#fund raising T-shirt

[lostinsantacarla]

I wear my shirt for Cole Brings Plenty as often as I can. I need to get another one. It's been three months, and I still cry daily, thinking about the life that was stolen from him. I refuse to forget, and I'll keep fighting. These shirts are affordable and approved by his family. Portions of the proceeds go to them in an effort to bring him justice. You can find them here.

[okruee]

downtown - cc set & fundraiser!

i put together this cc set as a way to raise funds to help those facing humanitarian crises in palestine, sudan, and congo. this set will be 3 weeks early access on patreon, everything I make on patreon in July will be donated with info & receipts posted in August! alternatively: feel free to donate directly to a charity/beneficiary! (here is a list of some vetted campaigns) send me a screenshot via tumblr ask/dm of your receipt, and I'll share a download link ❤️

cc info:

- 6 cc items (2 hairs, a dress, t-shirt, pants, & necklace) - everything comes with custom thumbs, hat chops, all lods etc

download (patreon; free)

[oceantornadoo]

lowkey public humiliation kink? sugar daddy (dark) simon riley x f!reader. nipple piercings. terrible daddy kink and this is literally just smut without smut

au where you’re simon riley’s sugar baby and utterly embarrassed to be because he’s so public. insists on taking you to popular restaurants seated in a center booth, like he knows your bullies from high school picked today for their weekly lunch date. orders oysters and hand feeds them to you, licking the salty corners of your mouth afterwards before slipping a hundred dollar bill between your tits. no shadowy corners or dark bars - you’re lingerie shopping in broad daylight, eyes skittering when you see an old teacher you once had at a rack near you. it would be fine if he was your boyfriend, had some stake in the game, but he’s the puppet master pulling the strings.

“would pay a grand to see my cum on y’r tits in this, love.”

he holds a dark blue lace bra to your chest, groping you through the cups of it like he’s trying to see it fit. the store worker can only gape next to you, before shaking her head and gathering three more similar styles in your size. he’s such a dog and you can’t say no because you need the money desperately, thoughts of your previous shitty apartment in an even shittier neighborhood floating through your head.

now, you live in a high rise with floor to ceiling windows. he pays you more when you let him fuck you against them, naked tits against glass as the rough feel of his denim grinds into your ass with every thrust. there’s no clear rules with him, not anything like you’ve seen on sugar baby forums and tip sites. he doesn’t give you an amount for each action, simply an overstuffed envelope on the table when he eventually leaves.

“how much to get these pierced?” he pinches your nipple through the bikini top you’re wearing, interrupting your relaxed suntanning on your apartment balcony. “simon.” your frustration bleeds into your lack of forethought. he raises an eyebrow by a hair. “say that again, baby?” you bite your lip and look down, already regretting your mistake. “i’m sorry, daddy. you caught me off guard.” he grunts. simon tugs your tit out of its nylon confines and tugs it this way and that in the sunlight, pinching like he’s imagining a piercing. “didn’t answer my question, pet.” you question where your limits are. if you even have any at this point. he’s bulldozed through every wall you’ve put up, but his money and sheer presence protects you no matter what. sure, you’re topless on your balcony, but he bought you the penthouse so no one above you could see.

what can he give you that you don’t have? any debt has been paid, retirement accounts funded, enough clothes and bags to last a lifetime. you want something immaterial, some proof you’re not like the others.

“i want exclusivity. and i want to know where you’re going when you’re not here.” his hands don’t stop, moving to your other breast to free it as well. it’s somehow more obscene to still be wearing your top, tight fabric pushing your hardened nipples out like you’re presenting yourself to him, asking for attention. “can’t tell ya where i go, pet. got lots of enemies, matter of security.” you frown at the rejection. his hand moves to the soft expanse of your stomach, groping the fat there like playdoh. “ask f’r somethin’ else.” he doesn’t mention the exclusivity. you don’t want to ruin it by asking again.

“i want to see you shirtless.” you murmur. he always fucks you with his shirt on. t-shirt, button-up, wifebeater - it doesn’t matter. he’s stripped you down to his own personal puppet and you want something back. “after y’r tits heal, maybe.” you frown harder as his hand slides down to cup your cunt. there’s a wet spot on the light pink fabric of your bikini bottom and he presses it into you. you keen, arching at the sensation. “since i can’t play with your tits, you’ll wear no clothes when i’m home. understand?” he taps your cunt to get your attention. you want to protest but his dark brown eyes are so forceful, beating you into submission.

when you get them pierced (by a handsy man named johnny who insisted on ‘checking for lumps’ five seperate times while simon grunted in the corner), simon insists on cleaning them for you. he makes you open your mouth and hold a bill there on your tongue while he cleans them. you only get to keep them if you don’t make a sound while he touches the raw area, saline solution dripping between your tits. it’s pocket change and at this point money is immaterial, but you want to please your daddy so badly.

a few weeks later and his non-answer to your exclusivity question rings in your head incessantly. it’s there when he stops mid-fuck to take a call and when he sits you on his lap facing forward while he spreads paperwork on your bare back. he’s been “called in” (whatever that means) and is counting cash when you finally give in.

“daddy?” simon grunts, eyes on his wallet. “you never…” you trail off, suddenly unsure. abandoning his cash counting, he drops a black card on the table before turning to you. you’ve been naked all week but suddenly feel exposed, stripped bare. “spit it out, baby. time is money.” against your will, you roll your eyes at his joke. “now that i got them pierced…you never answered when i asked about exclusivity.” he approaches the chair your huddled on and tilts your chin up with a gloved finger.

“you’re the only girl i pay, pet.” you swallow hard. “and what about the ones you don’t?” his eyes search yours, looking for something. “don’t have any tha’ i don’t. got tha’ in y’r pretty ‘ead?” you nod eagerly, ignoring the slight burn in your tits as they bounce. “yes, daddy.”

“good. buy y’rself some toys when im gone, don’t wantcha too eager when im back.” there’s no bite in his tone, so you grin eagerly.

“bye, pet.” he pulls you in for a messy kiss. you’ve give it as good as you can, saliva connecting your lips as you part. his eyes track it as it falls down your bare chest. you open your legs a bit, giving him a glimpse of the wetness between them. “bye, daddy.”

“fuckin’ minx.”

-

follow for notifications: @tornadoowarning

originally made this about john price but slimy rabid simon is my favorite. i had a dream about sugar daddy john (mainly from this fic) and then this was born (i’m PMS horny)

also pls take care of your piercings

[oneoftheextras]

lockjaw | j.t five

masterlist | help me fund my top-surgery?

paring: hybrid puppy!jayce talis x f!reader

summary: after a recent breakup you find yourself adopting a hybrid to keep you company, but he's more feral than you can handle

series warnings: 18+, hybrid jayce (ears and tail), slight a/b/o traits (could argue alpha jayce), eventual smut, protective jayce, size difference

words: 5.4k

chapter warnings: old scars, angst (trauma response), discrimination, argument, some fluff

proof-read by my girl: @madschiavelique

part one | part two | part three | part four | part five | part six |

want a handwritten letter from a character? / join the discord

The warm water of the shower was refreshing against your cold skin, although winter was coming to an end there was still a stiff chill in the air.

If time would have allowed it, you’d have spent all day letting the heat cascade down your spine and through your hair, but you’d already wasted so much of the day by sleeping - and your water bill was already calling your name.

You turned the faucet off and immediately missed the comfort the shower brought you, but there were things to do. Wrapping a towel around yourself, you threw your pajamas into the washing hamper in the corner of the room and opened the bathroom door.

“All yours,” you called out in no particular direction before heading into your bedroom and shutting the door behind you.

There was a moment of silence as you stood with your back to the door, but when you heard footsteps getting closer and the bathroom door click shut again, you knew it was safe for you to drop your towel and dry yourself properly. 

Jayce glanced around the white tiled room, the small frosted rectangular window letting in just enough light to sting his tired eyes. He stood in front of the sink and acknowledged his reflection in the mirror of the medicine cabinet.

His glass twin stared back at him with exasperated surprise. How long had it been since he last saw himself that wasn’t in a passing car or a dimly lit store window? Not to mention doing it willingly.

He combed his fingers through his beard and felt the strands of tangled hair catch on his nails painfully, making him wince at the tug of his skin and recoil his hand. It was longer than he thought it was.

He then ran his fingers through his hair, finding the same type of intertwined follicles there too, but it was less painful against his scalp. He gently pinched a clump of his fringe and separated it from the rest, pulling it down and in front of his eyes - it stopped in the middle of his nose.

As he followed the dark brown wisp he was unintentionally forced to make eye contact with himself, and almost immediately diverted his attention away from his own pupils with a scowl.

Grasping the hem of the black t-shirt he’d slept in, he lifted the fabric up and over his head, shaking it as the elastic collar pinged against his ears and disorientated him momentarily. The fabric dropped to the floor and his hands braced against the sink, with a sharp inhale of breath he returned his gaze to his reflection.

He was larger than he remembered, and the light coloured lines that littered the expanse of his skin told the story of how, one that he would never retell himself.

He trailed a particularly elongated one across his left peck, the flesh was slightly raised. Despite it being at least four months old, it was still the freshest and so was the memory of what caused it. 

The pain, the helplessness, and the acceptance all came rushing back to him. He’d done nothing to stop it, but looking at himself now, he understood why.

His body was a battlefield of scars that he’d come to agree he’d deserved. He observed his physique; a wide chest dusted with dark brown hair, broad solid shoulders, and thick arms leading to large veiny hands. He was imposing and frightening - built for violence.

He sniffed sharply to push back any chance of anger, the scent of your body wash unintentionally filling his nostrils from the residue that remained in the bottom of the bathtub.

The skin that covered his knuckles - tough and calloused from years of use - had turned white the moment he laid eyes on himself, but your lingering aroma quelled the bubbling desire to shatter his reflection with his fist.

You were kind and your voice was soft. You spoke to him like you did to anyone else; apart from the apparent caution which sometimes arose. It was nice, but he didn’t deserve nice. He’d never deserved nice.

There was a ticking clock, counting down the seconds to when you’d come to the same realisation. 

Of course you’d be scared of him, any sane person with an ounce of self preservation would be, he just couldn’t understand as to why you’d allowed him into your home. To be as vulnerable as to fall asleep next to him on the first day.

A careful knock brought his attention away from the mirror, “I’ve put your clothes outside the door, you left them in the living room and I guessed you’d need them,” your voice was muffled by the 2 inches of wood that stood between you both.

He felt the tension in his shoulders relax, and the vice grip he had on the sink loosened. He waited to hear your footsteps fade before he opened the door a crack and grabbed the clothes, shutting it again.

Returning to the sink, he placed the clothes down neatly atop the closed toilet seat and turned the faucet on to let the basin fill with warm water. 

His eyes roamed the room when he spotted a shelf to his right; there was a neatly folded cloth with body wash, shampoo, conditioner and deodorant. A piece of folded paper stood in front of it that said ’For Jayce’. He held it in between his fingers and admired the soft strokes of your handwriting with a mellowed smile, placing it gently back onto the shelf for safe keeping.

Using the washcloth you’d provided for him, he submerged the fabric under the warm soapy water in the basin and rung it out until it was only damp. He scrubbed all the important parts of his body quickly, he hated the way the water trickled down his skin in small beads, but knew it needed to be done.

Once he was clean and dry he reached for the pile of clothes you’d bought for him, slipping the boxers up and letting the waistband hug his hips - they were a little bit tight around the thigh, but not painfully so - then followed the black jeans, socks and the white t-shirt. 

All very simple clothing but he guessed you were playing it safe in case he didn’t like what you picked. He blew air out of his nose as a small laugh, as if he’d complain about something you bought for him.

He glimpsed at himself in the mirror again, avoiding his face but focusing on the clothes, he looked like a regular person you’d see on the street. A big person, but a person nonetheless.

He stepped back so he could see his lower half, which is where the problem began. His tail protruded out the top of the jeans and curved over the strain of the waistband like water arching from a fountain. The bend of it being forced into an upward position wasn’t painful, but it was uncomfortable.

Grabbing the base of the appendage, he started to shove it into the leg of his pants. It wasn’t as uncomfortable, but it did make a rather obvious bulge down the back of his right leg, ending just before the curve of his knee. 

He grumbled with frustration and pulled it back out again, instead lowering the jeans so it wasn’t bent in an awkward position. He lifted the white shirt slightly but was immediately greeted with the sight of his ass cheeks, so he swiftly pulled them back up again.

He let out a low sigh, he was going to have to put up with the discomfort.

As he left the bathroom, you noticed how he was playing with the back of the jeans with a deep scowl on his face and teeth bared in frustration. “If they’re the wrong size, you don’t have to wear them,” you tried to reassure him with a gentle tone.

When you saw him struggling with his tail it didn’t take you long to realise what was bothering him and you instantly mentally scolded yourself. Of course normal pants wouldn’t fit him.

Guilt washed over you as you searched for a solution, “Oh!” you clapped your hands as the idea popped into your head and you disappeared. He paused his fussing to watch you leave, only to reappear with a pair of scissors in your hand.

“We can cut a hole into the back for you,” the suggestion seemed like a quick and simple answer, but as you tried to step around him to get to the area he twisted his body and stepped backwards.

You blinked at his reaction, “I’ll be really careful, I promise,” you tried to reassure him with a light tone but when you shuffled closer with the scissors held in your hands he moved again, his spine pressed firmly against the wall.

You glanced up at his face and your heart panged with pain when you saw how his nose was scrunched up and his lips trembled as they failed to hide a snarl of warning he was giving you. 

