#i feel so relieved when i look more masculine to people

[sexydoffyman]

Can you write a size kink scenario where Konig has anal sex with a much larger m!reader, and m!reader's cock is too big for him? M!reader is 8ft tall and built like a shot putter, for reference.

SIZE KINK

genre: smut

characters: König

A/N: I researched the size of a male 6’10 human rectum just for this post I hope you appreciate it!🐞

He was panting uncontrollably. He wasn’t used to stuff like this. His hands were shaking and he was barely able to hold himself up. Usually, it was he who was the bigger one, he never understood why his partners always asked him to be more gentle. He felt as if He couldn’t get more gentle. He always felt like they were overreacting. That was until he met you.

You had him pressed into the mattress. This time he wasn’t the one in charge. He felt humiliated that a man as huge and masculine as him was in this position. His mates dared him to go on a one-night stand with you. For some reason he accepted. He told us straight away. “I got dared to sleep with ya.” Was what came out of his mouth.

You understood right away why they dared him to do it. Unfortunately for him, he didn’t, but he was about to find out. He felt strange and embarrassed that he had to ask you to slow down. This was the first time someone had him pinned down. He couldn’t move at all.

“Common, get up sweets.” You laughed at him, teasing him. He was a dick, and you were there to put him in his place. When he eventually tried to get up, you pressed deeper into him. He made an unholy sound and completely stopped trying. Frustrated, he yelped out “How big even are ya, you monster?!”

You found this as an opportunity to tease him even more. “Desperate to find out?” “Agh! No, fuck off!” He was so pissed. So pissed that he wasn’t able to take you. “Too much for ya sweets?” He hated it when you called him that. He was always calling people degrading nicknames. Now he was the target.

He kept grunting. He knew he would win that damned dare no matter what. “Common sweets try harder.” You chuckled as you thrusted with what you felt was a normal amount of force. He didn’t feel that way. You were basically rearranging his insides.

“God damnit!” He grunted. He was close, and you could feel it. “Let it all out darlin.” “FUCK OFF!” He yelled as he came into your sheets. “You are so cute when you struggle.” Now, he had to face another problem. He was done, but you weren’t.

He felt so pathetic that you made him cum. You went a bit rougher, not caring about his well-being. Your moans filled the room as he just let you use his body to get off. He felt relieved when you finally came. You filled him up. Sperm leaking out of his asshole. You pulled out only to see his stretched anus. You had to laugh to yourself.

You got up and started putting on clothes. He felt weird that you didn’t want to stay. And that’s when he realised. That this was all fucking planned. All the things he did to people smaller than him you did to him. You were probably paid to do this.

As you were leaving the room, you looked at him. “You look like you enjoyed that way too much, so stop lying to yourself. Whenever you want to be dicked down, you know where to find me sweets.” You smirked at him. “No way that he actually enjoyed that. You had to be faking it.”

He couldn’t finish thinking when you turned to him one last time. “You asked how big I am.” He waited for a follow-up. “Looking like a puppy at me. You really have to want it inside you again.” He sighed you tricked him again. You opened the door and started to leave. You spoke one last thing before you closed the door.

“Eight inches”

[deansapplepie]

Use me as you Wish

Summary: Catherine Greene’s life was upside down and Daryl’s hopes were shattered in a million pieces. They found some solace in each other that night.

Pairing: Daryl Dixon x Catherine Greene (OC)

Word Count: 2k

Warnings: mentions about death, mentions of putting people down, mentions of sickness, smut, sex, unprotected p in v, cum eating (?), vulnerability, Cath is 30 yo. Slightly proof read, so may contain mistakes. Minors do not interact, 18+.

A/N: there’s been years I don’t write and OC and I don’t write in first person, so I’m somehow excited about it and anxious too. I wanted to create an OC again and I had this wish of writing a Greene character different from the ones I usually see on the stories and how I actually think would be a Hershel daughter in a relationship with Daryl and also how I think Hershel would have reacted. No Hershel here, but here is my Greene OC on this first piece of story. Also, nothing against other Greene readers or OCs I saw around, I just wanted to do mine.

