you’re going to walk away. Now.”

Drew scoffed, puffing out his chest. “What’s your problem, man? I’m just talking to her.”

“You call grabbing her ‘just talking?’” Matt snapped, stepping closer. “Back off before I make you.”

“Make me?” Drew laughed, “She’s not your girlfriend, dude. Mind your own business.”

Matt didn’t hesitate. “I really dont give a fuck what she is, she wants you to leave her alone.”

Drew shoved Matt’s shoulder. “What are you gonna do about it?”

That was all it took. Matt swung, his fist connecting with Drew’s jaw with a sickening thud. The party seemed to freeze as Drew staggered back, clutching his face.

“Matt, stop!” I yelled, grabbing his arm, but he shook me off, his focus locked on Drew.

Drew recovered quickly and lunged at Matt, the two of them crashing into the counter and knocking over a stack of cups. People started shouting, forming a circle around them as they wrestled to the ground.

Chris appeared out of nowhere, pushing through the crowd. “What the hell is going on?” he yelled, grabbing Matt by the back of his shirt and hauling him off Drew.

“He wouldn’t leave her alone,” Matt growled, breathing heavily.

Drew scrambled to his feet, glaring at me. “Your roommate’s psycho,” he spat, blood dripping from his nose.

“And you’re an asshole,” Chris shot back, stepping between them. “Get out the fuck out of here.”

Drew glared at us one last time before storming off, muttering under his breath.

The crowd slowly dispersed, and Chris turned to Matt. “Dude, what the hell? You can’t just start fights!”

Matt ignored him, turning to me. “Are you okay?” he asked, his tone softer now.

I nodded, still a little shaken. “Yeah. I’m fine.”

“You sure?” Matt asked, his eyes searching mine.

“I’m sure,” I said, meeting his gaze. “But… thanks.”

Matt nodded, his anger finally fading. “Anytime.”

I leaned against the wall, trying to steady my nerves while Chris stood beside me. The party returned to its usual chaos after Matt’s fight with Drew, but my chest still felt tight.

“You okay?” Chris asked, nudging me with his elbow.

“Yeah,” I said, though I wasn’t sure if it was true. “What about you? You seemed ready to jump in back there.”

Chris grinned. “What can I say? It’s the protective big-brother instinct. Even if Matt’s only older by, like, two minutes.”

I snorted, rolling my eyes. “Still counts, I guess.”

Matt had gone upstairs to clean himself up after the fight, and I hoped he’d stay there for a while. The last thing I wanted was more drama.

Unfortunately, fate had other plans.

Out of the corner of my eye, I saw Drew pushing his way back into the room, another guy trailing behind him. He spotted me instantly, his gaze cold and determined, and then his eyes flicked to Chris.

“Uh, Chris,” I said, tugging on his sleeve.

He followed my gaze and sighed. “Oh, great. He brought backup.”

Drew didn’t waste any time. He stormed over, his friend close behind. “Where’s your brother?” he snapped, glaring at Chris.

“Fuck off,” I say, rolling my eyes

“Shut up whore I wasn’t talking to you.” Drew said putting his hand in my face like he was trying to silence me

Chris stepped in front of me. “Not here. And you’re not going anywhere near him. Speak to her like that again, I dare you.”

“Really?” Drew sneered. “You think you can stop me?”

Before Chris could respond, Matt appeared at the top of the stairs, his shirt clean but his knuckles still red. He froze briefly when he saw Drew, then sighed like he’d been expecting this.

“You again?” Matt called out, walking down the stairs. “Didn’t you get enough the first time?”

Drew smirked. “Thought I’d even the odds.”

The second Matt hit the bottom step, Drew lunged at him, his friend following suit. Matt barely had time to dodge the punch aimed at his face before he swung back, connecting with Drew’s stomach.

“What the fuck” I shouted, but Chris didn’t hesitate.

“Stay back,” he said, pushing me behind him before throwing himself into the fight.

The room erupted into chaos again as the four clashed, knocking over chairs and sending people scrambling out of the way. Chris tackled Drew’s friend to the ground while Matt wrestled with Drew, both throwing punches like they’d been waiting for this all night.

“Guys, cut it the fuck out!” I yelled, but no one was listening.

It didn’t take long for Matt and Chris to overpower them. Drew’s friend tapped out first, scrambling and dragging Drew with him. “Let’s go,” the friend hissed, blood dripping from his lip.

“You’re lucky I didn’t finish what I started,” Matt growled, his chest heaving.

Drew glared at him but didn’t say anything. The two of them disappeared into the crowd, and I let out a breath I hadn’t realized I was holding.

Chris wiped his mouth with the back of his hand, wincing. “Well, that was fun.”

Matt glared at him. “What part of that was fun?”

“Winning,” Chris said with a grin.

I grabbed both of their arms. “Okay, enough. We’re leaving.”

Matt started to protest, but I cut him off. “No arguments. Let’s go.”

The walk back to our dorm was quiet, save for Chris’s occasional joke about how bad Drew was at throwing punches. Matt stayed silent, his hands stuffed in his pockets, his head down.

When we got to the room, I pulled out the first-aid kit.

“Sit,” I ordered, pointing to the desk chair for Matt and my bed for Chris.

Chris sat obediently, smirking at Matt. “She’s bossy when she’s mad.”

“Shut up,” I muttered, grabbing some antiseptic wipes.

Matt didn’t say anything as I crouched in front of him, taking his hand. His knuckles were split and starting to swell.

“This is going to sting,” I warned, dabbing at the cuts.

He winced but didn’t pull away. “Thanks. And Im sorry, seriously what I said was fucked up.”

“Its fine,” I said, moving on to Chris. “You two are lucky you didn’t get arrested.”

Chris shrugged. “We couldn’t let them get away with that shit.”

Matt finally spoke up. “They were coming for me. What was I supposed to do? Let them?”

“I can stick up for myself!” I snapped.

“He had your fucking wrist gripped in his hand, Think what you want, but I'm not gonna let some random guy touch you like that,” Matt yelled, standing up, I knew he was right, so I just continued on Chris’s face.

I sighed, finishing with Chris’s face. “Just… no more fighting, okay? I can’t keep playing nurse every time you decide to throw punches.”

Chris grinned. “So you’re saying you care about us?”

“Barely,” I said, rolling my eyes, but I couldn’t hide my smile.

Matt looked at me for a long moment before nodding. “Fine. No more fighting.”

“Good,” I said, standing up and putting the first-aid kit away. “Now, if either of you gets me kicked out of a party again, you’re on your own.”

Chris laughed. “Deal.”

Matt smirked. “We’ll see.”