His teeth were bared at you with the points pressing harshly into his bottom lip, in the short amount of time you’d spent with him you’d only seen his canines when he’d smiled or was enjoying himself. This was new and unexpected aggression.

“Oh, fuck,” you exhaled quietly as you hastily lunged backwards and exited his personal space. “I’m- I’m so sorry,” your voice shook as much as your hands did as you placed the scissors down on the arm of the couch and retreated further.

You watched him cautiously push himself off of the wall and slightly relax. His chest heaved with a panic that had taken you too long to notice, but it was slowing down.

“I-” you started to say, but stopped yourself. Carelessness like this was exactly what you wanted to avoid. Should you give him space? Should you explain what you were trying to do? 

“I’d never hurt you,” looking at him was proving difficult so you focused on the tatty rug under the coffee table you’d bought when you’d first moved in, “I’d never-” you repeated but couldn’t finish. Your voice was already practically inaudible, so it was barely noticeable when you’d stopped talking.  

Jayce noticed. He heard the way your voice trembled out an apology and he wanted to believe you. He closed his eyes and sharply twisted his head to the side in a harsh blink, like he was trying to shake away the defensive response that was so deeply ingrained in him.

His pupils quivered inside golden irises as he forced himself to observe your reaction. Forced himself to take note of how his actions had affected you. How you chewed the inside of your gum and caressed your elbow in search of comfort he couldn’t give you.

You studied the fibres of the rug from where you stood. It was more frayed and dirty than you’d remembered, worn from walking over it with shoes inside the house. Maybe you should make a rule of no shoes indoors from now on.

The train of thought was interrupted by quick movement in your peripheral vision. Jayce held the jeans out to you with an extended arm and an apologetic gaze in his eyes.

The surprise on your face was clear, especially when you glanced down and realised the only thing he had on his bottom half was his boxers, you darted your eyes back up to his and pushed any details you may have subconsciously remembered out of your brain before they could settle.

He jutted his arm forward indicating for you to take the jeans, of course he wasn’t holding them in the air for the sake of it. It was a compromise.

“Thank you,” you took the fabric and held it to your chest, slowly reaching for the scissors again. He didn’t flinch this time so you picked them up and moved to the couch, draping the jeans over your lap.

The one thing you hadn’t thought of was where his tail was anatomy-wise. “Is it on your coccyx? Like, your tailbone?” you felt silly asking as soon as the question left your mouth. Where else would it be?

He moved from the defensive position to stand in front of you and watch you work. You held them up in front of you, trying to gauge where his tailbone would settle; then returned them to your lap and sliced through the fabric with difficulty.

“That should be okay for now,” you moved the scissors to the side and slid your fingers into the hole you’d made to check if it was big enough for the appendage, “I have a friend who is a seamstress, I can ask her to alter them properly for you so it’s less-”

A hum of agreement came from his throat causing you to glance up from your work. What you didn’t expect or anticipate was that when you’re sitting down and he is standing, your head is directly in line with his crotch.

For the second time today you quickly shifted your eyes away from his boxers and held up the jeans as a make-shift barrier, “Done!” you said hastily.

He took the pants and slipped them back on with no issue, pulling his tail through the crudely made hole. It wasn’t ideal but it was much better than the alternative. You watched him quietly, wondering whether you should at least offer to help, but from his earlier reaction you had a feeling it wouldn’t go down well.

A somewhat awkward silence fell over the two of you as you put on your comfiest shoes and Jayce slipped on the smart dress shoes he was wearing when he arrived. You watched the - what you assumed to be - fake leather bend and flake at the toes from the pressure. 

He twisted the frayed laces around his fingers and tied them into a bow in a way you’d never seen anyone do before; it was like he was solving an intricate puzzle he had created and only he knew the answer to. They were worn from years of use; these were either the only shoes he’d ever owned, or they were second-hand from the sanctuary. The latter seemed like the most plausible.

He needs new shoes, you mentally noted.

Once you were both ready, you walked down the stairs together quietly until you were outside in the crisp air. It wasn’t late enough that the sun had set but it was late enough into the afternoon that a chill was setting in.

“Will you be cold?” you turned to Jayce, a question that you should’ve asked before you left the apartment. He’d taken a grey hoodie from the assortment of clothes you’d thrown at him, but compared to your coat, scarf and beanie he was basically wearing summer clothes.

He shook his head ‘No’ and you tried to read his expression to see if he was just trying not to be difficult, but he seemed relatively unbothered by the winter air.

“Okay, well, let me know if you do,” he nodded in agreement, the brown tassels of his fringe bouncing with the movement of his head, and you started walking in the direction of town.

For a Saturday afternoon it wasn’t as busy as you’d expected it to be. Which, in hindsight, was a strike of luck - you hadn’t stopped to think about how that would’ve affected Jayce. He’d spent the last few months stuck inside with other hybrids, not a busy town filled with people hauling too many shopping bags and street vendors shouting rhythmically to secure the last sale of whatever they had left before they had to close for the day.

It might have been too much noise for him to handle so soon. A few cars had passed you quicker than they should have and his steps faltered at the sudden loudness of the engine as it passed.

You’d asked him to swap places with you so you were between him and the road but he declined. Although, after the fourth car zoomed by you he stopped reacting to them - perhaps he adapted quicker than you thought he would.

After approximately thirty minutes of walking with only the sound of two pairs of shoes hitting the wet pavement between the two of you, you’d made it into town.

“I probably should’ve asked you if you liked long walks,” you chuckled to yourself as you nuzzled your chin into your scarf. He didn’t respond to your comment; his attention was, instead, on your surroundings.

The buildings in town ranged in height but the majority were three-story buildings. Typical shops on the ground floor with apartments built into the upper floors, you were thankful that your home was an apartment complex.

As you were walking to your first destination, Jayce had slowed down to a stop by a man who was drawing people’s portraits. He’d positioned himself in a way where he could see the man’s sketchpad as well as the woman he was drawing.

It had taken you a second to realise that he’d fully stopped and you’d accidentally continued walking so you hurried back to him. 

He studied the man’s technique without getting too close to him which you were grateful for, you were sure if he’d snuck up behind you whilst you were concentrating it would make you jump at the very minimum.

With his hands in the pouch of his hoodie, he tilted his head to the side and observed every movement the artist’s hand made and eventually he started bobbing his head as if the pencil was controlled by his forehead.

His face was calm and serene, with a tint of excitement in his eyes, something you only saw in him when he was playing a game with you. The absentminded smile that crept onto this closed lips was contagious to your own.    

Jayce was engrossed in watching him work and you didn’t have the heart to tell him you needed to be quick before the caf�� you wanted to show him closed, especially when his tail started to swish back and forth behind him.

You were uncertain how long you’d stood with the rest of the crowd watching the artist, and you were sure you were going to be shooed away by him at any moment, but he never did. It was probably part of the job, the attention of having an audience watch you work.

It was your stomach rumbling that eventually made his ear twitch and his attention flip back to you, his eyeline drifted to your stomach and back to your face. As he started to continue walking you tried to reassure him, “We can stay, it’s okay,” but he ignored you, leading the way blindly. 

He had no idea where he was going but you followed him regardless. The only time you stopped him was when you wanted to go into a particular store; you wanted to reach out and touch his forearm or bicep to stop his long strides, but called his name gently instead.

Every time the syllable left your lips he felt a flutter in his chest; he would never get bored of hearing you say it.

After an hour of unintentional shopping you’d collected a few things that you needed for the apartment, and somehow missed the few strange looks that had been thrown your way.

You had managed to show him the majority of the town, when you were really starting to feel the hunger.

“Do you wanna get some food?” you asked, as if you weren’t the one that kept sidetracking your journey to the cafe whenever something caught your eye, and the look Jayce gave you reflected that.

You rolled your eyes with a smile and waved for him to follow, “Okay, okay, let’s go”, luckily the cafe wasn’t far from where you were. 

The door jingled from the bells that hung just above the frame as you pushed it open, the scent of coffee and freshly baked goods immediately filling your senses. 

Casual chatter of customers hummed all around, creating a warm and friendly ambience. 

“I always come here when I’m in town,” you said in a hushed voice as you held the door open for him. He had to duck slightly to not bump his head on the way inside.

As the two of you walked towards the counter the voices around you became noticeably quieter; Jayce hunched his shoulders and neck forward in an attempt to seem smaller but it didn’t help much.

You were more than oblivious to the hushed whispers that followed you the deeper into the cafe you went. 

“Hello!” you greeted the worker, who was busy restocking the bakery display and hadn’t seen you yet, in a joyful sing-song voice like you did every other time you visited.

“Good afternoon, what can I-“ her voice cut off into a surprised shriek as she acknowledged your presence. The tray of brownies she was holding almost scattered to the floor from the full body jump that rocketed through her muscles.

Her attention was not on you or your concerned expression, but on the hulking figure shuffling awkwardly behind you.

“I’m sorry, we don’t allow animals inside,” her statement trembled in her throat, but that didn’t stop your concern elevating to shock, “Excuse me?” you asked politely and blinked at her with the hope that you’d just misheard her.

She cleared her throat with a cough, “It will have to wait outside, we don’t allow animals-“ she started to repeat herself but the shock from how she spat out the word ‘it’ had twisted and evolved into irritation, “It?”.

Even a non-English speaker could’ve understood from the tone of your voice that not only were you insulted, but bordering on anger.

She glanced between Jayce stood behind you and your sharp eyes that dared her to speak again without thinking.

“For hygiene purposes, we can’t have animals in the store,” the arrogant uncertainty in her voice was evidence enough that she was lying but trying to find an excuse to insult him. 

“First of all, he’s not an animal, he’s a person-“ you paused to place your hands on the counter in an attempt to ground yourself and resolve the confrontation, but the way she regarded Jayce with disgust made it increasingly difficult, “- Secondly, with the dirt under your nails I’d say you’re concern for cleanliness is misplaced.”.

The noise that came out of her was a mixture of a scoff and a short laugh. 

Of course, the sensible thing would’ve been to leave the moment she’d opened her mouth. 

However, you’d seen actual animals in this particular cafe on multiple occasions and there was an explicit irony that directly behind her on the wall was a sign written in chalk that said ‘Dog friendly’ with a crudely drawn smiley face.

This was not about animals being near food, this was a specific attack against Jayce and something deep within you would not let it slide. 

“Tell your mutt to leave and I’ll think about serving you,” her eyes narrowed and her lips tightened until they were barely visible.

Adrenaline coursed through you in a burst and your breathing became heavy, but you had to try and remain calm.

“I see that thinking isn’t your strong suit so I’m going to say this very slowly,” your voice was low and almost a whisper as to give her no voice but to listen to what you had to say.

You kept your eyes latched onto her, “I wouldn’t trust you to make a glass of water properly-“ as you were about to continue, another worker, this time a lean brunette man, appeared to your right.

“What’s the problem?” he interrupted with a calm and polite voice which only served to piss you off more. You sighed and gestured to the young girl behind the counter.

“Your colleague had some unprofessional things to say about my friend,” it took you a moment to think of the correct word for him. 

The man raised an eyebrow at you in confusion “Your friend?” he repeated your words back to you but converted it into a question, “Yes, my-“ you turned to look at Jayce but he was no longer there.

Your heart dropped when the space behind you was empty until you saw his silhouette through the condensation covered glass window. 

Arguing with this girl had been so important to you that you hadn’t noticed his departure.

“A hybrid,” the girl spat the words out like she had taken a bite of a sandwich only to find that it was mouldy inside. She folded her arms over her chest defiantly and with a smug smile that screamed arrogance.

“Well,” the man turned his head to his colleague slowly, “We serve everyone here, hybrids included,” he said as if he was reminding her of their policy in real time, and her smile dropped at the realisation that she was not being supported in her discrimination. 

“Please allow us to apologise with complimentary food and drinks for you and your friend,” he leaned over the counter, reaching for something you couldn’t see but you shook your head.

The girl was staring daggers into you and you could sense she knew she was going to be spoken to when you left.

You looked over your shoulder and saw that Jayce was still stood outside, “With all due respect, no,” your words were blunt and to the point. If there was a way for you to voice how angry you were without sounding like a Karen, you would.

“The next time you have an opinion about someone, at least make sure it’s your own and well informed, otherwise you’ll come across like a snivelling bigot,” you shot at the girl before you confidently strode to the exit.

The chiming of the bell when you swung open the door didn’t sound as sweet anymore, and the coffee scent you’d grown to love over the last year tasted sour in your throat.

You couldn’t meet his eye when you were outside again so you kept your gaze to the ground. Something you’d noticed that had become a habit around him.

The feeling of guilt had returned to crawl its way up your throat again; you could’ve done more. You should’ve checked that this cafe was a safe place for him before taking him inside. He must hate you for humiliating him in such a way. You wouldn’t blame him if he wanted to leave and never come back to you.

The door behind you opened with a jingle and you felt irritation seep into your back before you heard the voice of the person who caused it, “I’m sorry I didn’t mean to listen in to your conversation-” you turned to see an elderly lady with a kind smile.

You stepped to the side to let her fully exit the cafe and close the door behind her, “-but I know another cafe that is very hybrid friendly just outside of town,”. The woman peered up at Jayce through her glasses, her gaze unbothered by his appearance, “There’s people like you there all the time,” the wrinkles around her eyes and cheeks creased as she grinned.

Jayce was taken aback by how easily she spoke to him, his eyes wider than usual as he glanced between you and her, “That would be lovely, thank you,” any previous notes of anger in your voice had left you as you handed her your phone to give you directions.

It wasn’t far, but she was right with it being on the outskirts of town, and you were in unfamiliar territory with only your phone navigation as your guide. When you eventually found the building with ‘Paws & Pour’ painted in white italics above the door, you knew you were in the right place.