I didn’t want this first story to be smut, but it looks like everything I touch becomes smut. 😅

I never believed the dead people walking around were actually sick, I saw sick people before. I saw my stepmom and step brother getting sick and eventually dying. Those were not them anymore but they looked like them and because of that I didn’t do anything when my dad locked them in the old barn. What could I do? We had no information about anything anymore so I just trusted whatever my father believe, who could be wiser than him at the moment? Later I learned the dead people should be put ‘dead’ again, but I would never have it in me to do that to ‘them’. I also didn’t do anything as he continued to lock neighbors and other ones that were found wandering around the farm. I couldn’t kill a chicken, would I ever be able to kill one of those creatures? I didn’t know how to shoot, I also didn’t know how to stab. Once, my dad tried to teach me how to kill a pig, I missed the heart and just put the poor thing into more suffering.

All that being said, the mixed feelings I had, when the group that came from Atlanta opened the barn and shoot one after the other, the neighbors and my family, could be easily explained. Well, some people could understand that at the same time I felt relieved they were put to rest and we didn’t had to worry with the danger, I also felt sorrow because if there was any hope they could be cured or brought back, it didn’t exist anymore.

After that so many things happened and I didn’t know exactly how but I remember one minute I was in the kitchen and the next I was standing in the middle of his camp a recipient with dinner in my hand, offering peace, maybe? Since they arrived I couldn’t take my eyes from him and he would haunt my thoughts night and day, like a teenage girl with a crush, but the thing was… I was far from this.

The curiosity brought me closer to him, or as close as he would allow me. I tried to help as much as I could about the girl they were looking for, I brought to them the things my dad allowed us to share with them, I helped taking care of him when he got injured. So we would talk, he was witty, sassy and grumpy. He was masculine, rustic and handsome. I was bewitched by him, and he didn’t even know he could do this.

“Watcha doing here?” I was startled by his voice, lost in my thoughts in the middle of his camp which he had changed for a place farther than everyone’s.

“I brought you dinner, you didn’t join us.” I answered calmly although I sensed the bitter tone in his voice.

“What? Did ya expect me to join you after all that happened and play house?” He towered me, the moonlight iluminated his skin… he was so handsome, but also could be intimidating. I constantly felt intimidated, but there was just something to him that kept me going on.

“I… I never expected it, Daryl. Never wanted you to act as if nothing happened. I know how much effort you put on it.”

“Yeah… why did ya hid the fact the girl was there all that time? Why didn’t ya say anything about the barn?” By that time he knew none of us knew Sophia was there, but I got it. He was upset. He was upset with me, I never said anything about the barn. That was something I knew. Something I could have shared.

“I was scared, ok? My dad said to not tell a thing! Do you think I ever felt comfortable having them so close?” My voice tone got higher for the first time.

“Didn’t seem uncomfortable ta me.” His eyes burned into mine, eyes so gentle before seamed able to make a hole into my soul at any moment.

“I was! It was so difficult knowing my stepmother and stepbrother were there. I couldn’t do anything for them.” I still remembered the day we locked them there.

“Could’ve put an end on this for them.” It’s so easy to say it when you’re Daryl Dixon.

“Could I? You saw how I shoot, you saw how I hold a knife all kind of wrongs! Do you think I could have done that and survived?” Our chests were pretty much against each other and how we got this close is still a mystery to me.

I could listen to his breath, loud and raged. I felt his chest every time he breathed. His warm breath fanned over my face and his blue eyes that bored into my brown ones had something that I couldn’t read this time. Was it understanding? Defiance? There was something else in it. “Cath…” The nickname rolled easy from his tongue it was the first time he didn’t called me Catherine or any other silly nickname he decided to use.

“Yes?” I answered breathlessly, the air had been stolen from my lungs, my eyes glued to his face, descended to his lips, the same lips I had seen my name rolling from.

My lips were parted as if they seek for air, his eyes descended to them and in the next moment I understood that when my nickname left his lips, that was an alert, a warning. I wouldn’t listen to it anyways. His lips crashed against mine, fervent, urgent, a surprise I was willing to reciprocate. All those days feeling bothered, flustered… the attraction I felt for him finally having the upper hand.

When I hit my back against a tree, I noticed we had walked and now his body pressed me to it. The recipient with his food? I had no idea where I lost it. One of his hands laid on my waist while the other grabbed my thigh lifting my leg and pressing our centers together.

“Tell me ta stop… tell me…” His lips hovered mine, so close but stopping the kiss completely.