I shot him a warning look, and he held up his hands in mock surrender. The drama was over for now.

a/n- idk why it spaced out like that but i don’t feel like fixing it

tags-

@ch0llies @hanta-seros-wifey @namelesssav

@2muchofaslvt @simply-a-simper

[sugarcoatedstarkey]

chase's ex getting with drew or rudy? lotssss of smut

Leftovers - Drew Starkey

(Gif credit to owner )

Summary- reader and Chase broke up 6 months ago but reader kept in touch with Drew.

Warnings- Sexual content, unprotected sex, foreplay, spanking, hair pulling. 18+ content

A/n- please leave feedback 💗 part 2

“I can’t believe you just stole this pen” you laughed, twirling the light green pen between your fingers. The wide eyes of the green frog staring up at you as though silently judging this behaviour.

“Hey now, you pretty much dared me” Drew joked, he slung his arm around your shoulder. The heaviness of his body weight pulling you closer into him. For a moment you both forgot about your ex-relationship with Chase, you forgot about the fact he was famous.

But that lasted only a few moments when you noticed his body tense up and he dropped his arm from your shoulders, instead he gripped your bicep with his hand and began dragging you towards the car that was waiting for you. Falling over your feet as you tried to keep up with him, you looked back only to see a group of teens staring at you.

Phones in hand and pointed directly at you. “Okay Drew, I got it, you can stop” You stated, pulling on your arm that he had hold of so tightly. You were sure you’d have a nice bruise by tomorrow.

“Drew! Stop!” You shouted this time, giving your arm one final tug.

His hand dropped to his side as he finally turned to look at you, briefly looking over your shoulder at the girls who were hot on your tail. “I said I got it” you said, stepping around his frame and making your way over to the white car. You grip the handle and pull it open, stepping inside.

You leave the door open for him; he follows behind moments later. The car is silent as the driver takes you both back to his house, well you assumed it was his house as you’ve never given your address to the man before.

A few minutes pass, your body turned towards the door of the car. Your hand caressing the area his hand had so tightly gripped onto moments before. You don’t look over when you hear him wrestle with his jacket, throwing it between you.

You don’t even look when he pulls your hand of your arm and his fingers grip the collar of your denim jacket, tugging it from your body. You let him take it off you and place it on his lap, you still don’t look when his thumb rubs circle on what you assume was the red mark of his hand. “I’m so sorry Y/N” he whispers, this time you look because his lips are pressed against your bicep.

Your throat is dry, and lump begins to form, your heart hammers in your chest cavity. “It’s okay” you whisper, your fingers have a mind of their own as they run through the spikes on his scalp.

Your eyes lock as he pulls away from your arm, your hand still pressed against the side of his head. His hand trailing from your arm up to your neck, your only inches away from one another. You can feel his breath on the corner of our mouth, the heat running to the apples of your cheeks. “I really want to kiss you” he states, you watch his Adam apple bob as he swallows the lump in his own throat.

You don’t want to bring up Chase, you don’t want to bring up that this could cause tension. You wanted him; you’ve wanted him since the moment you met him. So instead, you lean your body weight into him and let your lips touch his.  

The kiss is soft and sweet, but your fingers move from his scalp down to his neck, squeezing him as though to make sure he was real. He grips your neck tighter, his tongue slipping out to demand its way into your mouth, you grant him access and before you know it, it’s a full blown make out session in the backseat of the car.

The sound of Carl coughing from the front seat has you jumping away from Drew. Your fingers coming up to press to your lips in embarrassment, Carl keeps his eyes ahead and respectfully doesn’t turn towards you both. “Sorry, we are here” he states, he doesn’t hop out of the car.

Drew hated being waited on, instead he pulled the door open himself. Clapping Carl on the back and whispering something in his ear. You gripped your purse to your chest following closely behind as you tried to rid the dirt thoughts from your mind, squeezing your legs together as you took tiny steps.

You wait patiently while Drew unlocks the door, he waves you inside first and you step over the threshold. Hanging your bag and jacket on the hook as you’ve done countless times before.

“Want something to drink?” He questions, pulling you from the million thoughts that were drowning your brain. You nod quietly, following behind his tall frame again. You lick your lips savouring the taste of him, worried you may never get to taste his tongue again.

“Don’t do that” his voice echoes throughout the kitchen, your head snaps, eyes darting from the small crack in the floor you had been zoning out onto. He’s standing in between the fridge and the door; he’s holding onto a can of Dr Pepper. The veins in his arms are protruding as he squeezes the cold can between is palm. 

 “Do what?” You question, biting the corner of your bottom lip in confusion. You knew what he was talking about the moment your teeth met your lip once again. The familiar metallic taste filling your senses.

“That” he points, he places the can back in the fridge and strides over to you. His thumb and pointer finger pull at the lip that’s caught between your teeth, the silence in the room starts to make your ears buzz. Your breath is heavier as you stand still, your chests so close to one another. “I need to kiss you again”.

You’re nodding your head even though you’re not entirely sure if what he said was a question or just a statement. “Can I kiss you again?” He asks, his eyes search yours for answers. “Yes” you breath out, pushing yourself up onto your tippy toes.

Your noses bump and his fingers dance up the side of your jaw, pressing his palm against it, fingers cradling the side of your face. His thumb rubs your jaw as he searches your face for something, maybe a hint of hesitation or doubt.

You can feel his breath on your parted lips, the kiss seems to take forever. But the moment your lips touch again it’s feverish, you’re both trying to get as close to one another as possible. His hips bump into yours as he ushers you backwards, your bum hitting the bench.

He grips the back of your thighs and throws you against the marble, pushing himself between your thighs. You wrap your legs around him and pull him as close as possible, his groin pressed tightly against your thin linen shorts.

“Fuck, I’ve wanted to do this for so long” he moans, he’s kissing away from your lips. Trailing his own swollen ones down your neck, sucking and biting. You arch your neck to give him more space. You can hear your heartbeat in your ears, your skin is buzzing and hot. Your tongue dry and aching for his taste.

“Same” is all you manage to respond with. He’s kissing down your collarbone until he meets the open skin between your neck and chest, you want him to unbutton your shirt, you want him to take your breast into his mouth. “Drew” you urge him, he’s caught between not breaking bro code and getting what he wants.

Your glad he takes latter; his fingers loop the buttons through until your bra is exposed. He grips your chin, peering down over you in lust. Your breathing is rushed, and your throat is dry, you swallow even though there is nothing. “I want to taste you” he admits, but he doesn’t kiss you like you were expecting.

“I want to sit us Infront of the mirror and watch your pretty little face as I touch you in places you never knew could bring you so much pleasure” he finished, still his lips don’t touch yours. You use the palms of your hands to push yourself off the marble bench and up against him, practically begging for him to put his tongue inside of you.

“Please” you whisper, you don’t wait for him to kiss you like before. Instead, you take control and hungrily press your lips to his, he allows you to take control for a moment. Letting your hands wander over the material of his shirt, he helps your shaky hands to unbutton the shirt.