You chuckled to yourself at the cheesy title they’d chosen, but it was also rather endearing, in a quaint homely kind of way. As you opened the door there was no bell to signal your arrival but an enticing smell of oak and warm tea surrounded you like an invisible mist.

This time you wouldn’t make the same mistake as before. You poked your head through the open doorway to inspect the interior and to check how busy it was inside; something you couldn’t do from the safety of the street due to the windows and door being tinted.

It wasn’t too busy, a few tables were taken but it was quite spacious for how deceivingly small it looked from the outside. 

Your intention had been to ask Jayce to wait outside whilst you asked the barista if it was okay for him to enter, however, before you could even fully step inside a wisp of white flew past as if a momentary blizzard had clipped your vision.

You followed the direction the snowstorm to the corner where a group of beanbags had been strategically placed by the window - a woman with long white hair plonked herself down into a dark blue one, and if it wasn’t for the gentle piano music playing through the speakers, you probably would’ve heard the rustling of the polystyrene shifting inside the fabric as she got comfortable.

She turned to talk to the woman next to her and that’s when you noticed the shoulder length rabbit ears swaying with the movement of her head. Her companion sat crossed-legged in the accompanying red beanbag next to her, and held her mug with both hands. Her black pointy ears twisted like a satellite towards her friend’s voice as she spoke. 

You pushed the door open fully and stepped through the threshold so you weren’t hovering strangely and gestured for Jayce to follow with a reassuring smile. This time he didn’t need to duck to enter the building, but he still hunched his shoulders in an attempt to seem less imposing.

As you approached the counter a feeling of deja vu and dread lingered around you, but was quickly washed away by the couple occupying the booth directly opposite. 

At least you assumed they were a couple by the guy’s hand settled tightly on the jean-covered thigh of the male canine next to him, their pinkie fingers interlocked under the table as if they were promising something that was to only be between them.

His proud feline ears stood tall atop his platinum blonde locks; they were a stark comparison to his companion. The only way they didn't disappear into his hair was because they were a darker shade of brown, but both wavy and droopy. Similar to Jayce's, you thought.

The feline rested his head on the canine's shoulder, who was seemingly unbothered, if not encouraging of him being used as a pillow. Noticeable by the surprised yet adoring glint in his eyes as he studied the features of his slumbering partner.

All of this was completely lost on the man on the opposite side of the table. Another feline with fluffy pointed black ears amongst a cloud of hair the same colour, but he seemed happy enough scrolling through his phone.

That answered one of your questions, this truly was a place where hybrids were welcome.

lockjaw:

@jijihana @ k00yaa @ die-prophetin @slugstarzz @v1tale @bigchungusdrinksspritecranberry @pipsqueakpiper @lovely-dove69 @forcefullyawake @philwrites @mkelly16 @mymidnightsky @hydrasgarden @bak-eri @sweet-potat0 @shybookdragon @risingofjupiter @lostsoul526 @belm4rie @calciferthelivingfire @kiannaf @bottlcaps @bellizs @lewd-alien @xynokune @blinkerteleporthero @ciai5v-blog @pink-ys-world @sym6olism @roku907 @tati-the-fangirl @avtrsiren @cheesestickz @night-fall-moon @thegothicfox @jellyfish-princess3 @moonlitlovver @1-800-powpow

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[fancyfeathers]

Okay so I had another Yandere!Batfam idea…

Just imagine a former detective raising her little sisters by herself after their parents died, she lost her job after taking a bullet and getting her leg messed up really badly and it doesn’t help that her little sisters are just a bunch of trouble and now ever time she goes down to her old place of employment it is to get one of her sisters who got into trouble. Commissioner Gordon cuts her some slack because he knows her and knows how hard she tries and he even tries to keep an eye on her sisters to keep them out of trouble because he knows they are getting into things they shouldn’t to help their big sister.

But bills add up…

One of her sisters is threatening to fail out of high school…

Another one got a broken arm in a fight…

And another one was recommended to Arkham Asylum by her school’s therapist because of her aggressive behavior, she bit another school’s student on a field trip and it doesn’t help that the other kid was Damian Wayne, the son of the billionaire who funds most of the city…

Meanwhile she feels like she is barely an adult anyway and she is trying to raise her sisters since her parents died, so obviously she is a mess when she goes to the GCPD headquarters to talk to Gordon for advice after her sisters went to bed and she finds her old boss on the roof with Batman and his birds, it’s even more embarrassing since she just came here after a fight with her sisters and Gordon is like family so there is no need to dress to impress around him, so she is in her pajama shorts and t-shirt along with her leg brace and cane.

She just waits for them to leave when she finally breaks down to Gordon on that rooftop about everything, but she didn’t notice the birds who lingered.

Suddenly over the next few days problems begin to fix themselves…

The one sister’s failing grades suddenly bolted up to A’s and B’s without her doing anything.

Medical bills were paid off for the other sister’s broken arm along with physical therapy for the former detective’s leg.

Then the sister who bit the Wanye boy, a professional child therapist has been hired for her so she doesn’t end up getting sent to that mad house, which is by no means suitable for a child, by some court judge.

It’s like their luck turned up for the better out of no where and along with that, their old detective ran into a cute guy when she was on her way home from physical therapy, his name is Dick Grayson…

I love the idea of the Batboys having darlings who are all sisters, I just find it cute and the fact that they are all parallels of each other one way or another…

[solrabi]

Part 2 of Ghoap watching you eat fruit.

Notes: suggestive (sorry for leading you on), I know I called Ghost Simon in the last one but it was too late until I realized that. AFAB!reader is called doll. Not proofread.

main masterlist

The day was hot. The sweltering heat had gotten to everyone. Except for Johnny MacTavish of course.

He was borderline skipping on his way to the common area, dull rattle coming from the plastic container of strawberries in his hand. His cheeriness irritated all the soldiers on base.

“What’s got you so chipper?” Ghost asked as he joined his walk. He probably already finished sharpening his knives so he joined Johnny, not having anything else to occupy his spare time.

“You’ll see,” the younger man simpler smirked, too excited to even look at his senior. Blue eyes sparkling with a momentary glance at the container in his hands. “I got a present for our friend.”

The two burly men entered the lounge space and the entire room suddenly felt too small despite two windows shinning ochre rays of the sun. You were no victim to the heat either; with your normal fitted t-shirt swapped for a thin tank top and pants switched for workout shorts.

You were quick to turn away from your meaningless task at the sight of their imposing presence. “Oh, hey, guys. What are you doing here?”

Johnny raised the box of strawberries in his hands. “I know you like fruits so I snagged these. Let’s share some,” he winked. Ghost was starting to understand what Johnny had planned.

He pulled his mask half way up his face. To cool down, of course.

Much to Ghost’s hidden dismay, you conveyed your gratitude to Johnny by hopping up to his face and kissing his scruff cheek- leaving a thin film of fruit scented lip balm.

The base you all had been stationed in was the one that received the least amount of funding- which explained the tiny lone couch with a sad box tv from the 80s. It even had a storage unit for cassette tapes, making whoever who used it feel like they had travelled through time. The two men took the only two seats on the couch, giving you no space to rest your legs. You couldn’t even squeeze in between them if you tried because of how they had their expansive thighs spread. “That’s fine, I’ll just-“

Ghost was quick to pull you down, holding you on his firm thigh. “‘S’alright, love. We can’t let you stand while we relax.” Johnny said as rubbed his rough paw on your knee, nearly engulfing the area.

Your blood ran hot as you observed the scene from an outsider’s perspective. Two burly men, sitting side by side with a pretty doll on one lap. Surely, it was all innocent. Surely there wasn’t an ulterior motive on their minds. They were your best friends so you trusted them with everything. That included your body.

You could sleep in nothing but an oversized t-shirt between them and you knew you’d be alright. Fleeting touches, unwanted flirtation, and uncomfortable proximity was never a problem because it just never happened.

You hadn’t thought of them in that sense until this moment right now, where both of them were looking like they wanted to eat you more than the fat, plump strawberries.

Johnny opened the box of strawberries and placed them on the cardboard-box-turned-coffee-table. The strawberries looked like they had dropped from the shrubs of heaven- huge and swollen to the point of seemingly saccharine ripeness, begging to be bit into.

“Here, love, you get the first and the biggest,” the more talkative of the two didn’t even wait for you to extend your hand before placing the fruit right on your lips. He didn’t move it until you took a bite. “Go on.” His bushy eyebrows were unnaturally raised. You could see the sheen of sweat forming on his forehead- a part of you wanted wipe it for him.

With your eyes staring into his eager ones, you took a bite. It tasted unlike any strawberry you had eaten before. Mostly sweet with a kick of tartness. You unconsciously let out a small moan of satisfaction, prompting Ghost to shift in his seat a little, rattling you in the process.

“How is it?” Ghost rumbled from under you. You hadn’t noticed when he had pulled close to his chest. You could smell the gun powder and sweat permeating off him. “It’s sweet,” you said.

“Really? Let me check.” You thought the man was going to grab the same strawberry, but you were surprised to see his hand move to your neck instead.

“What are you-“

And you were interrupted again- but this time by a searing kiss on your lips. Ghost took your surprised gasp as a chance to enter your mouth. His wet muscle explored you, tasting whatever was left of the sweet fruit. You couldn’t even fight off the sudden attack of his mouth with how he held you tightly in his arms. You had no room to move.

After what felt like ages, he pulled away. “She’s right, it’s sweet. Here, you try.” Ghost effortlessly picked you up and placed you on Johnny’s lap. Much to your confusion, Johnny didn’t mention that he already had a strawberry in his hand. But you didn’t bring out your concerns- Ghost’s kiss had you dazed.

Johnny didn’t waste any time and planted his desperate lips on yours. Gasping every time his mouth opened, licking up remnants of the little juice Ghost left for him.

He pulled away, arms around your waist to make sure you wouldn’t leave (though you couldn’t bother escaping- your wobbly legs would probably give out on you if you tried).

“There’s nothing to taste. You took it all,” the Scot inveighed. “Have to try another one. These were expensive to get, y’know.” He rolled his eyes as he grabbed a few, not enough to be a handful but enough to satiate his much larger appetite. “Fuck, there goes seven pounds down the ground.”

Ghost made a mental note give Soap a good hard smack on the back of his head afterwards. Seven pounds per strawberry? Somebody give him a fucking break.

Soap took the strawberries to your lips once again but you looked at him with a confused expression. “I thought these were for you? I can’t fit all of them in my mouth.”

“Yeah, they’re f’me, but I’m gonna have ‘em like this.” The man crushed the strawberries over your mouth. You sucked in a breath of surprise, it was all so sudden. Your eyes closed as the pieces of fruit burst on your face- droplets beneath your eyes, cheek bones, and of course, mouth. The juices dripped down your lips to your chin, eventually trailing down your neck. Johnny eyed the pink stains left behind by each trailing drop.

“Soap, what the fuck?” You went on to wipe the juices off your face but Ghost grabbed both your wrists with a single hand and held them behind your back. “Relax, he’s just tryin’ to taste it.”

You turned back to look at Ghost with a shocked face, but as always, his blank eyes conveyed no emotion. Not even an apologetic glint.

Soap’s calloused fingers gripped your jaw as he turned you to face him while he used his other hand to hold you down by your waist.

You only remembered the crazed look in his eyes before he leaned down to devour you. Wet tongue painting your mouth and cheek, mopping up the tart juice. The hand gripping your jaw went down to join his other one that was holding on to you, kneading your sides.

You moaned (voluntarily) at the feeling of his fingers roughly pushing and poking your skin.

It was all so hot. Literally. You could feel your sweat dripping down your back, reaching the little peek of skin below the hem of your top, where Ghost had your hands pinned. Something about his gloved hands touching your bare skin had you grinding against Johnny’s thigh.

“Fuck, now it tastes sweeter,” he chuckled against your lips. His mouth trailed down to your chin, licking up the remnants of the sticky juice there. Your ears felt like they were on fire when you heard him loudly smack his lips, savoring the taste.

His mouth continued to go down further, moving towards the column of your neck, squeezing more strawberries and licking up their juices. At this point, the smell of your sweat mixed with the taste of strawberries had him intoxicated.

Ghost was beginning to get agitated. He wanted to touch the pretty doll on Johnny’s lap too. With a cautious gaze, he slowly loosened the grip to see if you would get up, but you didn’t move an inch away from Johnny. Hell, your hands were still placed against your back, too blissed out to notice that Ghost had freed them.

He moved closer towards you and Johnny and slowly trailed his hands up your thighs to your breasts, lifting your tank in the process. Johnny complied with his lieutenant’s movement and put his hands on your thighs instead. You realized that the man needed to touch some part of your body while having his mouth on you.

Ghost began to massage the area right beneath your breasts and left small kisses on your temple as you mewled reluctant protests of wanting to be left alone.

“We can’t stop. We need to finish all the strawberries. Captain can’t find out that we spent food ration funds on this,” Johnny mumbled between leaving deep burgundy hickeys on the swell of your cleavage.

Ghost hooked his fingers beneath your sports bra, hoping to pull it off along with your scrunched up top, but froze when a familiar voice barked at the entrance of the lounge.

“Which one of you bastards bought gourmet strawberries?” It was Captain Price.

But as soon as the three of you looked at him, his angry gaze faltered to a curious one.

His eyes landed on the box of now almost empty container of strawberries on the makeshift coffee table.

Then on Johnny’s face- scarlet stains all over his mouth.