“Daryl… use me.” The words I never expected saying left my lips. “Do everything you want, use me as you wish…” I murmured feverishly, I would be lying if I said he was the only one that was going to use someone. I was also using him, at that moment I just wanted to forget. Forget everything that happened earlier, forget my dad had disappeared, forget the state Beth was in the moment and to begin with… forget how angry he was at me when that conversation began.

He crashed his lips against mine again, my back pressioned against the tree. My legs locked around his waist and his fingers burried in the flash of my thighs, his hands were warn against my skin my dress skirt rising up. I put my arms around his neck and my finger locked around his short hair.

We stopped the kiss, gasping for air, but not for too long. He walked with me on his arms taking me to his tent and laying on the cot, not very delicately I must say, but at that moment I didn’t mind. I needed him. Fast. Raw. Primal.

I kicked my boots the faster I could. He took off my dress urgently, his eyes popping when he noticed I didn’t wear a bra. I sensed he wanted to say something, but he didn’t. He immediately mouthed one of my breasts, nibbling it and swirling his tongue around the erected nipple, I caressed the back of his head pressing his face more against me. “Oh, Daryl…” I moaned, as he bit my skin harshly. That would definitely leave a mark, thankfully a hidden one. He changed his attention to the other one, it was delicious.

When I said he could use me, I thought he would do it, think only about him, but here he was making me feel so good. Maybe, he needed this and I had told him to use me as he wished, hadn’t I?

I heard the noise of his belt being unbuckled and excitement rushed through me. His mouth left my skin and before I had the chance of doing anything, or taking a peak at his hard cock, he got me in a sitting position. He was on his knees, sitting on his legs, and me? Well, he lifted me to sit on him, his hand descended to my clothed pussy, the anticipation consuming me… He put my panties aside and positioned his cock with my entrance going all the way in in just one swift movement. A loud cry left my lips while he groaned, almost painfully.

“Ya okay?” He asked, talking for the first time since we started.

“Yeah, just keep going. I need this, we need this.” I was so full all at once that it felt a little overwhelming but that’s how it was supposed to be. That’s what I wanted to feel.

He helped moving me up and down on him, he trusting his hips against mine. My lips encountered his one more time, I could never get enough of it. Our kiss muffled his groans and my moans, his hand grabbed firmly on my waist and thigh, his fingers imprinting on my soul.

His mouth descended to my jaw, my neck and went back to my breasts where he got back to his earlier work. Definitely a tits man, or maybe just a man that knew how to appreciate a women’s body because the way he grabbed my thighs and ass… I continued pressing his face against my skin, my hand on his nape locked on his short hair while our hips moved frantically against each other making the most sinful sounds.

I was close, that coil was building in my lower stomach and my walls contracted around him. “Daryl… I’m close…” I felt it could be at any moment.

“Come on, kitten. Let it go… cum fer me.” He said by my ear when he raised his face.

I crumbled in one big electrifying wave, my hips moving aimlessly, my head thrown back as my body convulsed against his. His voice muffled by my excited brain that couldn’t focus on anything but pleasure. His cock twitched inside me and that moment as a device I clicked back to reality as he lifted my body and hot spurts of his spending painted our torsos. That was probably the hottest thing I ever saw.

When he seamed that be back at his senses, he looked at my body taking in the mess we had done, and as ‘mess’ it could have many different interpretations. What was he thinking about? It was so difficult to know, till he moved and his hand made it’s way up my body ‘cleaning’ the cum he had let printed on me, just shove 2 fingers inside my mouth… which I cleaned, no questioning, just savoring the salty flavor of his seed mixed with our sweats. I just accept whatever he wanted from me, I told him to use me. Didn’t I?

He took a rag from somewhere inside his tent and cleaned our bodies, silent, no words and no harshness. Very delicate if compared to the way he manhandled me to whatever he wanted. When he finished putting my dress again and dressing his pants, I started to look for my boots and was stopped by him.

“Stay.” He said, freezing me in place. Again he surprised me, I never expected he would want me to stay. I never took him for a bad person or a man that would just throw away the women he conquered, but I new he had his boundaries and I wasn’t really expecting for that. He wanted comfort.

“Ok.” I answered and stopped looking for my boots and started looking for the place where we’d lay to sleep.

Daryl Dixon never stopped to amaze me.