Your eyes practically bulge out of there sockets when he lets the material fall off his shoulders and onto the floor, you don’t waste another second and press your lips to his pecks. Letting your hands touch his warm skin, feeling the way he tenses under your touch.

He grabs your wrists and pulls you away from him. “Jump” He demands, you let him carry you towards the dark grey couch. Dropping you onto the plush cushions, he follows closely behind and situates himself between your thighs again. Staring down at you once more. “Are you okay with this?” He questions, your eyes follow his hands as they come to the zip of your shorts.

“Please” Is all you say, he lets out a soft chuckle and unzips your pants. You help him get you undressed, all your left in is your unbuttoned blouse and nude bra. You thought you’d be embarrassed that you were in your most basic underwear set, but somehow, he doesn’t even make you question your decision. “Gorgeous” He groans, his lips kiss at your stomach and up to your breast.

“You smell so good” he mumbles, he pulls the cup away from your breasts and kisses them lazily. “Fucking perfect”. His tongue swirls around your buds, your legs instinctively coming together around him as your pussy begins to throb. You can feel your arousal soaking the material under you. “Y/N, your perfect” he states, you can feel his hand on your thigh, inching closer and closer until it hovers over your pussy.

“Drew, you need to put those fingers inside of me now or I will actually explode” You state, the desperation but firmness of your voice has him chuckling once again. Instead of doing as you told him, he stands and pulls his at his belt. You watch in admiration as he begins to pull his pants down, his erection standing tall and proud.

Before you can even ask to touch him, he’s leaning over you again. Cupping your pussy with his hand. You moan out in delight; he uses his middle finger to spread you. Using your arousal to lube you up as he pushes his finger inside of you, using his palm to rub slow circles on your aching clit. “Fucking hell” you breath out, he adds another finger and moves in and out you slowly.

You can feel the tips of his fingers nudging at the soft velvet wall that would tip your over the edge, you’re clenching around him already. “Hold on baby girl” He instructs, pulling his fingers out. He moved himself down until his nose brushed your mound. You just about choked on the saliva that was building up in your mouth, he pulls your legs open wide, pressing his tongue to your centre.

“Drew, oh sweet Jesus” You shout, grinding your hips down into his tongue. You can feel him smiling against you, his fingertips caress the backside of your thighs. Keeping them apart enough so you wouldn’t squeeze around him. “Drew- I’m gonna” you start.

You didn’t have enough time to warn him, your orgasm hit you harder than you expected. Your back arched off the couch and you shook hard, squeezing your eyes shut as you chomped down your bottom lip.

You’re unsure if you screamed or if it was just a lot of moaning but you couldn’t hear anything, your whole body buzzed. It was like an out of body experience, you watched on as his tongue continued to massage your pussy, pushing your orgasm over and over until you physically collapsed.

It felt like hours had passed when you finally opened your eyes, he was leaning over you. Watching closely as he took in the state of your face, proud of the work he had just completed. “You okay baby girl?” He questioned, he brushed pieces of hair out of your eyes. Kissing the top of your nose.

“I think I entered a whole other universe” you joked, your chest was beating hard and fast. You could feel his cock pressed against the inside of your thigh, reaching between the two of you.

“My turn?”

He nodded his head and moved backwards, taking a seat against the back rest of the couch. He spread his legs wide, leaving ample room for you to crouch between. Shifting your body you say between his legs, keeping your eyes on his.

“You don’t have to” he begins, but you shake your head. Leaning up to press your lips to his, you pull away and trail down his neck, chest and stomach.

Coming face to face with his rock hard cock, his tip red and aching to be touched. Your fingers wrap around his length, emitting a sigh from his lips. You can feel him twitch in your palm, you clench your legs together at the idea of him inside of you.

Keeping your eyes locked on his, you take the tip of his cock in your mouth. You watch as his head tilts backwards and his eyes roll, you move your tongue against the skin of his cock, pushing him further down your throat.

“Fuck” he curses, he uses his two hands to gather all your hair into a pony tail. He grabs the elastic on your wrist and ties your hair up for you. Your heart feels as though it’s going to come out of your ass from that small gesture.

You bring yourself back to his cock, moving your head up and down as you let your tongue glide up his shaft. His fingers grip tightly around the hair on your head, you can tell he’s forcing himself not to thrust up into you.

You bring him out of your mouth. “Do whatever you want Drew, I can take it” you command, giving him no time to react when you push him further into your throat. Your nose brushing the small patch of hair above his cock.

He groans and moans, thrusting himself in and out of your mouth. You can feel him twitching and his legs tighten under the palms of your hands. “I’m finishing inside of you”. He states, pulling you away from his cock.

He doesn’t give you time to register, he pulls you up onto his lap. Your legs wrapped around him; cock pressed against your wet pussy. “Can I fuck you?” He questions, he already knows the answer but he’s a gentleman and he will always ask.

“Please” you say, rubbing yourself against his cock. He grips your waist, helping you move against him. “You don’t need a condom”

“Thank fuck”

He positions himself at your entrance, your eyes locked on each other as he pushes himself into you. “Shit. oh, fuck Drew” you moan, you dig your nails into his shoulder. Moving yourself onto of his cock, he so deep inside of you.

“Ruin me Drew” you moan, pressing your forehead against his. “Show me what I’ve been missing, fuck me so hard”.

He meets your hips, pushing himself further into you until you can feel him nudging at your g spot. You’re clenching around him for dear life. “Fuck, who knew you’d have such a dirty mouth y/n”.

“Such a dirty little mouth for such a sweet angel”

You’re a moaning mess, His fingers leaving dark purple marks on your hips as you both grind into one another. You scream out in pleasure; a stinging sensation runs through you. Goosebumps covering your body as his hand meets your ass again.

 “Fuck, oh fuck”

He can feel your walls closing in on your cock, pulsating around him. He doesn’t want you to finish yet, he wants to feel you around him for a little while longer.

So, he pulls out of you and flips you over, your back meeting the couch once more. He re enters you, pushing into you slowly but deeply. He watches as your mouth drops open and your eyes roll to the back of your head. “Fuck, you’re the most beautiful creature”.

Your cheeks redden, opening your eyes to look up at him. He leans down to kiss you, your tongue moves together as you start to slow down your pace. The steady rhythm causing your pussy to throb, your clit knocking into his stomach each time he comes down.  

“I am so close Drew” You breath, you can feel it coming. Your legs are shaking around his waist and your walls are pulsating around his cock, sucking him in deeper and deeper. He too is close, this new intimacy causing all different feeling for him.

“me too baby” he whispers, his mouth gapes open as he thrusts into you.

“fuck” you both simultaneously breath, your orgasm hits you.

It’s a completely different feeling to before, your heart feels heavy and your body all tingly. You wrap your arms around his neck, pulling him into you closer as you kiss his lips. You like this feeling, it’s warm but overwhelming, you squeeze your eyes shut as you cum around him. Breathing curse words into his mouth.