Ghost, the man who didn’t even show a single fingernail, had half his face visible to the world, pressed up on your cheek

And then of course, he looked at you- best for last. Lips swollen, clavicle littered with irregular purple spots, and the most delicious sight of all- your clothed breasts pushed up (courtesy of Ghost’s hands.

“All of you in my office. I have the perfect punishment.”

—

I- yeah, idk what I wrote either.

[practistyles]

everyone wants him (pt 2)

read pt 1 here.

in which Y/N goes to Harry's party but things go terribly wrong and her worst fear comes true

In this part: mentions of violence, description of past bullying, mean comments directed at y/n, y/n confronting her bullies so descriptions of fear and anxiety

2.1k words

Y/N had spent too much time getting ready. This party was all she’d been thinking about. Harry had wanted to come pick her up, but she’d refused point blank because she knew he would be busy with all the attention after the game. And while Y/N didn’t know much about football, unbeknownst to Harry she’d gone to watch his game. He was surreal in his normal life, but he was literal magic on the field. 

Her heart soared every time someone cheered loudly for him, which was often. She felt a kind of thrill seeing him on the field, being a spectacle for so many people, knowing that he would return to her at the end of the day. Every time sweat ran down his face and he lifted his shirt to wipe it off, Y/N felt like everyone could see it on her face - the way she blushed, the way she wanted nothing more than to shove him into her room and never let them leave.

When they’d won, Harry’s face glowed with a wild kind of happiness. Y/N let her worries momentarily melt away at the thought of meeting him soon as she sneaked back to her room. 

Now it was nearing the time to go, and the nervousness was back. She grabbed her coat and stepped out of her building, her bare legs immediately feeling the slight breeze. They’d been able to book an entire room in a club for the party. Y/N had rolled her eyes when Harry had told her. Of course the university had money for every single party the mens football team wanted to throw but never for things like improving campus food or funding student campaigns.  

Her uber dropped her right outside, and then there was no going back. Quite a few people hung outside smoking and chatting, with drinks in their hands. Some regarded her with curiosity, others cared too less. She made her way inside, already feeling the music flow through her entire body. 

She’d texted Harry that she’d arrived, but with the way that the crowd of admirers were hanging around the players near the center of the room, she figured she’d have to wait her turn.

He was a star tonight, after all. 

It didn’t take long to spot him. Harry stood laughing animatedly, drink in hand. He was surrounded by people - friends clapping him on the back, girls looking at him with want and admiration, strangers shaking hands with him. Y/N recognised some of his teamates - their sneering faces were burned in in the back of her mind - but right now they all looked to Harry like he was the sun. He’d changed after his game into a white t-shirt and jeans, and Y/N wondered not for the first time how he looked so good in everything without even trying. 

Even from the other end of the room, she kept her eyes trained on him, hoping he’d somehow look at her. Almost as if he felt her gaze, his eyes met hers and Y/N’s stomach twisted. Harry's whole face lit up, eyebrows raised, smile spitting his face. He raised his hand in a wave and Y/N lifted her drink in response. 

Through the crowds, Harry tried to make his way over to her, but it was impossible for him to not get stopped by people wanting to congratulate him. She could see the flicker of frustration on his face, but he took it all with unrivalled kindness. 

Y/N laughed softly under her breath at his annoyance just as someone jostled her hard from the side, an unavoidable consequence of being in such a crowded room. She stumbled, caught herself, and when she looked back up, Harry was gone. 

She frowned immediately, and looked around again. Then, a gentle hand on her waist, a tug on her wrist, and Harry was in front of her. 

“Y/N,” he said, a little bit in awe. “You came.” His speech was slightly slurred. 

“I said I would. Congrats on the win, Harry” she said breathlessly. 

“God, baby, you look beautiful.” He leaned forward to touch his forehead to hers.

And this was how she knew he was definitely drunk. He’d ignored her congratulations. Also, a while ago she had told him she hated being called nicknames. For a while he teased her by calling her every name imaginable. But then she made it clear how much she disliked it, so he stopped. But when he was drunk, or they were just waking up, when he was never fully lucid, it slipped out sometimes. 

“You look good too, Harry.” she said. “Are you having fun?”

“It’s so nice,” he said. “Wish you could’ve come seen me play. Everyone is saying I was a force to be decked with.”

Y/N laughed. “Reckoned with,” she corrected him. “And I’m sure you were.” 

They stayed pressed together for a minute and then Harry pulled away from her suddenly. “I need to go meet some people. You want to come with?”

Y/N shook her head. “I think I’ll go get another drink. Come find me again, okay?”

Harry nodded. He was too happy and blissed out to insist she come with him. “Don’t go where I can’t see,” he slurred, and then was off. 

Y/N sighed. So far, everything had been good. She’d felt selfish for being so worried about her own problems when she should have been happier for Harry. Y/N decided to step out for a bit to get some air. The club was a maze and the absolutely insane number of people in it were no help. She got pushed into the middle of a group of people heading into one of the rooms and just had to go with it. They ended up in one of the quieter rooms, with a few people just bopping their heads to the music. Y/N froze at the sight of those people. 

She should’ve known. There was no way she could come to a football party and avoid running into these people. Harry’s words from a few days earlier rang in her head. 

Whatever you’re worried about Y/N, I’m not going to let it happen.

Y/N immediately turned around at the sight of Jacob and his little bitch Trent standing amongst a group of other people. Her throat felt dry at the panic she was feeling, but she tried to breathe deep and make it out of the room. 

“Is that who I think it is?” came Jacob’s loud thundering voice from behind her. Y/N almost tripped on her way out. She could hear the smirk in his voice, just like an year ago. She ignored him, steeling herself, but she felt something clasp her arm tightly and pull her back. 

“Ow!” she exclaimed, turning around to face him. Jacob looked amused at the sight of her, and standing a step behind, Trent had the same look on his face. 

“Wow Y/N. Honestly I have to respect the confidence.”

“Let me go,” she gritted out. Now that she was actually face to face with him, she felt anger more than fear. Anger at herself, at him, for how he’d manipulated her. How he’d gotten into her mind and hurt her with his words. 

Her mom had said it was a form of quite serious bullying. An year ago, she’d started speaking to Jacob at some random party. He was charming—too charming—and after some time, he’d won her over with his fake sweetness. For a week, he’d acted like a gentleman, saying all the right things, making her feel special. Finally, she’d slept with him. Y/N remembered being in bed, lying next to him, feeling hopeful and excited and content. The next week too passed almost blissfully. She'd thought that Jacob was perfect. The next time she spent the night at his was just as good, but the morning to follow was one of the worst in her life. The way he had switched on her, and the comments his friends would just not stop making… it was clearly bullying. It went on for two months, them harassing her every chance they got until it messed with Y/N’s head so much that she fell seriously ill and stopped going anywhere for fear of running into those people. It became so bad that she had to go back home to her parents for a bit. When she came back, they seemed to suddenly not care much at all. Things became kind of normal. She just didn’t want to be known at all, by anyone. 

Until Harry. And Y/N was so, so afraid. But he was nothing like Jacob and his friends. She had been meaning to tell him about it, how Jacob had treated her, why she avoided any association with Harry because of that.

And now, she needed Harry more than ever. Jacob continued to glare at her like he had just found his prey. 

“Did you miss me, Y/N?”

She shook her head, trying to wriggle free. Jacob let her go with a bit of a push and she stumbled. 

“I knew you’d come back for your five minutes of fame. Wasn’t it enough last time?” Jacob continued. Y/N backed away, but they had her trapped with no way out. Trent stood on the other side, towards the exit. Y/N shuddered. 

Over the months, she had cursed them over and over, but now none of it came to her head. 

“You guys seriously need to get some help. What you did was in no way funny,” she said, trying to make her voice firm. 

“Yeah, you had go back to your mummy, didn’t you?” Trent snickered. 

“Shut up you little shit,” Y/N snapped. “Have you ever made a decision for yourself in your entire life?” 

Trent’s eyes narrowed, and Jacob’s hand closed around her jaw to turn her head to him. “Watch your mouth, baby,” Jacob said, smiling sweetly at her. “Are you here to find someone else to screw?”

Y/N opened her mouth to speak, but there was some shuffling near them, and suddenly Harry was there, shoving Jacob away roughly. The air came back into Y/N’s body.

“Harry!” she exclaimed with relief. 

“Get your hands off her! The fuck is going on?” Harry said, his eyes blazing. They stopped at Y/N and her shaken state. He reached forward, touching her face lightly. “Y/N? Are you okay?”

Y/N swore she could physically feel the delight that Jacob felt in that moment. 

“Oh I see!” he exclaimed, hands clapping together in mock excitement. “Styles, you’ve picked a good one.”

No, Y/N thought. No no no. 

Harry’s eyes narrowed at Jacob. He took Y/N’s hand in his, pulling her behind him. “What the fuck are you saying, Jacob?”

Y/N pulled Harry’s arm. “Let’s just go, Harry. I’ll explain everything.” 

“No,” Harry said resolutely. “If Jacob has anything to say he can say it to me,”

“You’re misreading the situation. Let’s just go.” Y/N pulled him again, but he held his ground. 

Jacob laughed. “Let me warn you Styles, she’s going to get a bit too much.”

Y/N felt Harry tense. He turned to her. “You know him?” he said softly, but enough for Trent and Jacob to hear. 

A laugh. “Quite intimately, in fact,” Jacob answered. Y/N winced and Harry’s grip on her arm tightened. 

“Y/N?” 

“Please, Harry. I’m begging. He’s making me really uncomfortable.”

A muscle ticked in Harry’s jaw. “What the fuck did you say to her?” he spat at Jacob. 

“Why don’t you ask her yourself? I’m sure you guys must be spending quite some intimate time alone.”

And that was it. Y/N freed herself from Harry’s grip and speedwalked out the venue. She did not even attempt to stop the tears that fell from her eyes. She’d promised herself she’d never let herself feel like that ever again. And while Harry had given her all the good things she could’ve imagined, being there with him while Jacob talked like that about something that was none of his business made her sick. She’d known it would have been a mistake to come. She shouldn’t have. 

She felt the air greet her as she reached the exit. Behind her, there was a commotion beginning, and before Y/N could even make it out of the club she heard the chorus of drunk people chanting. “Fight! Fight! Fight!”

Y/N stopped in her tracks. Her head pulsed furiously.  She leaned against a pillar and drew in deep gulps of air. When she turned back around, she saw Harry making his way out amongst the crowd, head frantically turning around looking for her. His hair was tousled, and the hem of his t-shirt was bunched, like it had just been in someone's fist. 

When he saw her, his steps became more urgent. She saw him mouth her name but the sound did not reach her. What could Jacob have said to him? Her worst fear was coming true. She shook her head, then turned around and walked away, for the first time in her life wanting to be away from him. 

****

this one is much more about y/n and her past bullying experience, i think more will be revealed in the next part, but bullying of any kind is a serious issue that could affect people in many different ways!

thanks for making it through so far <3

[liamnews]

hotpatooties: Today is #ChooseDay, and almost a week ago the world lost an incredible person. We, with so many others, are devastated by the death of Liam Payne and our hearts and thoughts are with his loved ones.

It seemed only right to dedicate this post to Liam and to say thank you for everything he did for us.

We will always be so grateful to Liam for the beautiful T-shirt he designed to raise money to support displaced people around the world.

It’s blown us all away to see how much the t-shirt has been shared this week and to see that £186,500 has been raised in the last week by this beautiful and generous community. These funds will help us continue to get vital care to displaced people all over the world.

We will be forever grateful to Liam and his fans for this incredible act of love. The t-shirt is still available via the link in our bio. Thank you to you all, and thank you Liam ❤️

[marauder-misprint]

Trust Fund

Sirius Black x Pettigrew!reader

5.7k words

cw: post-hogwarts, swearing, snogging, fluff

Being two years older than Peter, you did your best to not cross paths with him during the five years you shared at Hogwarts. You love your brother. That wasn’t why. You had just hoped that he would make his own path without being seen as your little brother, and he did. You didn’t pay attention to his friends either; you knew they were such a tight knit group that they were still living together now, after Hogwarts. Would you recognize any of them if you saw them out on the street? Probably not. 

You frequented a wizarding club near your apartment that you shared with one of your friends from Hogwarts, Marie. She never came with you, opting to spend time with her boyfriend rather than a room full of sweaty people drinking and dancing. Her loss. 

You usually left the club alone, despite the many times you’d be dancing with someone all night. Because you were such a regular, the bartenders and security guards all knew you, and they knew when you looked ever so slightly uncomfortable and when to step in. Without talking, they could tell when you were done with a person and they’d make sure you were okay when you were leaving. So, you always made it home safe to wake up slightly hungover in your own bed. 

You expect tonight to go no different. You don a simple skater dress; you like the way the skirt would flare as you spin while dancing. Add heels, makeup and jewelry and you’re ready to go. Marie is already gone off to her boyfriend’s by the time you leave. It’s a short enough walk to the club. You tap your wand on the graffiti door in an alley. It solidifies and you’re able to enter. The security guard just nods at you as you pass by some girls who look far too young to be there.

“Hey, why aren’t you asking her for ID?” one of the girls complains.

The guard glares at her and she slinks to the back of her group. You laugh to yourself. You didn’t mind the special treatment you were given as thanks for being a regular. As you step through the second set of doors, you’re greeted with colorful, flashing lights, a thin fog of artificial smoke and the smell of alcohol, sweat and a sweet perfume that you know is misted around intermittently to counteract the sweat. 