Wanna be added to my tag list? Let me know. (Please tell me if you want to be tagged on everything or just specific series)

Cathy Greene’s Taglist: @silentlysurffering98 @alyssaforevermore

Everything Taglist: @lilyevanstan1325 @hayley1998 @vaniniweenie @cupidelocke @avabh12 @whore4romance @dixondystopia @dixons-sunshine @bigbaldheadname @negansbestie @gabriella-aesthetic @fluffy-dixon @lunajay33

[idontknowreallywhy]

The Last of Them

Not quite sure what this is… it started as a little tribute to David Graham who, while maybe most famous for voicing Parker twice, also brought original Gordon to life.

Then it developed a life of its own and I’m not entirely sure what it became - by its very nature it refers to multiple major character deaths but they are all very old. So I hope it is ok. Maybe don’t read if you’re feeling fragile!

I put them in order of the VAs passing because that seemed right in the circumstances. Apologies if that means it is The Wrong Order for how you imagine it.

💛💛💛💛💛💛💙💚🧡❤️💛💛💛💛💛💛

He never expected to be The Last.

They’d all lived to a good age. They’d all achieved what they wanted to achieve.

But even Tracys didn’t live forever. And Gordon had not expected to be The Last.

Virgil had been first. He was never first at anything and this had been absolutely the last race Scott ever wanted to be beaten in. He took it as a personal affront that the universe seemed to want to run the curtain calls out of order.

Secretly, Gordon believed it had been a stroke of luck. In retrospect, he had been relieved. He knew his tender-hearted brother would have struggled the most at having to say goodbye to one of them and carry on. Gordon knew more than any of them, more than Scott, perhaps even than the man himself, how heavily Virgil carried the burden of attending Scott’s first (thankfully premature) funeral and that his darkest fears had always been centred on doing that again. Perhaps that had been why he’d refused the more experimental, increasingly desperate treatments Scott was lining up. He’d said he was happy, he was content and wanted to face the next adventure at home with his family, ALL of his family, not in a bubble in San Francisco.

Even now, when he closed his eyes, Gordon could still feel that last hand squeeze. Could still hear that rumbling voice telling him he’d done good today. He’d had his brother’s last little throwaway gift - a sketch of a grizzly bear with a squid clinging to its face - engraved at 5x scale on to a steel plate.

As time passed, the voice in his memory became younger, the eyebrows darker.

Scott himself had faltered, hard. But eventually, with the assistance of a horde of grandchildren and great grandchildren, had refocused and thrown himself into the role of patriarch that he’d been reluctant to embrace since Dad had passed. He’d lavished all his vast stores of energy on the subsequent generations as if determined they would know how much he cared before it was too late.

Scott hadn’t expected to outlive TinTin, John or Penny either. But the universe kept shuffling the deck of cards until Grandpa Scott finally gave his last cheeky salute and went to find them.

And then there were two. And Gordon was the oldest. Which had been weird, although expected.

Alan had always hated being the last.

When Gordon had poked his head around the door as the doctor left, his baby brother had been serious, staring out of the window. He’d swallowed and walked quietly over to his bedside but as soon as Gordon had been within reach Alan had turned and punched him in the shoulder and smirked that same irritating little brother smirk he’d smirked for over eight decades:

“Tag!”

Gordon had blamed the tears on tiny, weedy child-knuckles faintly bruising his broad, masculine shoulders.

Alan had just cackled.

Gordon had never expected to be The Last.

But so it had been.

Sometimes the media people dared him to reveal his secret. As if somehow he’d achieved something his brothers had not… As if they had missed a trick… he would look them dead in the eye and swear he’d spliced his DNA with a bowhead whale. At which point they’d usually smile awkwardly, check their notes for references to dementia then back away from the stupid, stupid questions.

He had never expected to be The Last, but as The Last, he had become all of them.

When four generations sat round and told stories of the Tracy family, he was the guardian of the old ones. The original ones. The ones they all knew but pretended not to notice him embellishing. How Scott was faster, Virgil stronger, John more all-knowing, Alan more daring every time the tales were retold.

To the world at large he was a kind of talisman. Whenever IR was mentioned in the media, it became Gordon’s image that was used. Despite having never been in command of either IR or TI, it was his comment people wanted. So he would give one, often irreverent or purely nonsensical and with the same wink his eldest brother had been famous for. It was genetic, after all.

He played unpredictable and eccentric old billionaire nearly as well as he played crazy sentimental Grandpa.