“Oh shit, yeah, pretty girl… Squeeze me like that” Drew breaths, you can feel him let go. His warm seed shooting inside you, cock twitching against your swollen walls.  His body shudders above you, lips pressing firmer against yours. His eyes are squeezed shut but his hands grip your body tightly, as though to make sure you didn’t slip away.

When both your bodies come back to reality and the shakes die down, he pulls out of you slowly. Kissing your cheek when you wince slightly, the two of you lay next to each other as you regain your breath. He slips his arm under your head and nudged you to roll into his side.

You think you could get used to this, the feeling of his skin on yours.

“I want to tell Chase; I don’t want to not have you in my life. I need to have you in my life” He begins, he squeezes you tightly. Looking down at you as you move your head to look up at him, you nod your head agreeing.

“I can’t go another day without you Drew” You admit, leaving a small kiss to his chest. He pulls you against him tighter, kissing the hair on top of your head. “I am so glad you feel the same way”

Part two

“Let’s talk to him tomorrow, for now. Your mine”

Taglist - @novxturient @pankhoeforlife 💗

[empty-vessel-of-a-person]

Review Time: Goodcat Code

Note: This is my personal take to Sylus' most recent memory. Nothing has been confirmed by Infold, so this is just full delulu mode as I dive in to Goodcat Code. Spoiler Alert for those who hasn't seen the memory yet.

I actually don't know how to fully describe MC and Sylus dynamics on this memory. While the plot of the memory is solid at it's best, their relationship here is really kinda shaky specially on MC's part. So I will have the review in 2 parts. "The Good Part" and "The Bad Part".

The Good Part

As mentioned, the plot of this memory is solid and the twist at the end is surprising but expected because it's Sylus.

The attention to details and the research on different kinds of teas are amazing. The whole memory exude luxury and wealth. It really screams Sylus.

Probably the best part (for me) of this memory is when Sylus almost never fight his cat urges. I really enjoy that part with the Seagull and Parrot. He really does manhandles them and it its hilarious. Can you imagine having to fight of a 6'2 fully grown man to free the birds? (I'm 5'2 by the way. I really can't Imagine having to wrestle Sylus to save the birds. He can easily knock me out)

And the cherry on top of this memory is how Sylus is shown to be a pure gentleman. We can definitely say that MC can be the death of him. (He will actually let her even help her kill him. He did it once already) He can never deny her. He's really down bad even showing (again) the soft side of him.

And how can we forget the kindled part? This is the first time that he really does touch MC. But I must stress on this. He is never pervy or inappropriate with her and that little circling motion he does with his hand on her back is just perfection. He is indeed touching her but it is soft, sexy, and very intimate. I applaud MC for not being swayed. I will totally break with that touch and have goosebumps everywhere.

I mentioned this as well on my previous entry, Sylus is a very old school type of guy and that little moment he have with MC on the speedboat screams Gentleman and Old Money. he can really make the most of any given situation and turns it to something romantic.

The Bad Part

I hate the way infold portray MC in this memory. He never ask Sylus opinion before creating a plot for her mission. It's like she knows that Sylus will do everything for her and his opinion doesn't matter.

If I count it correctly, Sylus mentioned being sold to other women 6 times making it obvious that he is not comfortable with the idea of being with other woman and being emotionally betrayed that MC can easily plot that without hesitation. It's actually twisted! I actually felt bad for Sylus.

MC flicking his forehead and called him Opportunist! Again why?! MC rented him off the cat café like he's an object, asking him to find Snowy Owl, make him act like her butler, and order him to woo another women. MC make him do it all without asking his take on all of this. He even mention "I never agree on any of this". So who is the opportunist one? Really?! REALLY?! It is totally a mood killer. I don't know how they phrase it on other language but this scene totally ticked me off. It's Like MC suddenly becomes one of those who mischaracterize him. I just simply dislike it. I just hope they phrase it better or left it out altogether. It's very unnecessary.

And that collar, though MC is taking claim on Sylus, its just part of her plot. I don't know but Sylus's laugh after MC brings out the collar sounds so disappointed.

The Conclusion

I feel like the love between Sylus and MC are still one-sided (at least in this memory) The lack of communication and asking permission (on MC's part) makes it looks like she is taking advantage of Sylus' feelings for her.

I am deeply moved on how slow burn their story is showing how patient and gentlemanly Sylus. When the preview was revealed, I honestly thought they are making progress as he was now touching MC only for my delulu to be shattered by MC's words and action. Not once she acknowledge Sylus saying he was being sold to other woman.

While I do love the kindled part of this memory, this is certainly one of my least favorite. Radiant Brilliance is easily better because they are mutually pinning for each other.

[cultpastorkevin]

Sometimes Wymack regretted handing Kevin a bottle.

He rose from his place in Abby’s bed, grumbling, turning on the lights as they both heard another loud noise. He sighed, pinching the bridge of his nose before stepping out of the bedroom and hunting down the drunk athlete in his house. It didn’t take much time. He found Kevin haphazardly spinning in a circle, a backpack slung off his shoulder as he tried to shove a jacket into it, a half finished bottle of everclear in his free hand. Wymack swiftly plucked the bottle away, setting it on the coffee table that had so far miraculously survived Kevin’s stay.

“Kevin.” He snapped. Kevin ignored him. “KEVIN.” He snapped louder, and the younger man whipped around to look at him, looking both genuinely surprised at his presence and also incredibly fucking annoyed.

“What?” He hissed.

“Kevin what the fuck are you doing? It’s 3am. Shut the hell up and go to bed. You have shit to do for me today.” Wymack reached towards him, intending to try to snatch the backpack away as well. Kevin stumbled away from him, something changing in his eyes as he suddenly looked at the door, then back to Wymack. Wymack had seen that look before; it was a universal one shared by cornered animals right before they tried a last hurrah. Wymack barely managed to step between him and the front door before Kevin barreled into him, aiming for the outside.

“Day what the fuck-“ He started, grabbing at the extremely drunk man and wrestling with him. Kevin went into hysterics at being stopped, trying to hit Wymack with his cast and thrashing harder.

“Let me go! Let me go fuck let me go I need to go HOME.” He screamed, voice cracking raggedly as he struggled more, his body vibrating from grief and anger.

“No you don’t. Kevin, calm down.” Wymack finally got a grip on him, wrestling him down until he was practically scruffing the 6 something kid, yanking the backpack off him and tossing it. He dragged Kevin back to the couch, feeling Kevin beginning to sob in his grip. God I am not paid enough for this, he thought briefly. He heard a door click, and looked up. Abby had woken from the noise of the debacle. She came out to the living room, looking entirely unsurprised to see Kevin Day slumped on his knees, scratchy sobs ripping from his throat as he struggled, begging Wymack to let him go back to Riko. Wymack groaned, sighing heavily, keeping ahold of Kevin even after he stopped trying to rip the coach’s arm off.