You wave to the bartender and he starts to make your usual drink. By the time you’ve moved through the small crowd between you and the bar, your drink is ready for you. You exchange your wand for your drink, as collateral to make sure you pay your tab at the end of the night. You lean against the bar, sipping your drink as you gaze around the club. Music is playing loudly, drowning out any conversation around you. You know you’ll need at least one more drink before you take the floor. Not too many people are here yet and you need more artificial confidence if you’re going to dance on a non-packed dance floor. 

Then the  bartender slides you a drink just as you finish the one in your hand.

“Oh, I didn’t ask for another one yet,” you say.

He leans forward across the bar. “It’s from the gentleman at the end, the one with the curly hair. Taking care of your tab tonight.”

You raise your eyebrows at the bartender after looking where he had briefly gestured. 

“Then, I guess I don’t mind if I do…” you say, picking up the glass and taking a sip. 

You know the guy is watching you, waiting. After a second sip, you abandon your spot to approach him. As you get closer, you see he’s wearing ripped jeans and a black t-shirt that looked like it once had a design or logo on it at one point but had faded away over time. Even closer, you notice the silver jewelry, on his hands, around his neck and in his ears. Damn, he’s attractive.

“So, Trust Fund, fancy a dance?” you ask before taking a sip of the drink he was paying for.

He cocks an eyebrow at you with a wide grin.

“I’d love one.”

You hold out your free hand for him to take so you can lead him out to the floor. It doesn’t take long for the guy to become touchy, but it’s a good touchy. His chest is pressed firmly into your back with his hands on your waist. His cologne breaks through perfumed air and perpetual smell of sweat. You welcome that. As you continue to dance together, his hands wander, down to your hips, back up to your waist, to your stomach and high, to your thighs. You can feel his breath on your neck. He is so close. 

More songs play and you dance face-to-face as well. He’s just as close for that, his hands resting on your arse. Smiles adorn both your faces. You’re so caught up in his grey eyes, which he is unable to take off of you. You feel oblivious to the rest of the club, but it’s not your fault. He’s just so enchanting, so enthralling.

After a few more drinks, a mix of alcohol and water to pace yourself, you excuse yourself for the loo.

“You, my handsome Trust Fund, better still be here when I get back.”

“How ‘bout I get us another round? Meet you here?”

You nod. And he is waiting for you when you return, two drinks in hand as promised. You’re feeling emboldened. You take the drink he’s holding out for you and you slam it. He watches you with wild eyes. He’s enraptured with you. Then he mirrors your action, slamming his own drink. You take his cup and place both of them on a nearby table. Then you grab his shirt and pull him close to you. It’s the kind of action that makes your intentions obvious, and he obliges, bringing your faces ever closer together until lips meet. He tastes of the alcohol he’s been drinking and faintly of cigarettes. It’s anything but gentle and sweet. It’s hungry and fueled by desire. It doesn’t take long for you to be pushed against the wall, his tongue basically down your throat. You had one arm wrapped around his waist and the other hand tangled in his hair. His were groping your arse and holding your hips in place. 

You’re not sure how long you’ve been attached to his face, but you break apart when someone near you says, “Get a room.”

You both laugh, resting foreheads against each other.

“My roommate isn’t home tonight,” you breathe. 

“Yeah?” 

You nod. Suddenly, you’re wearing matching grins. He throws an arm around your shoulder and leads you back to the bar, where he exchanges a small pile of galleons for your wands. You give the employees a sly smile, a silent “I’m okay.” The cool air of the night hits you with a wave of sobriety. The man next to you is still stunningly beautiful, which makes you smile to yourself. 

“You live ‘round here?” he asks, looking down at you.

“Yeah, just a few blocks. What about you, Trust Fund?”

“Same. Not too far.”

You turn in the direction of home, his body following your movements. Every once in a while, he presses a gentle kiss into your hairline. The sweet action makes your heart flutter. You know bringing him back to your flat is a signal for certain activities, but the affection he shows you on the way makes you wonder what will become of this. 

“This is my building,” you say once you’ve arrived.

He takes a moment to look at the street sign and building name. You’re not sure if he’s judging it or trying to memorize it.

“Okay, yeah, I know where we are,” he says after a moment. “I’m a bit that way.” He points diagonally backwards. “Would’ve been funny if we were in the same building though.”

“Well, we’re in the same building tonight,” you tell him, opening the front door and holding it open for him.

He follows you up a few flights of stairs and down the hallway to your door. The way he’s looking around, you think he’s counting each flight, each door you pass, so that if he had to come back without your help, he’d be able to.

“Trust Fund, you want tea?” you offer as soon as you lock the flat’s door behind you.

“Why’re you calling me that, huh?”

“What? Trust Fund?” you reply with a giggle.

He nods, tracing his hands up and down your arms as you stand in your kitchen. 

“Instead of buying me a singular drink, you picked up my whole tab before even seeing if I was interested.”

He hums. “Bartender said you’re there often. Maybe I figured your bank account could use a break.”

“You asked Craig about me?” you tease.

“Craig?” he laugh and runs a hand through his hair. “Of course you’re on a first name basis with the bartender. You’re there often.”

“And I do drink within my means. My bank account is just fine, thank you very much.”

“So you never… go a little crazy?”

You give him a sweet smile and tuck a curl behind his ear.

“I don’t need alcohol to go crazy.”

He gives you an amused smirk before pressing a kiss to your forehead.

“Yes, tea would be lovely.”

Quiet conversation flows naturally over your cups of tea. When the cups are empty, you place them in the sink. You feel his eyes watching you, as if taking your movements around your domicile. You begin to head to your room, but when you turn around, he’s still standing in your kitchen.

“Trust Fund, you coming? you ask suggestively.

He breaks out of whatever thought was holding him captive in his own head. He nods, a wide grin immediately appearing. He follows you into your room and closes the door behind you. Sure, your roommate wasn’t home now, but she came home early, there were things she didn’t need to see. 

---

You wake up to an empty bed. Part of you wonders if maybe you’d had too much to drink last night and the beautiful man you’d brought home was all a dream. That is, until you actually get up. Marie is in the kitchen, sipping a cup of tea. She smiles with a wicked glint in her eyes when she sees you. 

“I see you had fun last night.”

Your hand immediately snaps to your neck. If you had love bites on your neck, then he wasn’t a dream. 

She laughs loudly. “I wasn’t talking about that! Check the fridge.”

You see a note placed under one of the magnets. 

‘Text me sometime -Trust Fund <3’ with his number underneath.

“Trust Fund?” Marie asks after you smile at the note.

“This guy, absolutely stunning by the way, starts off with handling my entire tab before even saying hi. And even if he asked Craig the bartender how much I usually drink, that’s such a ballsy move.”

“And you brought him home.”

“Like I said, he was stunning.” 

“Was he… any good?”

You blush furiously and look away. He had been. The best you’d had in years. 

“I’ll take that as a yes,” she giggles before loudly sipping her tea.

You move to put the kettle on with a roll of your eyes. As you wait for the water to boil, you reread the short note on the fridge. You like his handwriting, full of flourishes and flair. It fit his style. The note itself made your stomach flip. It meant that he had a good enough time last night too, enough that he wanted to see you again. 

You’d be lying if you said you didn’t think about what to text him or when to text him. You didn’t want to come off as too eager, but you didn’t want to wait too long and risk him becoming uninterested or thinking you just got lonely and wanted attention. You’re sitting on the couch with the TV on, but you’re not paying attention to it. You’re staring at your phone. You haven’t texted him yet, but you want to. Boy, do you want to.

“Merlin, just text him,” Marie says, coming out of her room. 

“I don’t want to look-”

“He wouldn’t have left his number if he didn’t want you to text him,” she cuts you off. “I’m sure he’d love to see you again, which he can’t do until you text him.”

“He knows where I live,” you point out.

“That’s just an excuse! Text. Him.”

“Marie,” you whine.

“Do you want to see him again?” she asks, crossing her arms and leaning against the kitchen counter. 

“Yes.”

“Then text him. Doesn’t have to be much.”

“Like I can just say hi?”

“Yes! It’s not that difficult.”

“Says the girl who’s been dating her boyfriend since sixth year.”

“Whatever,” Marie laughs. “Speaking of, I’m off to Theo’s. You better have texted that poor sod by the time I’m back.”

You open your messaging app as soon as Marie is out the front door.

[Hey Trust Fund :)]

Your phone makes a swooshing noise as the text sends. And you wait. And wait. You stare at the phone. The TV provides background noise for your unraveling thoughts. 

Did I wait too long to text? Did I not wait long enough? Was ‘Hey’ the wrong thing to say? What if he left the wrong number to mess with me? What if last night wasn’t as enjoyable for him as it was for me and he left his number to appear polite but has no intentions of seeing me again? What if-

Your phone dings. His message lights up your screen.

{hey sweetheart - sorry i had to leave, work :/}

[Who goes to the club when they work in the morning?]

{fun people}

[Where do you work?]

{trying to stalk me?}

[Curious to see where Trust Fund gets his money]

{the record store on cornwallis ln}

{always slow in the morning}

It’s fitting that he works in a music store; over the tea last night, he talked a faer bit about his favorite bands, one of which was on his shirt, despite it being so faded. You realize you’re smiling at your phone. You sigh and decide to be bold.

[Hope it’s not too forward, but I’d like to see you again. Last night was fun]

He doesn’t respond as quickly as he had been. You click the off button on your phone to make the screen go dark as you begin to internally panic. Maybe it was too forward. Too quick to suggest seeing him again. 

Then your screen lights up again.

{i’d love that - busy wed evening?}

He’d love that. Your panic immediately subsides. 

[Nope, but I am now ;)]

---

He suggested a local cafe that did cocktail nights with live music. He’d been to a few of them before, describing it as a laidback scene, casual. It sounded like a good idea so you agreed. You had spent far too long staring at your closest deciding what to wear, only to end up in jeans and a flowy top. A cute outfit but not as “trying hard” as a different skater dress or a skirt would have been. He had said he would meet you outside your building and you’d be able to walk there together. 

“Hey gorgeous!” he calls out as he approaches you. He’s wearing jeans, no rips this time, and a different band tee. 

You feel more confident in your outfit. 

“Hey Trust Fund.”

“Oh, still calling me that, are you?”

You laugh, “Well, I don’t actually know your name…”

“Never came up, did it?”

“No,” you say, shaking your head. Then you hold out your hand and say your first name.

He takes your hand to shake it and laughs with you. “Sirius.”

“Like the star?”

“Surprised you know it.” You give him a do I look stupid look. “Not in that way! Most people just don’t recognize it.”

You watch him take out his phone and go to what you assume is your contact.

“Aw, I’m there as pretty thing? That’s cute! You should keep it!”

“You are, no doubt. That’s why that’s what I went with. But I like names, nicknames. Helps me keep track of who’s who, you know?”

“Got a couple pretty things in your phone?”

He flushes at your teasing. 

“No,” he says slowly. “But I do have roommates who like to steal my phone and change all of the contact names. If they saw one pretty thing, every. single. contact. would be pretty thing and I’d have to spend hours figuring out which one is you.”

“Well, you’re staying as Trust Fund,” you say with a cheeky smile. “Plus, my brother would probably look at my phone and ask ‘why are you texting a star?’”

“You got a brother?” 

“Yup. Just one. What about you? Any siblings?”

“One brother too. We’re not too close.”

“Huh,” you say. “I’m not close with mine either. Siblings, what can I say?”

You both laugh and start to walk to the cafe. 

---

It quickly becomes a thing where you and Sirius are seeing each other in person at least once a week, and texting and calling multiple times a day. It wasn’t like you were codependent already. Sirius was just intoxicating, you were addicted to him. You wanted to share everything little thing that happened with him, and the feeling was reciprocated. And you wanted to share him with the people around you. You talked Marie and Theo’s ears off about him. 

“You sound absolutely smitten,” Theo laughs one evening when he and Marie decided for a night in at your shared flat rather than his. 

“Smitten?” Marie asks, shocked. “She’s obsessed! Try asking her about her work, about her other friends, literally anything else. She will somehow tie it back to this boy.”

You shrug. “Not my fault all topics lead back to him.”

“Apparently it’s my fault for encouraging you to text him. If I hadn’t meddled in your love life, you’d still be single and I would still have my sanity.”

“You lost that a long time ago,” Theo says, wrapping his arms around Marie.

“Theo, you’d love him.” Your eyes light up. “We should do a double date!”

“At least let me meet him first before you force him upon Theo! I think roommate ranks higher than roommate’s boyfriend!” 

Sirius, on the other hand, kept you to himself as much as he could. While he didn’t gush to his friends about you, they still knew how much you meant to him, even if they didn’t know your name yet. It was the way he jumped for his phone when your text notification echoed through the flat, the way he smiled when you called and then immediately took the call in a different room, the way he spent a little extra time to make sure he looked good before leaving the flat to meet you somewhere. 

“Off to see my girl, later dudes,” was yelled as he left, leaving the boys to share a knowing look.

Sirius was serious about this girl. And for them to get a little more information out of him all they needed to do was get some alcohol in him. They were hosting game night with some of their Hogwarts friends. As always, drinks were flowing and Sirius wasn’t holding himself back. 

“Sirius, I have a question for you,” Lily says, cornering him in the kitchen as he went to retrieve another beer from the fridge.

“Shoot, Evans,” Sirius says nonchalantly. 

“James says you got a girlfriend,” she says. 

He cracks open the beer and takes a swig. “That’s a statement, love.”

“You’re not denying it,” she retorts, a smile creeping onto her face. 

“How come you’re talking about my lovelife with Prongs?”

Lily laughs as they return to the group.

“Talking about it is certainly one way to describe it. More like he was complaining that you haven’t brought her round yet.”