“Let me go-“ He sobbed. “let me go back- It’s where I belong. I’m a Raven-“ He bit out, drunk out of his mind and full of loathing for how badly he missed home. Wymack was about to say something to shake him from his ramblings, but Abby hushed him silently. She strode around the table, sitting down next to Kevin. She tugged him from Wymack, fingers threading lightly into his hair as Kevin drunkenly slumped into her lap like a half drowned feral cat, still spitting cries to be released. She shushed him softly, hugging him, feeling him soon relax, the hairpin trigger of tension that kept him shaking starting to loosen the longer she gently soothed him. Kevin’s grievous cries turned into muffled whimpers, eyes glazed from alcohol and emotion as he eventually went boneless in Abby’s grip. After what seemed like forever, he passed out, exhuasted from his explosive breakdown. Abby sighed, looking up at Wymack before they shuffled Kevin’s lanky form onto the futon. He looked almost peaceful, tears staining his face, soft noises escaping him as he fell deeper into an alcohol induced sleep.

“Do you think he’ll remember tonight?” She asked as they returned to bed. Wymack shrugged.

“If he has any ounce of survival in him, he won’t.” He didn’t need to voice the unspoken fear of what could happen if Kevin’s drunken feelings overran his sober ones.

As it turned out, Kevin did not remember anything when he woke up.

[kalamity-jayne]

Sorry for asking but I am a cis male teenager (well, I thought I was.) but lately I have realized I think I might be a trans girl? I am very scared to drop my masculinity. How did you find out you were trans if that’s okay to ask?

Of course it's ok! I am always happy to help someone who is questioning their gender. However, this is actually a pretty loaded question, because while there is a lot of talk about "when my egg cracked" in trans circles, figuring out you're trans isn't always attributable to any one singular event. Some folks might crack through and emerge from their egg in one swift motion but that is not true for everyone, it certainly wasn't true for me. Sure I could tell about the moment the first crack in my shell appeared, but a single crack in the egg is a far cry from actually breaking out. For many it's a process that can involve a series of revelations and tends to require lots of self reflection and learning how to love yourself. So, there is no quick and easy answer for this. However, I think my story will have a number of different lessons relevant to your question.

Before getting into all that though, I feel I must point out that cisgender folks rarely ask themselves these kinds of questions and when they do entertain these thoughts it's brief and comes with very little agony. The fact you have gone so far as to reach out to trans woman for advice, the fact the you are clearly worried by the prospect of being trans, is a pretty clear indicator that you probably are trans. Regardless of whether you actually are transgender or not, I want you to know that either way, it's ok. You will be ok, no matter what conclusions you come to.

Now, the story of how I figured out I was trans. Bear in mind, the first “aha moment” was 20 yrs ago and things were very different back then. I was about 17yrs old at the time and the term transgender didn't have the currency then that it does now, there wasn't the robust set of terminology that we have today, there were far fewer resources to turn to, no social media, and the overall public opinion was significantly more hostile towards anything LGBT. Anyway, more below the cut.

I didn't follow the typical trans narrative of the time in the sense that, as a child I didn't really care about my clothes so long as my favorite cartoon characters were on 'em, I liked toys typically marketed towards boys, I looked like a boy and everyone referred to me as a boy. So I thought I was a boy. However, I do have a vague memory from early childhood, somewhere between the ages of 4-6, of sneaking into my mother’s room and stealing a pair of her satin underwear and trying it on (it surely would have been too big on me but I remember liking the texture of the fabric) and hiding it under my bed. This memory has since been confirmed during my adulthood by my brother who shared a room with me at the time and had apparently found the hidden stash.

From an early age I was explicitly shunted towards masculinity. I was regularly told to “stop acting like a girl,” and “quit crying like a girl,” and even at one point to “stop walking like a girl,” by my peers and one of my brothers. By the time I was a teenager I was doing my best to be as masculine as possible going so far as joining the highschool wrestling team, a sport that is as homophobic as it is homoerotic, and I hated every minute of it because being manly didn't feel natural to me (and it definitely didn't stop the bullying). It felt like I was trying to ice skate uphill. I fit in but only imperfectly for I was merely acting.

I was also very confused about my sexuality. I thought maybe I was gay or bisexual (turns out the latter) but that didn’t really explain what I was feeling. Around 17yrs old I got curious about transsexuals, thinking maybe the answers would be found there and hoped on to the early and oh so clunky internet. Now I knew of transsexuals conceptually but I didn't know anything about them. Sadly, pornography was really the only reliable way to actually see what a trans body looked like back then. I was stunned because the women I saw did not look at all the way I expected. I was blown away by how so many of them, genitalia aside, looked indistinguishable from cisgender women. And they were all absurdly beautiful. I felt an immediate attraction but there was something else I felt too, envy. And that realization was the first crack in my eggshell.

After that I couldn't get the thought of crossdressing out of my head. So, I dug through a box of my mother's old clothes and took a few items she no longer wore, an old white tennis skirt and a very very 70s sleeveless orange blouse. I was so comfortable in those clothes and when I looked at myself in the mirror I felt good, really good. So, I continued exploring, shaved off all of of my body hair, went to department stores that were open late at night to buy girl clothes (deathly afraid someone would recognize me), I would stay up late at night to watch HBO because at midnight they would occasionally air stuff about trans people, (I remember two documentary shorts in particular and the movie Soldier’s Girl) and I scoured the internet for more information. The internet search brought me to a website called TG list (at least I think that’s what it was called, this was 20yrs ago after all) which was a directory of resources ranging from The Breast Form Store (which still exists!), a myriad of gender identity quizzes (I took nearly every single one), and Susan’s Place.

Susan’s place was one of the few reliable places to hear from actual transgender adults. Unfortunately, while Susan's Place had a lot of useful information the forums there were full of horror stories, a never-ending supply of all the things those women had suffered. So needless to say, there was little to no positivity around transness to give me hope. I was afraid to call myself trans as a result, afraid of what it meant for my life, my future, and my physical safety (you have to remember that back then Mathew Shepard wasn’t old news, his tragedy was practically current events). So I called myself a crossdresser but for reasons I didn't understand at the time I deeply resented that label. I think deep down, no matter how much I tried to deny it and bury it, a part of knew I wanted to be a girl. So when I came out to my parents as a crossdresser and explicitly told them I wasn't trans, that I didn’t have any desire to transition to female, there was that lil voice at the back of my mind calling me a liar. That voice would follow me until my late 20s.

Coming out was a real struggle for me because not only did I think my life would literally be in jeopardy, I thought everyone would think I was making it up, having not followed the stereotypical models of transsexuality. When I came out to my parents they didn't disown me or anything but they were noticeably uncomfortable around me when I was in girl mode. At a certain point I needed their help (credit card) to buy a gaff for tucking and that was when my parents, out of a misguided desire to protect me, pushed me back into the egg. Because of their rejection I spent the rest of highschool and most of my college years trying to hold the egg together with even more denial and by doubling down on masculinity. While I did have some fun during my college years, on balance I was miserable and depressed. I chafed at my male costume and I knew I was lying to myself the entire time, and I hurt myself a great deal.

During my senior year of college I started privately dabbling with crossdressing again, the desire had been nagging at me incessantly. A short time after graduating I met my wife who accepted that side of me and she introduced me to the BDSM/kink community, and the overall culture of nonjudgmental acceptance there cracked the egg for good, because is provided spaces besides my own room where I felt safe being a girl. From that point on I slowly but surely came out of the egg, first calling myself a crossdresser, then genderfluid for awhile, then GENDA passed in NY making me an explicitly protected class and for the next 2 yrs I presented as a they/them genderqueer woman 100% full time without HRT (I was still reluctant to call myself a woman).

I wrestled a long time with the choice to go on HRT. Ultimately that was always a big stumbling block for me. Therapy had gotten me pretty far but I was still afraid of so much and was unsure I would be happy with the changes because my parents had initially rejected me as their daughter in very paternalistic fashion I struggled to trust my own instincts. I still struggle with that sometimes. Eventually, I befriended a trans woman in my neighborhood who pointed out HRT works very slowly and that it takes a long time for any permanent changes to take root. So, she suggested I give it a try and if it didn't feel right I could stop.

I was also taking gender identity quizzes again. Now most of these claim to be diagnostic and those ones a generally misogynistic garbage (they ask stupid questions like, “are you good at math?” and assign a gendered value to the answer) but I happened upon one that started with the disclaimer that it wasn't diagnostic and instead only offered questions that are good to think with. Two questions in particular were very helpful. The first asked, "If you could take a pill that would allow you to wake up tomorrow as a girl, would you take it?" My answer was a hesitant yes, but that yes was bolstered by the next question, "If you could take a pill that would allow you to wake up as a man, in your current body, but without any dysphoria or desires to be feminine, would you take it?" My answer was an emphatic no because that would have felt like killing an important part of myself off. I then at the age of 33yrs old started HRT and 4yrs in I am incredibly happy. That was one of the best decisions I have ever made.

Now, I know that was a lot of fucking text to read but I wrote all of that because I know the prospect of maybe being a trans girl feels scary to you right now but I want to assure you that as daunting as it may seem there is so much about being a trans woman that is full of beauty and joy. I love my trans womanhood and despite the hardships, I wouldn’t give it up for anything. In fact the opposite is true. Knowing what I know now, I would give up almost everything in order to be a woman. So if you feel like you want to give girlhood a try, do it! You can take small incremental steps and you can always stop if it doesn’t feel right, either way you will gain a degree of self knowledge most cisgender people lack completely and that is absolutely priceless! Plus, unlike me when I was a teen, there’s all kinds of resources and information available to you now and an entire community of people ready to help you, and unlike the women in the forums from my past, we aren’t all gloom and doom.

As for your fear of giving up masculinity, don’t let that fear lure you into the denial trap like it did me. Denial is like quicksand, once you’re in it becomes hard to get out, the more you struggle the deeper in you go and it is so very suffocating. And the thing is, you actually don’t have to give it all up. Back when I was presenting full time as woman without HRT, I felt like I had to be ultra feminine all the time, full face of make-up, dress, heels, the whole nine yards. Now that I’m 4 yrs in with HRT I don’t feel that pressure anymore and have since reclaimed certain aspects of masculinity I actually liked. I sill like presenting high femme from time to time but these days I mostly rock a soft butch aesthetic, flannel/t-shirt, jeans and the only makeup I wear daily is just a lil bit of blush. At certain point you become comfortable and realize that gender is just a sandbox to play in and experiment. Masculine and Feminine are just concepts, they aren’t real! so regardless of being cis or trans, don’t let those mere concepts box you in! Just do what feels natural and right to you!

I hope all of that was helpful to you anon, and that at the very least you walk away from this knowing you don’t have to have all of the answers about yourself right now. Now, I don't no the particulars of your situation, so I’m happy to speak with you further if you have follow up questions, just send another anon.

Best of luck to you anon, I am rooting for you!

Big hugs,

Mother Calamity

[delimeful]

nothing in this world (i wouldn't do) (6)

warnings: captivity, restraints, panic attacks, unethical science, experimentation, wounds, injury and blood mention, character being kind of an ass, fear, bird ex machina, lmk if i missed any  

-

Virgil woke up to find he was surrounded by darkness and completely unable to move.

Seeing as the last thing he remembered was being poisoned into unconsciousness by a demon slayer with mad scientist leanings, this was about as far from reassuring as an awakening could be.

For a disoriented moment, he tried to check for the baby crow, which mostly just involved him listening closely for any loud, raspy-voiced swearing. Naturally, there wasn’t any, because he’d blacked out and the slayer very clearly hadn’t wanted Roman’s bird anywhere near him.

Bizarrely enough, he felt a little morose at the baby crow’s absence. Maybe because she was the only creature who had figured out that despite being a monster, he wasn’t actually a threat to humanity.

Or maybe it was just because being immobilized in a dark, silent place was totally freaking him out, and he would have taken any company so long as it meant he hadn’t been locked away forever or buried alive.

(Could he still die from a lack of oxygen? Would he be stuck underground, conscious and alone, for the rest of time? He couldn’t even call out for help.)

His body was unresponsive, and nothing his brain was coming up with was remotely helpful, so Virgil focused on his breathing, trying to keep his count steady as he inhaled and exhaled air that could be rapidly running out—

By the time the slayer entered the room, Virgil had already hyperventilated himself into unconsciousness a few times, each time utterly convinced he was dying.

The man didn’t bother saying anything to him or even sparing him anything more than a glance, simply walking around the space and lighting several lamps at a brisk pace, but Virgil felt a vast, sweeping sense of relief fall over him regardless.

He wasn’t buried. He hadn’t been left alone to rot away in the dark.

He was… extensively strapped down to a waist-high table in the center of the room?

A significant amount of his relief started to fade. Right. He’d been caught by a slayer who wanted him dead or worse, and was now entirely at his mercy— assuming he even had any for demons.

There was another person in the room, too, and they scurried about so quickly that it took Virgil a few moments to identify them as the wary stranger who had sent him to go find their brother. They were wearing the same uniform as the slayer, now, which answered basically all of Virgil’s potential questions about the situation.

“Subject ABN-V3, Log 1,” the slayer started, and Virgil’s eyes flicked over to him curiously. “The subject regained consciousness approximately half an hour after halting the regular wisteria toxin doses, indicating remarkable poison resilience, comparable to a Lower Rank.”