“Who hasn’t been brought around?” Mary asks, looking up from her cards. 

“Sirius got himself a proper girlfriend.”

“Proper?” Mary questions. “How proper we talking?”

“Smiling at his phone and hour-long calls,” Remus answers for Sirius.

“Oh! So this is serious!” Marlene exclaims.

“I’m always Sirius,” he replies as he plops down onto the couch next to Remus.

“So you’re going to tell us about her, yeah?” Marlene says, her voice implying it was more of a statement than a request.

The alcohol impedes his decision-making skills. So the first thing he says about you is…

“She’s on a first-name basis with the bartender at the club where we met.”

Lily chokes on her drink.

“She’s an alcoholic?” Peter gasps.

“No! No. No. She just goes, went? Goes there often. Dunno. But damn, she’s captivating as well.” He hums. “I like her. A lot.”

“He admits it!” James says, nudging Lily. “He admits it.”

“Yeah, I heard him, babe.”

“O’ course I admit it,” Sirius says a snippy. “She didn’t mind going to that cocktail cafe.”

“Still sounding like an alcoholic…” Peter murmurs.

Mary slaps his shoulder. “Be nice.”

“She likes to dance. She danced with me at the cafe,” Sirius says before taking another swig of beer. “We walked around that muggle art exhibit and she actually knew stuff ‘bout it. Like composition and whatnot. She’s smart like that.”

“Drinks, dances and knows art… Sounds like a keeper,” Remus says with a laugh.

“Do you have like cute nicknames for each other yet? Lil pet names?” Mary asks.

Sirius smiles widely. “Yeah! Well, she does for me. She has me in her phone as Trust Fund.”

The group just stares at him blankly, which wasn’t the reaction he was expecting.

“What?” 

“Trust Fund?” Lily asks, furrowing her brows. “So she’s dating you for your money?”

SIrius’ eyes go wide in realization. That nickname needed its backstory.

“No! No, Godric no. The night I met her, I told the bartender I’d pay for her entire tab before I even said hi. So she assumed I had money to fall back on and called me that all night.”

“Certainly one thing to moan in bed…” Peter mumbled, earning himself another light slap from Mary.

Sirius didn’t give him a reaction.

“And then later, she said that if she put Sirius in her phone, her brother would ask why she’s texting a star,” Sirius continued with a laugh.

The air in the room eases. 

“She knows I have a job! And she does too. Honestly, the Black fortune hasn’t come up. She’s not like that.”

“Sirius, we believe you,” Marlene says. “What is she in your phone?”

“Her name with a black heart emoji.”

“Classy,” Remus slurs.

“Shut up,” Sirius says, but his words have no bite.

He’s just smiling into his beer can. 

The next day as he’s cleaning up from game night, Sirius steps into Peter’s room. If he was going to run the dishwasher, he wanted all the dishes and Peter had a habit of hoarding his used cups. A picture of Peter’s family on vacation sitting on the dresser catches Sirius’ eye. Peter is really young in the old photo which Sirius assumes was taken sometime pre-Hogwarts. He can’t help but think the girl standing next to Peter looks vaguely familiar. He probably just recognizes her from Hogwarts, being that she is Peter’s sister, he tells himself, unable to completely place the face. He doesn’t think much of it, grabbing two rather large stacks of cups and leaving Peter’s room. 

In the kitchen, he organizes the cups into the dishwasher and starts it up. Then he moves around the living room, picking up wrappers and cans. 

“Since when do you clean up after game night?” Remus asks, leaning against the doorframe of his room. His voice is scratchy from just waking up.

Looking down at the rubbish in his hands, Sirius says, “I guess since today?”

“What’s eating your mind then?”

“Huh?”

“Padfoot, I’ve lived with you for about half my life. You’re acting like an elf. What’s going on?”

“Just thinking about her.” 

“And that has you cleaning?”

“She’s just… unreal.”

“Unreal,” Remus repeats back to him. 

“Haven’t felt like this about a girl before, Moony. All those Hogwarts girls? They don’t compare.”

Remus chuckles and stands up straighter before walking over to Sirius. He places his hands on Sirius’ shoulder.

“Sounds like you fell quick and hard, m’friend.”

“Fell…”

“If you like her more than all the girls from school… Sirius, you might be in love.”

---

“Hey, Wormtail, where you off to? I thought we were having roommate dinner?” James calls from the kitchen of the boys’ flat. 

“I told you I couldn’t tonight,” he says as he pulls on a coat. “I got that family dinner.”

“Ugh, I forgot!” James groans.

“Is it like national family dinner night or something?” Sirius asks, joining James in the kitchen. 

“Dunno, why?”

“Girlfriend’s got family dinner tonight too.”

“Speaking of,” Remus says from where he’s sat in the living room, “when do we get to meet this amazing chick?

Sirius shrugs. “Whenever I decide she’s ready to handle a game night with you bastards.”

“Alright, that’s it. I’m outtie!” Peter calls before the front door slams behind him and the rest of the boys hear the lock turn. 

“Just give us some warning before she comes over, yeah? We’ll clean up a bit,” Remus says with a wink. 

“And if it’s for a game night, we can invite the girls too!” James adds. “Lils, Marlene, Dorcas, Mary. The whole gang.”

“Yeah, and we can invite Reg, and Evan and Junior, and Pandora too. Then I’ll take her to meet my parents immediately after,” Sirius replies sarcastically.

The boys give him blank looks.

“The whole Hogwarts gang might be a bit much. You lot are a bit much, but not much I can do ‘bout that,” he explains.

“Aw, he doesn’t want to scare her off,” Remus coos, joining the other two in the kitchen.

“No, I don’t,” Sirius says firmly. “Now what are you making, Prongs? I’m getting hungry.”

“Spaghetti. Remus, what sauces we got?”

Remus opens the cupboard with a squeak. “Ah, looks like red sauce, red sauce number two, white sauce, green sauce… third red sauce.” 

“Eh. Pick one of the reds.” James looks over his shoulder at Sirius, who is leaning against the counter. “For a girl you’re obsessed with, we still don’t actually know her name.”

---

Peter’s already there when you arrive at your parents’ house. He’s talking with your dad as they set the table. Your mum is in the kitchen, putting the finishing touches on dinner. 

“Smells like I arrived just in time!” you say, taking off your coat.

“I’m setting the table, you’re clearing it,” Peter informs you.

“Darling, go help your mother bring the food to the table,” your dad says.

You do help your mum set the table and you sit down as a family. Since you and Peter don’t live too far away, your parents try to have dinner once a month to catch up. Your dad rants about the people he works with. Your mum discusses the gossip from her book club. Peter starts talking about a movie that he saw with some of his roommates. 

“Oh, I saw that movie with my boyfriend!” you interject.

“You have a boyfriend?” your mum asks, clearly intrigued. “This is new!”

“Yeah, it is. Only been official for a week or so now.”

“You were going to tell us… when?” your dad asks.

You roll your eyes. “I was going to, Dad. I’m an adult, I don’t have to tell you about everyone I date.”

“There’s more?” your mum nearly exclaims.

“Not really, no, but the point is I don’t have to tell you. Until I’m sure they are sticking around for a while.”

“Yeah? You like this one?” Peter asks, putting down his fork. 

“I do, Pete. He’s a good guy.”

“Didn’t you say that about your fifth year boyfriend?”

You snort a laugh. “Don’t go bringing Diggory into this.”

“So, where did you meet this fellow?” your dad asks, trying to avoid a sibling argument. 

Peter never liked Amos Diggory and, while he had treated you kindly for a while, Amos ended up cheating on you. You shut down for a while, which you still think is a perfectly normal reaction, but Peter was concerned for his big sister. 

“Ah, um, well,” you stumble over your words. “This little cafe near my flat.”

You were not going to tell your parents that you met your boyfriend at a club. Meeting at a cafe was a much cuter scenario that kept their internal image of their pristine daughter. You assumed they knew you weren’t pristine, but it was one of those things you don’t talk about with your parents unless you have to. It was easier that way. 

“That’s nice, sweetie. Pete, you seeing anyone?” your mum asks, taking the attention off you for a moment. 

Peter blushes. “No. Been focused on work.”

“Whatever happened between you and that girl… what’s her name… She went to school with you?”

“Really narrows it down, Mum.”

“Martha?” 

“Mary?” Peter all but gasps. He blushes deeper. “Nothing ever really happened with her.”

“So that Appleby Arrows?” you ask your dad. 

Peter didn’t need to discuss a failed attempt at a relationship with your parents. The fact that they knew about it was embarrassing enough. You knew the two were still friends; from what you had heard, he wanted a relationship and she didn’t so they somehow managed to be friendly for the friend group’s sake. Peter gave you a thankful look and you both filled your mouths with your mum’s cooking as your dad started ranting about the most recent match and the horrendous officiating. 

---

“Didn’t we go to school with someone named Sirius?” Marie muses later in the week.

When you first told her your boyfriend’s name, she laughed. It’s just such an odd name, she had said. And now, she was thinking they knew someone else with that name, especially after she told Theo and he brought up school. 

“Probably? He’s a wizard living in London. I would not be surprised if he went to Hogwarts.”

“But surely we’d recognize him then.”

“I don’t know. I guess I’ll ask next time I see him. But I can’t say I really paid attention to anyone younger than us, so even if he did, it doesn’t matter.”

“I keep forgetting he’s younger!” she exclaims. “You usually go for the older dudes.”

“Older dudes go for me,” you correct her, a smile playing at your lips. “Sirius just works though, you know?”

“If he makes you happy, I’m happy. I’m not the one snogging him on our couch.”

You laugh. “At least I do it when you’re not home.”

“And I go to Theo’s.”

You clink your glasses in solidarity. 

---

You’re laying on the couch with Sirius, watching an American forensic TV show, when you remember that conversation with Marie. You figure now is as good of a time as any.

“Sirius?”

“Hm?”

“Did you go to Hogwarts?”

“Uh, yeah, I did.”

You hum. “What house were you in?”

“Gryffindor?”

“Oh! You probably know my brother then.”

“Yeah?” he says, looking down at you in his arms. “What’s his name?”

“Peter.”

Sirius sits up, forcing you out of his embrace, with his eyes wide.

“Peter as in Peter Pettigrew?”

“Yeah.”

You move out of his way as he stands up and begins pacing. You watch him, unsure of his reaction.

“Sirius?”

“I’m dating my best friend’s sister? How did… what?” 

My best friend’s sister. So that meant that he was Peter’s roommate now too. You couldn’t take your eyes off of him. Sirius is pacing and muttering confused fragments to himself.

“Sirius?” 

“You’re a Pettigrew?” he asks, pausing for a moment to look at you.

“Yes. Is that a problem?”

He doesn’t answer right away. That stings. He runs a hand through his hair and starts pacing again. The girl in the photo in Peter’s room is you.

“No, it’s not a problem,” he says after a few paces. “It’s just… just… very, very unexpected?” 

You stand up and go to hold his shoulders, stopping his pacing. 

“It’s good we figured this out before we ended up at your place, yeah?”

He groans but it’s lighthearted. “Godric, that’d be embarrassing.” He pauses as he thinks. “Shit, that’s going to be embarrassing. ‘Hey, Peter. This is my girlfriend. You know her as your sister.’”

Sirius forcefully rests his forehead on your shoulder. You card your fingers through his hair to comfort him. 

“Well, it’s that or you wait for a Pettigrew family event and I introduce you as ‘Sirius, my boyfriend, and Peter’s longtime best friend.’”

“That’s not any better,” he says to your shoulder. 

“We have to tell him at some point.”

“Do we?”

“Probably. Guess it depends on how serious this is.”

“This?”

“Us.” You pause and lean backwards so Sirius has to lift his head back up. “There is still an us, right?”

“Yeah, yes, of course,” he says rushed. “Sorry, my brain is-”

“Taking it all in. Yeah.” You offer him a soft smile before it falls from your face. “Wait, so what’s your surname?”

He laughs. “Legally, Black. Sirius Orion Black. But the Potters basically adopted me when I ran away.”

“Potters… Jake or something?”

“James.”

“Ah… How did our surnames never come up?”

“You were the one who calls me Trust Fund.”

“You’re a Black!” you exclaim, dots connecting. “You are a trust fund! I knew it!”

“Dating me for my money are you?” he teases.

“You paid my tab first. That’s on you.” You lean up to kiss his nose. “And then you won me over by being irresistibly you.” 

“Aw, don’t make me blush.” 

“I think it’s my life goal now.” 

lol this has been sitting in my drafts for a while - was fun to write and polish up

[funwithbondage]

Poll: Restrained to raise some money Part 3

When a person is restrained in lockable leather cuffs and belts at a erotic fair, and you as visitor have the option to extend the time.

The person is trying to raise money for a charity fund, and a vendor has provided the bondage gear to keep this person restrained until the counter hits zero. (the maximum time is 10 hours on such a day)

Adding gags and stripping (naked) are possible if timer raised above 2 hours.

Adding time is the cheapest part, but many small additions can be many hours at the end 😉.

Because the person can only be gagged once, only one person can pay for the gag, and will stay gagged till the end. Depending on the type of gag prices between $150-250

If you choose to pay for the charity fund. And be able to add a gag to the restrained person... Please consider that the person stays gagged and that can be up to 8 hours for the day: maybe a big sized ball gag won't be the best choice because that can become pretty uncomfortable, but a cloth or smaller ball would be better...😜

[fairuzfan]

I'm not a part of this but this was shared in a library discord server! Thought I'd share for new yorkers!