There was the distinct scratch of hurried writing, but the slayer’s hands were unoccupied as he circled Virgil’s prone form. The younger slayer must have been an assistant.

There was a muted pressure on his hand, which refused to even twitch, even as the pressure grew heavier. The slayer hummed, pulling away. “In contrast, regeneration ability appears relatively slow. Internal organ function has resumed, but exterior nerves and muscles remain paralyzed.”

His organs had been paralyzed?! Virgil’s breathing stuttered, and he wrestled with the instinctual panic for a moment. His lungs were clearly working now, so he should just keep breathing and not pass out again.

When he looked back over, it was to the sight of the slayer staring directly at his face with a detached sort of curiosity. That composed mask of his may have dropped for a few moments in the clearing, but it was fully repaired and glued in place now.

“Do you have anything to say?” he asked, which was a little startling.

Virgil blinked at him for a moment, and then very quickly recalled that blinking was about all he could do. His hands weren’t cooperating with him, and even his head felt too heavy to shake or nod at the moment.

An irritated rumble started up in his chest for a moment before dying out, and he heaved a low sigh, already exhausted. He’d burnt through all his default terror while panicking in the dark, and now there was barely anything left to scrape up for his impending dehumanizing death.

The slayer only watched him impassively for another long, silent stretch of seconds before turning his attention away.

“Subject’s nonverbal behavior remains consistent with previous encounter,” he narrated, which succinctly explained why he’d bothered to verbally prod Virgil in the first place. “No secondary manifestations present in the room. We’ll proceed with direct regeneration testing while the paralytic is still in effect.”

There was a metallic clink, and Virgil’s gaze flicked over to a tray covered with tools he could only guess at the purpose of. Most of them were sharp-edged.

At least he wouldn’t be able to feel them. Yet.

The slayer picked up a thin blade, and Virgil squeezed his eyes shut, in an attempt to not have to see whatever was being done to him.

The narration of that calm, clinical voice couldn’t be as easily blocked out, so he found out regardless.

—

His healing factor had improved a lot since being turned into a monster, but it wasn’t anywhere close to the level he’d seen from some of the other demons he’d fought, so he wasn’t surprised to find that the first thing he felt when the paralysis began to wear fully off was pain.

The wounds weren’t serious, at least. He hoped that didn’t mean they were saving more lethal ones for when he could actually feel them, but he wasn’t optimistic about his odds.

(Unsurprisingly, it seemed like most demon slayers really hated demons.)

The slayer seemed strangely perturbed by the way the methodical injuries he’d inflicted hadn’t healed yet. Apparently, vastly accelerated healing was the norm for most demons, so this was just another way in which Virgil was a freaky outlier. Virgil could have told the slayer as much himself if he’d been able to sign.

Not to say that he’d regained all his vocabulary. With his limbs strapped firmly down, his post-poison communication was limited to signs that he could form with just his hands, and no accompanying movements. Fingerspelling was tedious, but at least it was possible.

“S-L-E-E-P,” he’d signed when the slayer had been theorizing on his apparently deeply unusual slow healing. “L-O-N-G.”

It took a few repetitions for his captor to pay it any mind, but once he did, his expression immediately creased with doubt. Virgil let himself look irritated about the reaction, because really, what was the point in pretending? He was screwed either way.

“If hibernation periods could heal demons, there would be longer stretches of inactivity between attacks,” the slayer said, frowning down at him. “It would make my job much easier if that were the case, but it isn’t.”

Since when was Virgil the representative for all of demonkind? He’d barely even spoken to other demons, since generally their interactions tended to start and end with them trying to kill each other. This was his supernatural sleeping schedule, not theirs.

Generally, he only slept like that when he was injured. If he wasn’t hurt in a fight, he didn’t get tired. He signed as much to the slayer, and earned a disbelieving scoff for his efforts.

Virgil had only been dozing lightly so far, seeing as he was currently trapped and about as far from safety as he could possibly get, but the disbelief rankled, and he huffed before pointedly closing his eyes as though to prove it.

He thought maybe the slayer wouldn’t allow it— there probably wasn’t much to scientifically observe when your subject is sleeping— but to his surprise, the man only noted down the behavior and then left.

It took a good part of the first day to force himself down into genuine sleep, but being left alone in a quiet space was close enough to his usual cave naps that he eventually managed to sink into the heavy unconsciousness of one of his impromptu hibernation sessions.

A full week later, he snorted into wakefulness to see the slayer had unstrapped one arm and was inspecting the smooth skin where the incisions had been previously.

This must not have been the first time he’d removed a restraint to see if Virgil was faking his beauty rest, because his head shot up with keen alarm the moment Virgil’s eyes fluttered open.

He released Virgil’s hand and drew a thin, needle-like dagger from his side in the same moment, presumably a breath away from poisoning him back into temporary organ failure.

Virgil barely even registered the movement, his eyes still crusted over with sleep. Half-awake and triumphant, he blearily inspected his completely-healed arm and then promptly signed, “I told you so.”

“Return your arm to the restraint,” the slayer instructed, his voice brooking no argument and his gaze assessing.

Virgil made a sour face, rubbing at his eyes. “Don’t you have cuffs?” he asked, turning slightly so he could tap his free wrist to his strapped down one for the last sign. “I could at least sign in those.”

“The restraint. Immediately,” the slayer replied, firm as stone.

A low grumbling growl of complaint started up in Virgil’s chest, but there was no way he could get free of the other restraints quickly enough to try and escape, and he really wasn’t looking to get his organs shut down again for no reason.

Besides, the assistant kid was still there in the corner, watching him with wide eyes, and he didn’t like the idea of scaring them.

Fine. He’d go back to his stupid nap then.

With a petulant scowl, he closed his eyes and stuck his arm back out and allowed the slayer to pin it back into place and tighten the straps over it. He flipped him off afterwards, though, just to make things clear.

It was quiet for long enough that he pried his eyes back open suspiciously. Both of the slayers were staring at him like he’d just started abruptly juggling fish or something, and he raised his eyebrows in a display of irritated bewilderment.

For once, the slayer didn’t have some snappy annotation to spout, only glaring down at Virgil with his jaw working like he was gritting his teeth.

Was he really that pissed off that Virgil had been telling the truth about his healing? Why?

“Professor Logan—,” the baby slayer whispered, faltering when Virgil’s gaze flicked their way.

“That’s enough for today,” ‘Logan’ answered, stepping away from the table. “We’ll speak elsewhere.”

Virgil only barely managed to stifle an incredulous noise as the two of them left, putting the lights out as they went. They’d never bothered to take their rude and often horrifying conversations about him elsewhere before. Maybe he should try being right about things more often.

—

“Bastard!”