Are you a dyke that cares about Palestine and community archives? Join members of Interference Archives and the Lesbian Herstory Archives on June 22 to print posters, buttons, t-shirts, and other ephemera for Palestinian liberation! This is a fundraiser where all the money raised goes to a Queer Palestinian mutual aid fund!

***Please RSVP so we have a better sense of visitor numbers, here.

[socialjusticeinamerica]

“The ownership of the Proud Boys' trademark is now in the hands of a Black church that the White supremacist group vandalized in 2020.

The Metropolitan African Methodist Episcopal Church in Washington, D.C., was granted ownership of the group's trademark in a Feb. 3 ruling from Judge Tanya M. Jones Bosier of the Superior Court of the District of Columbia. The decision also gives the Metropolitan AME Church a lien on the trademark and the power to block the Proud Boys from using the trademark or selling licensed goods, like T-shirts or hats, without the church's approval.

Enrique Tarrio, the Proud Boys' leader, didn't immediately respond to a request for comment. In a statement to the New York Times, which earlier reported the court ruling, and which Tarrio posted on X, he said the judge should be impeached and the church's nonprofit status revoked.

Tarrio, who had been serving a 22-year sentence for seditious conspiracy tied to his role in the Jan. 6, 2021, attack on the U.S. Capitol building, was pardoned by President Trump after his Jan. 20 inauguration.

The ruling on the Proud Boys' copyright stems from an incident on Dec. 12, 2020, when members of the all-male right-wing group attended a "stop the steal" event in Washington, D.C., and also attacked the Metropolitan AME Church by climbing over a fence to get onto church property, where they destroyed a "Black Lives Matters" sign, according to court documents. A court ordered the Proud Boys to pay the church $2.8 million, money that the group has failed to pay, the documents note.

As a result, the court gave the Metropolitan AME Church ownership of the trademark, giving them the right to deny use of the group's name and yellow or black laurel wreath symbol.

"This is our time to stand up, to be very clear to the Proud Boys and their ilk that we came here fighting, that we have never ever capitulated to the violent whims of White supremacist groups," Rev. William H. Lamar IV, pastor of the Metropolitan AME Church, told CBS MoneyWatch. "If they thought we would be afraid, they were wrong. There are many people with us and who stand with us."

The Metropolitan AME Church, which was founded in 1838 and has hosted speakers including Frederick Douglass and Eleanor Roosevelt, can now collect funds from sales of Proud Boys merchandise as well as its membership dues, people familiar with the case said. The church can also block the Proud Boys from using the trademark, they said.

The notoriety of the Proud Boys' name likely helped the group in recruitment, which means blocking use of its trademark could both hurt the group's ability to sell merchandise and recruit new members, they added.

"From our point of view, it's fitting that the money the Proud Boys raised in sales and dues will go to fund the good work of the Metropolitan AME," Kaitlin Banner, who represented the church in the case and serves as deputy legal director at the Washington Lawyers' Committee for Civil Rights and Urban Affairs, told CBS.

In his statement posted on X, Tarrio indicated he didn't intend to honor the court's ruling. "I hold in contempt any motions, judgments and orders issued against me," he wrote.”

[ayeleye]

Shoutout to Bella and Pedro for once again being the goddamn cutest pals of all time ✨💕🩷

Anyway go buy Bella’s T-shirt to raise funds for LGBTQIA+ refugees 🏳️‍🌈🏳️‍⚧️

[ghostgirl-22]

Hi! <3 You’re like my favorite writer for Artrick! I swear you characterize them perfectlyyy

I keep thinking about the idea of Art and Patrick going on a date when he’s at Stanford. Like obviously Art wouldn’t admit it’s a date, but I imagine it’s after Art reluctantly admits that he wants to hang with Patrick alone when he comes to visit and that he’s a bit jealous of Tashi. So they basically have an unofficial date night. How do you think this would go, and how would Art go about initiating something physical between them because he’s obviously not gay right?

Okay but you’re actually such an amazingly talented writer and I love your stuff so much! Thanks so much for this request I honestly don’t think I did this ask justice and I’m sorry it was so long but I hope this attempt brings you some amusement <3

CW: 18+ !NSFW! 3.8kish words

—-

It’s not that Art is jealous. He’s not jealous. He’s not. But up until now Patrick’s always called him and stopped by on his little trips to Stanford. It’s not like he expects Patrick to stay long, he knows he’s not the main event… but he at least expects him to come by.

So when Patrick shows up at his door three days later, asking if he can stay in Art’s room, Art tries his best not to express his irritation that he hasn’t once come by his room till now. And it really stings because Art knows the only reason he’s here now is because of the limit on how many days he can consecutively “visit” her dorm.

“You’re saving me man,” Patrick says, patting his arm as he drops his duffle on Art’s designated chair full of stuff.

Art shrugs. “Yeah well. Happy to be an afterthought.” He mumbles.

Patrick raises his eyebrows and then gives him a crooked smile. “You are never an afterthought.”

“It’s fine,” Art says, already embarrassed that he brought it up. “You’re dating Tashi Duncan. It’s totally understandable dude.” He tries to sound nonchalant, hopeful that it’s how he comes across. He feels like he spends so much time these days swallowing down on feelings. Feelings he can’t name, feelings he doesn’t even really understand. None of them jealousy. He’s really not jealous.

He does often wonder what they do alone. He thinks about what they do in bed since the most he really knows is that they’re fucking. He knows Patrick calls her all the time because he doesn’t really call Art that much anymore. They used to sit on the phone for hours, barely talking or talking too much, sometimes till late in the night. The same way they did when they were sharing a room in high school. But gradually it became, Patrick leaving the call earlier and earlier. To Patrick not really calling that often at all.

“You know, you can help me with something actually,” Patrick says, flopping onto Arts bed.

“What?”

“I’m taking her on a date tonight, we’re going to get dinner and see a movie.”

“Oh,” Art says. “What movie?”

“The new Saw movie. What number are they on now? 11?” Patrick laughs.

“Oh I didn’t know she’d like something like that,” Art says carefully.

”Yeah well, she saw the first one and she said liked it. She never got around to the others. I asked her if she’d be scared to see it but she said even if she was… she wouldn’t mind being scared if I was there. Isn’t that kinda… hot?”

Art shrugs again, swallowing it down.

”Sorry, is this hard to hear?” Patrick asks, patting his cheek.

“Fuck off,” Art mutters. “I’m just… I’m thinking about my game on Sunday. I’m not really worried about your relationship actually.” He lies.

“Good cause I was just gonna ask for your advice on what to wear. She tends to dress up for this kinda thing and I don’t want her to be annoyed if I show up in shorts and a t-shirt again.”

“You want me to help you pick out an outfit?”

“Yeah… you’re always put together,” Patrick says.

“All your clothes are tailored. Just pick something.” Art says, dryly.

“Okay but I want to wear something comfortable. Not something that makes me look like I’m about to donate a hefty sum at some stuffy fundraiser.”

Art sighs, “fine what’d you bring? Lay it out.”

Patrick empties his duffle on the bed, everything he has that isn’t training gear, playing gear and t-shirts is all wrinkled but Art has an iron. He helps Patrick pick something out. He’s still irritated, but he thinks he covers it well.

He’s actually stunned by how happy it makes him when Tashi calls and says she has to cancel. She does kids tennis lessons for extra spending money and a client wanted her help to prep for a game in the early morning.

Patrick’s talking to her, his tone understanding making her feel better about canceling last minute and promising to see the movie another time. He’s such a good boyfriend. It’s so weird that he’s not fucked it up by now. Art can’t remember Patrick ever dating anyone this long before.

Art’s sitting on his bed, back up against the wall, kicking his feet over the edge, listening to him.

“Sorry man, you’re stuck with me all night,” Patrick says after he hangs up. He knees the bed and sinks into it, settling down and leaning close to Art, he picks up his half ironed slacks and frowns.

“Mm… why don’t we go out?” Art suggests.

Patrick laughs and so does Art, feeling himself beginning to flush.

“Or… I mean… we could just hang out. Watch Hell’s Kitchen or something,” Art says quickly. He looks up when Patrick doesn't reply and Patrick is staring at him, a peculiar look on his face.

“Fuck it, let’s go out.” Patrick smirks. “You can be my date.”

“Yeah? Why not?” Art smiles. “I mean who says two friends can’t go out for dinner and a movie.”

Patrick laughs a bit, his expression flitting quickly between amusement and something Art can’t recognize. “Mm right. Platonic date night. Here we come. You have something nice right?”

”Yeah,” Art says. “I can wear that one shirt I wore to the awards dinner last year.”

“Oh yeah, you look so hot in blue, wear that,” Patrick teases.

“Shut up,” Art smirks, ignoring the weird feeling that blossoms in his chest after Patrick calls him hot.

They get dressed. Patrick’s clothes fit him so well. He’s in an outfit that might read as casual (fitted t-shirt, slacks, and a blazer) if not for the simple elegance of it all being quietly wealthy.

He’s also got a great body and anything fitted on him is going to bring that out. Art doesn’t think about his body often or anything like that, it’s just something he notices. The sky is blue, water is wet and Patrick Zweig has a great body. It just is.

They go to the movies first. “I prefer that when I go out on a date, so we have something to talk about over dinner or drinks,” Patrick explains as he drives them over to the theater in his jeep. “You know in case the date is boring. Not that that’s ever the case with Tashi. Actually, you know what’s crazy? I feel like she’s as easy for me to talk to as you are.”

“Hm,” Art says, swallowing down on something bitter in his throat. “Well I think you should try to find a balance. Talk to other people. You don’t want to scare her away by only ever talking to her.”

“Oh is that what you think?” Patrick says, smirking. “I don’t only talk to her actually. I’ve just got a lot of pressure on me. The only time I get a chance to rest I’m so exhausted— I got one phone call in me and so you know…”

“Oh,” Art says. “Well yeah I guess that makes sense.”

“Are you seeing anyone?” Patrick asks.

“Mm, I mean… I think I might be interested in this girl on the team. She’s really good.” Art lies. He’s not really interested in anyone and he’s probably wasting his time, thinking more about Patrick and Tashi than he spends thinking about his own social life. He wants her so bad unfortunately every other girl he meets just pales in comparison.

—-

They’re actually on the 4th Saw movie, and it’s as stupid as Art might have expected. They laugh about it over dinner at Applebees. Patrick’s got this pretty realistic looking fake id so he orders a drink and they split it when the waitress isn’t looking. Not that she cares, she’s also a Stanford student. She’s been to a few tennis games to watch Tashi play but she knows Art is the number one singles player on the men’s team.

“You’re really good,” she smiles at him and he can feel his skin flushing as Patrick grins at him from across the table.

”Thanks uh— but Patrick actually plays professionally.” Art says.

“That’s so cool,” she says, she smiles at Patrick and then looks back at Art. “I would love to learn to just hit the ball over the net.” She laughs.

”He can teach you that easy,” Patrick says. Art kicks him under the table and he just grins wider.

“Can you really?” The waitress asks, flipping her pretty blonde hair over her shoulder.

“Yeah I mean… whenever,” Art says, awkwardly.

“Cool, I’ll be back. You guys want anything else?”

Patrick gives Art a meaningful look and then orders a second drink.

“When were you gonna tell me you got number one singles?” Patrick asks, watching her as she walks away.

“I figured Tashi told you,” Art says.

“Yeah but you should have told me,” Patrick says. “She’s hot right?” He adds, gesturing back towards the waitress.

“I mean… I can tell her you think she’s hot,” Art says. “I don’t think she believes you’re actually dating Tashi anyway.”

Patrick laughs, “God you’re such a dick. I meant for you. That would be a fun night.”

“I guess,” Art says, rubbing his palms on his lap. It’s all he has to say for Patrick to keep teasing him throughout the rest of the night, getting her to come back over and flirt with Art. He orders more and more drinks which she happily brings over.

In spite of the teasing, it’s actually really fun. Of course Art has been to movies with Patrick before, even gone out to dinner with him and their friends or family before, but this feels different. Art can’t figure out why… maybe because he gets to be in Tashi’s place. Maybe because it feels like old times.

They probably spend two and half hours in Applebees talking about the movie, high school, tennis, their parents, video games, girls and anything else that pops into their heads. They only leave because its 12 am and the restaurant’s closing. By then they’ve split a total of six cocktails and Art is feeling so tipsy.

“How much is it?” He asks when the waitress brings the bill.

“I’ll take care of it,” Patrick says.

“Dude it’s okay we can split,” Art says.

“No relax, it’s our platonic date night, right?” Patrick pulls out his credit card. “I can give you this though.”

He hands Art the non singable copy of the receipt and on the bottom the waitress left a note: For whenever you decide to teach me how to serve, Jenny. Followed by her phone number and a heart.

“She drew a heart and everything,” Patrick teases.

”It’s for you,” Art says, shyly.

“It’s so clearly for you, Stanford boy,” Patrick smirks.

“We probably have to take a cab home,” Art hiccups. Changing the subject. He does slip the receipt into his jeans pocket though.

“Oh yeah,” Patrick says. “You’re so responsible by the way. I love that about you.”

Art snorts a laugh and Patrick starts laughing too. Patrick leaves a big tip and they call a cab. Art promises to come back with him to pick up his jeep in the morning and they share a cigarette while waiting for the cab. When it arrives they hop in the backseat for the 25 minute ride back to campus.

Art’s feeling sleepy, the combination of food, alcohol and a long car ride is lethal for him. He closes his eyes, head slipping to settle on Patrick’s shoulder. Distantly, he feels Patrick rest a hand on his thigh and he opens his eyes, suddenly wide awake. It should be a nothing feeling but Art goes rigid, he feels it all up and down his spine and even worse, his cock starts to wake up.