Virgil’s eyes flew open at the muffled call, his head feeling much clearer after sleeping off the last of the poison’s symptoms.

It was quiet and dark all around him, as always, and for a moment, he nearly convinced himself that he’d imagined the noise entirely.

Then, from outside the door, there was a raspy squawk and an audible ruffling of feathers. “Fiend! Fiend?”

… Just how determined to swear at him was this bird?!

He couldn’t exactly respond, and he wasn’t sure why he would want to. Logan had reacted extremely negatively to the bird existing in the same space as him last time, and he wouldn’t wager that the slayer’s attitude had changed in the past however many days.

Still, the crow was clearly looking for someone, possibly even him. He could hear the distinctive pitter-patter of little taloned feet scurrying back and forth on the floor, with the occasional inquisitive swear thrown in.

After a few long minutes of this, Virgil gave up on trying to go back to sleep, unable to tune the little creature out. He may as well try to answer in the limited way he could.

It took entirely too long, but he managed to purse his lips and whistle a long, low note.

The clicking of steps stopped dead, and then grew abruptly louder, the bird’s faux-speech taking on an excited tone.

The baby crow audibly scrabbled at the doorway for a few seconds, before evidently managing to worm her way under the door gap. From there, she made short work of the flight up to the table, where she immediately perched directly on Virgil’s forehead and peered upside down at him.

“Scourge!” she announced gleefully.

Someone certainly hadn’t learned her lesson about fraternizing with big scary demons. He whistled an amused note at her, fingers twitching in an impulse to reach up and ruffle her feathers before he remembered his situation.

Right. No bird-petting for monsters, he guessed.

The crow— wasn’t her name Fluffbutt or something?— seemed to notice the movement, though, and she traversed down Virgil’s arm in little hops. He still couldn’t really reach her scruff of downy baby feathers from this angle, but he gave it his best attempt.

Fluffbutt pecked him harshly, which, rude, and then she turned around and started picking at the straps holding his forearm down.

… No fucking way.

Virgil craned his neck to look over at the bird, his disbelief slowly melting away as he saw that yes, the crow really was tugging and prying at the corded knot holding the restraints in place like her life depended on it.

It was slow going, but as she steadily worked at it, Virgil could tell that progress was being made. He wiggled his arm testingly every so often, usually getting bit for his efforts, and after what felt like hours of agonizing waiting, he finally managed to pull through the last threads of the restraints.

He only had one arm free, but that and some time was all he really needed. Fluffbutt reclaimed her spot on his forehead, watching as he quickly tore at the restraints on his other limbs.

As it turned out, quickly sitting up for the first time in days was a bad idea. Virgil rode out the surge of dizziness and pushed to his feet, pacing back and forth in the small room until he was confident that his legs had remembered how to function well enough to get him out of there.

A simple test of the handle revealed the room had been locked, and Virgil wasted a few minutes poking through the unsettling number of medical tools in the room before realizing there was no way they’d left the key in here with him.

He could probably kick the door down if given a few tries, but the more noise he made, the more likely it was that Logan would find him mid-escape and put him right back in those restraints. Virgil had no illusions on how a second match between him and the uncannily quick slayer would turn out, which meant that stealth was currently his best friend.

He turned his gaze to the wall, wondering if they were flimsy enough that it would be better to try and punch a hole through one of those, but before he could decide further, he heard the sound of approaching footsteps.

Shit. Plastering himself against the wall, he waited tensely for them to pass by— only for them to pause right outside the doorway. There was the distinct click of a key being inserted into a lock. Double shit.

The door swung open, and the assistant slayer had just enough time to look up and see the empty specimen table before Virgil leapt at them.

Don’t freak out, he would have said if his hands weren’t currently occupied with covering the slayer’s mouth and dragging them bodily into the room. Instead, he made a series of low chuffing sounds from deep in his chest, which helped absolutely nothing about the current situation.

“Scourge!” Fluffbutt crowed, her contribution equally as unhelpful.

Hurriedly booting the door shut with his foot, Virgil only had a moment before the baby slayer gave up on trying to pry his hand away and instead went for the sword sheathed at their side.

Since letting them do that was basically a one-way street to getting decapitated, he risked releasing them for long enough to tear his claws through their belt and yank the sword free, sheathe and all, before tossing it into a corner with a muted thud.

“PRO—,” they started, and Virgil slapped his hand back over their mouth, hissing lowly in the closest approximation to a shush that he could manage. They responded by glaring and biting him, which he really should have expected after living with teenagers for a few months.

It only took a glance around the room to find a suitable cloth from the cache of cleaning supplies, and Virgil wrangled the baby slayer into a headlock for the handful of seconds it took him to assemble a makeshift gag and shove it in their mouth.

With the slayer now unable to raise the alarm, Virgil paused for a moment to think, his whole body jittering with sudden adrenaline. The easiest solution would obviously be to strap the slayer into the convenient demon-proof restraints readily available on the specimen table, but he really didn’t want to do that. The kid was already panicking hard enough, the last thing he wanted was to make them think he was going to experiment on them or something.

Instead, he tore a larger piece of linen into strips and wound them around the slayer’s wrists a few times before knotting the end of the faux-ropes intensively around one of the table legs.

The slayer started yanking against the makeshift restraints the moment Virgil stepped away, their cries muffled but still audible enough that he should really be escaping sooner rather than later.

Luckily, his cloak had been dumped on a nearby shelf with the rest of the meager belongings he carried with him, mostly ignored after Logan had finished snooping through it for bones or something. Virgil ignored Fluffbutt swooping noisily around his head as he slung the comforting weight back around his shoulders and pulled the hood up, and then stepped back around the table towards the door.

The baby slayer seemed to think he was headed for them instead, their gaze very obviously wide with terror as they scrambled ineffectively to get away from him. He stopped short, guilt swamping him.

“I’m not going to hurt you,” he signed, backing up a few paces to try and give them some space. “I just want to get out of here, okay?”

The kid stared at him, chest rising and falling as rapidly as a sparrow’s. He sort of wished he had heard their name at some point, but it probably wouldn’t have made a difference. As it was, he didn’t even know if they knew sign, let alone how to calm them down.

He sighed, lifting his hands up to his shoulders in a gesture of nonaggression, and edged around them to finally get to the door. Fluffbutt settled on his shoulder, apparently content to be identified as a little feathered demon-associating traitor. 

The hall was blessedly empty when he stuck his head out to check, and so he waved a small farewell to the kid— almost certain that they would wriggle out of those haphazard bonds within the hour— and closed the door after himself.

The key was still sitting there in the lock, so he twisted it to relock the room, and after a moment of thought, dropped the key and kicked it under the door so that the kid wouldn’t be stuck if nobody else came by in the next few hours.

He’d done it. He was out— mostly, anyhow.

Now, all he had to do was stay out.