“Did you have fun?” Patrick asks, quietly.

“Yeah,” Art says, he stares at the meter on the cab. He feels so dizzy and confused as Patrick’s fingers play a light pitter patter along his thigh.

“I’m sorry I’m not… free all the time. Like in high school, you know?” His voice is soft, Art can almost feel the vibration of it from where he’s leaning. He can feel Patrick’s breath on his cheek. It makes no sense the way his body is reacting. Maybe he’s drunker than he thought.

“Uh,” Art sits up. “Don’t worry about it. We’re both um— busy.”

“I know,” Patrick says, he’s still playing the pattern on Art’s thigh. “But I feel like I’ve been neglecting you.”

Art feels anxious, he looks up front, he can see the driver glancing back at them in the rear view. “Look… obviously your girlfriend comes first. We can do bro stuff whenever…” Art says as he gently eases Patrick’s hand off his thigh even though it feels nice. His heart is racing like he’s running some kind of marathon he doesn’t know why but it’s probably just the drinks. All the alcohol making his head all fuzzy.

“Yeah,” Patrick sighs. “Bro stuff.” He rests his head against the back of the seat and they’re mostly quiet for the rest of the ride. Arts mind is racing. All he can think about is how close they are but how much it feels like something is slipping away.

The halls are mostly empty as they get back to the dorm. There’s a few students still up. A couple talking softly to each other. One girl on the floor with her headphones plugged in watching something on her laptop. Some guy exits his room, talking on his cellphone as he breezes past them.

“You think I can sneak back to her room or no?” Patrick asks, one arm resting on the door frame as Art leans in to unlock his room.

Art feels his heart still beating oddly fast, probably because Patrick is right behind him. He’s never been able to manage personal space as long as they’ve been friends but right now Art is just so… aware of him. “You can stay here. It’s just one night. I’ll even let you have the bed all to yourself.” Art says.

“It’d be two nights. I leave on Sunday.”

“Okay, two nights then,” Art pushes open the door, breaking the closeness. It feels like a temporary bit of relief.

Patrick follows him in and slips off his shoes. “That’s the one thing I hate about dressing up. Fucking boat shoes.”

Art smiles. “I’m really drunk I think.” He says, kicking off his own shoes.

“Yeah?” Patrick smirks.

“Yeah, I don’t know how I’m gonna make it to practice tomorrow.”

“Isn’t it in the afternoon?” Patrick pulls off his jacket and then his t-shirt. He digs through his duffle for something to put on.

“Yeah but still.” Art realizes then he’s been watching Patrick undress, like he hasn’t seen him butt naked before. He shakes his head and goes to change into his own night clothes.

“Don’t be mad,” Patrick says as Art gets his jeans off.

“What?”

“I think I need a session, maybe I found that waitress hotter than I realized,” he’s in his boxers holding himself. His eyes fall over Art’s body.

Art looks down and swallows. He’s seen Patrick erect before… even touched it… But they were a lot younger last time. They’d actually grown out of doing it in front of each other a long time ago.

But ever since Patrick brought it up that night… ever since they kissed… Art’s mind would occasionally wander to what it might be like to see it again. And now there it was… just… right in front of him. Patrick holding it idly like it’s not ridiculous to be carrying all of that around. Art’s fingers twitch, his mouth is suddenly too wet and he swallows again. The worst part… he’s getting hard.

Patrick sighs. “I’ll go in the bathroom.”

“Um…” Art can hear his heartbeat in his ears, he sits on his bed just because his knees are shaky. “I thought… I think she’s hot too.”

Patrick is still for a moment watching him, before he smiles and approaches Art. “Right? I think it was the skirt. I mean those fucking legs.”

Art nods. He reaches for Patrick. His head is all fuzzy, his ears are ringing and Patrick straddles him on the bed. Art touches it through his boxers. It’s heavy and really, really full.

Patrick eases his fingers into Art’s hair. “And she’s blonde….I think I like blondes more than I should.”

Art grips him properly. It’s not just lengthy, it’s thick. The only thing he can think about is what it might feel like in— in— just in.

He rubs it up and down, like it’s his own. He’s never done anything like this before so he’s shocked when Patrick reacts, “Fuck,” he gasps, this quiet sound that makes Art shiver. Art grabs at the front of his boxers and eases them down, revealing a shock of dark hair and Patrick’s cock as it bobs forward. Circumcised, all pink, and all so real. So much bigger than the last time Art saw it like this.

He leans over and licks at the shaft.

“Whoa,” Patrick breathes and then he chuckles.

“I uh—‘m sorry,” Art looks up at him, anxious that maybe this is too much, too far. That he did something wrong.

“God Art. You’re so fucking…” Patrick breathes and settles down on Art’s lap. He takes Art’s face in his hands and kisses him. Art breathes in as their lips touch. It almost feels the way it felt that night. Something warm, almost on fire. Their chemistry overwhelming.

God, is he into this? Is he into Patrick? He thought it was all because of Tashi but this still feels good even when she’s not watching. And right now Art knows he wants to feel more of Patrick’s tongue. He wants to lick his cock again. His mouth hasn’t really stopped feeling wet, but the kiss feels good in spite of it…maybe because of it. He finds himself exploring every inch of Patrick’s mouth. His heart is still racing. He knows Patrick can feel how hard he is. The way he feels Patrick poking against his stomach. He grips it and gets excited when Patrick hums a pretty little moan.

Patrick eases them out of the kiss and looks at Art, fingers tangled in his hair. His cheeks are all flushed and rosey. His freckles are so vivid up close. He’s actually incredible. “You want to taste it again?” He asks, brushing up against Art’s lips.

“Mmhm,” Art nods.

Patrick takes a deep breath and he actually stands up in front of Art, so his cock is just right in front of Arts face. Art stares at him and nibbles on his thumb. Patrick’s got freckles on his tummy, just a couple spattered here and there. Art wants to lick those too.

He sits up and grips Patrick’s cock again. It feels so warm he must run at a thousand degrees. Art licks at him. He can see the way Patrick’s muscles tense. Hear his little breaths. Art starts licking more. Up and down, all over the length of him. He likes how it feels along his tongue. The heat of it, how soft and solid it is at the same time. He likes the taste and the smell, salty and heady. He sees the pearls leaking from the tip and tastes that. He really likes how it tastes so he sucks on the tip a little more. And it’s all punctuated by the way its affecting Patrick.

“Mm, fuck sweetheart, I know you want to explore but this feels insane.” Patrick breathes. “You’re gonna mess around and make me shove it in your mouth.”

Art feels warm at the way he says sweetheart. And the thought that Patrick might lose control over him.

He opens up and takes in more.

“Fuuckk,” Patrick sighs like he’s sinking into a warm bath. Art closes his eyes and runs his tongue over the length. He’s almost sure he can taste Patrick’s heart beating through it. It feels incredible and Patrick starts moaning for him which makes Art begin to lose himself in it. It’s too big to get it all inside at once but he tries to take a little more. His mouth is so wet that when he pulls back spit drips onto his thighs. He licks and then takes it in again, more this time.

“Oh shit,” Patrick gasps. He starts moving his hips like he can’t control himself and Art needs to grab on to keep him from shoving it too deep. But he likes the sliding feeling as it moves back and forth over his tongue. His own cock is aching. He feels like he might start pushing up against the air too. It’s so hot how he’s the one doing this to Patrick. It’s all him. His mouth. His tongue.

“Can you look at me?” Patrick gasps.

Art hums and looks up as it’s sliding out of his mouth, he takes a small breath before taking it back in again but his mouth starts filling immediately. Art feels it hot and thick slipping down his throat and he starts coughing. Which makes it start spilling everywhere, dripping off his lips and Patrick’s still coming so Art licks around the tip to try and taste it.

“No… wait, fuck, fuck… that’s too sensitive just… relax,” Patrick gasps, breathlessly. He pulls his shorts back up and stumbles to sit on the bed next to him. He rubs his thumb over Art’s messy lips, Art licks at it and Patrick smiles letting him suck it for a minute before pulling it away and sucking it into own mouth. “Come here.” He rubs his thighs.

Art stares at him for a minute and then moves to straddle him. “Sit,” Patrick says, softly.

Art settles on his lap.

“Have you ever done that before?” Patrick asks, rubbing him over his boxers.

“No, is it okay?” Art asks, his voice a little hoarse.

“So fucking okay,” Patrick says and he starts kissing him immediately. It feels so satisfying, rubbing his tongue along Patricks after having a mouth full of him. He feels Patrick’s fingers ease into his boxers, gripping his cock where Patrick starts jerking him off properly. That combined with the stimulation from the kissing makes Art finish embarrassingly quickly all over Patrick’s fingers and in his shorts.

“Mm I need another cigarette,” Patrick laughs, licking his fingers and gazing at Art.

Art swallows hard, mildly panicked now that he’s back in his right mind. He climbs off of Patrick’s lap.

“What?” Patrick asks. ”And don’t say sorry.”

Art bites his tongue and takes a deep breath. “I think I drank too much.”

Patrick grins. “I don’t know. You kinda spilled some of it,” he gestures to Art’s lap, a bit of pearly liquid settled there.

“That’s not funny,” Art says, biting down on a smile.

“Oh it’s really funny.” Patrick says, getting to his feet.

“Where are you going?” Art asks. Strangely enough he just kinda wants to be near him.

“I’m gonna wash my hands,” he says. “And clean up a bit.”

Art bites his lip.

“You want to come?”

Art nods and gets to his feet. “I’ll just brush my teeth and um… change my…” he gestures vauguely.

Patrick smirks and beckons for Art to lead the way. “So,” Patrick says. “Where do you wanna go tomorrow night?”

[toriaaniin]

Shit Stirrer: A great cause with a dash of irony

Jumping into my first blog post with Nicola!

Looking fresh, well rested, gorgeous and Christmas ready from - I'm assuming - her family's Galway living room, Nicola posted a photo of herself today wearing 1 of 8 specially designed "Saltburn Insults" t-shirts. These limited edition t-shirts were created by Carey Mulligan and Emerald Fennell (director) to both celebrate one year since the release of the movie Saltburn on Netflix and, more importantly, to help raise funds for War Child UK's "Emergency Christmas Appeal" fundraising efforts. War Child UK's single goal is to ensure a safe future for every child affected by war. This is a cause we know Nicola stands firmly behind! If you're interested in supporting this important cause, follow this link for the t-shirt Nicola is wearing... or scroll to the bottom of the Everpress page to see the other 7 "Saltburn Insults" t-shirts on offer: https://everpress.com/warchild-x-shitstirrer#more-info

So what, you ask, did I mean about that dash of irony?

Look at the angelic look on her face. Nicola, a shit stirrer? Shady Whistledown herself?! Maybe, perhaps sometimes 😉

Over the last week the Lukola fans in my chat groups as well as those sharing thoughts in my live streams, or those sending me DMs, have been expressing the same thing: exhaustion! They (heck... me too. We!) are tired and feeling a whole lot of frustration. Some quotes:

"I feel like we're all here trying to defend Nicola and Luke, trying to fight off all the negative propaganda being put out by the Jakolas and trolls, and all the while Nicola is the one feeding much of the {front facing} narrative. I'm tired and discouraged." "I believe they're together - 100% I do - but I'm tired of not knowing for sure and it's annoying to spend so much time worrying about a couple that may only come clean years from now, or if they get papped." "I'm sick to death of breadcrumbs. I want the whole loaf now!"

Yet we also laughed at the ironic humour in Nicola as a "Shit Stirrer"; the primary distributor (and organizer of other distributors, with Shonda's & JVN's help sometimes) of breadcrumbs, morsels and golden nuggets! The breadcrumbs are so much fun to find, and they can also be confusing and frustrating! Shit stirrer indeed. Xx

Nicola also has ruffled some feathers because of her political and social beliefs (support of the LGBTQ community [Gay Icon!] and abortion rights in Northern Ireland), humanitarian work. From my perspective, GOOD work! To others who perhaps have a vested interest in the status quo? Shit stirrer indeed. Xx

Yes, we Lukola fans know that Nicola and Luke don't owe us anything and that privacy is their right. We also know that Tomdaya took years before they acknowledged their relationship publicly. We should be prepared for the long haul, yes? Yes. 🥴 Le sigh.

As we enter into a new year I know the question for me will be how much of my time, energy and heart will I place into all things Lukola? Over the next week or so I'll think about the wonderful connections I've made in our Lukola community (and the angst I've experienced because of divisions)... I'll think about how fun breadcrumb speculation is, how I relish the hunt for golden nuggets (those solid truths that are ballast for our ship)... and of course the enthusiasm (and agony) that I feel for the ongoing watch for launch.

Today I'm feeling tired and at times, discouraged. My plan is to relax, reassess and come to 2025 with a fresh mindset. No obsession... just patience and fun will be the aim... and keeping up with this blog too.

Will you be on the ship with me in 2025? Or will Nicola and Luke launch before the New Year and save us all from the misery?! Ha!!

Cheers to Christmas, Happy Hanukkah, Merry Seasonal Celebrations... and to my fellow Commonwealth Countries, Yay for Boxer - I mean Boxing - Day (Dec 26th)!!

Aaniin Xx

P.S. Best doggos in the whole wide world! Convince me otherwise ;-)

[sestrahulk]

Tatiana Maslany raises funds for pro-Palestinian organisations via her Instagram Stories

The scale of death and destruction inflicted by Israel and its Western enablers is unconscionable. I'm proudly supporting this t-shirt fundraising campaign by Pressure Cooker Arts. All profits from each t-shirt go to raise crictical funds for UNRWA, MSF UK and Makan.

Get your shirt HERE