As long as they didn’t ask the stupid questions. He had spent a little while in the pool, gently washing off the lingering taint of today’s holo-interview appearance on some news show. He always did them when asked, the Tracys positive reputation enabled the family to do a lot of good on a global scale and cute old guy Gordon apparently helped. It wasn’t a lot to ask. Scott would have done it, so, therefore, did Gordon. And he would carry on, as long as he had all his marbles. And then maybe just a little longer… to wind them all up.

He sighed. However he might suggest that stricter pre-screening was going to be needed in future.

“So, Mr Tracy, how does it feel to be the last of the old guard?”

He’d swallowed the bitter “How do you think?” The questioner had looked about twelve, they had no idea. No idea how it stung. So he’d called it an honour. Then shifted quickly to the agreed script about their campaign to make Safety and First Aid a compulsory part of the school curriculum in many countries.

Yes, a little more consideration for the ancient squid-man’s lonely heart wouldn’t go amiss. EOS would sort it. He liked EOS. She still got his pop culture references and she hadn’t locked him out of anywhere for years.

His minder for the pool excursion - one of Scott’s great grandkids… or possibly John’s… he was beginning to lose track - patted him on the hand and left him tucked up warmly in a fluffy robe on a lounger to watch the sunset.

Goodness he was tired.

He yawned and wriggled a little, then smiled to himself at the sound of the kids coming out on to the deck arguing about something or other. Alan’s traditional shriek as Virgil yeeted him into the pool was followed swiftly by the combined laughter of the elder trio who claimed the loungers beside and behind Gordon. A count of five, then the littlest bro had his revenge by leaping atop Virgil and soaking him before stealing half of Gordon’s robe and the majority of his elbow room.

Too contented to really complain, Gordon slung an arm over the soggy teen and let his brothers’ voices surround him as he drifted off to sleep.

[darknessisafriend]

You are my Empire Commodus x Reader

Here's a little one shot about Commodus being a sub in your relationship, smut and fluff, enjoy!

The flutes, claps and cheers filled the palace, effervescence and joy for the Calendae Ianuariae, New Year. Statues of Janus were erected in all Rome, the double face deity looking to the past and towards the year to come. You smiled, finding yourself looking towards the past…

It was about a year ago, you were exactly at the same place for New Year, having to bear with mundane whispers and gossiping of the court, but you heard everything, and people found pleasure confiding in you.  It used to be the incarnation of boredom, having to wear a smile as if you didn’t crave to go home. Today you still thanked the gods for not listening to yourself, for that night your life had changed. You had met your husband, Commodus, son of Marcus Aurelius and Emperor of the Roman Empire.

“Careful not to get lost in your memories. Someone might take advantage of it.” Said a charming masculine voice from behind you, you felt the man approach, leaning closer to your ear, making you smile “Still as beautiful as the first day I laid my eyes upon you.” He cooed, coming to stand in front of you, a glass of wine in each hand, handing one to you, Commodus, the man of your heart.

“Such praises and care tonight…” you commented, happily accepting the glass and taking a sip of this round and powerful Gaul wine. Commodus looked at you in the eyes, devoted, obsessed.

“I serve to please you, my love. And Rome.” He answered in a whisper, you had recently taken the first place in his thoughts, managing to distract him from the turbulence and violence of the Senate. After all, you had one advantage…

“Then I hope that the night is only starting for us. As the roman tradition wants…let us start the year as we want it to be all year along…” you teased him with a smile he knew too well.

“And what could that be, my queen?” he asked, a hint of hope in his voice as if he was craving something.  You slightly leaned forward to speak on the confidence tone.

“Kneel.” You requested; your voice only hearable by your husband. His eyelids briefly fluttered, as if he had been waiting for these words.

“How daring of you to ask this of your emperor.” He retorted on a dangerous tone, you were seeing the fierce lion again, untamable, unwilling to submit. But you knew it was a façade he pulled in front of the public and so his face softened. “But you are worth submitting too.” He whispered as he knelt after making sure no one was around, luckily you had gone to an intimate corner and on purpose. You savored as the mightiest man in the world, placed his hands on his lap as he looked at you from below, his eyes shining with devotion, love.

It was something you had understood soon enough in your marriage. Commodus craved submission, he could be the leader, the one with a speech that won’t be contested. He had a high position, yet he didn’t want power or wealth. All he desired was to serve people, his people, please the empire, please the Senate, his sister and you. You had dompted him, earned his trust, cracked the shell open to reveal a vulnerable boy seeking comfort to face the rest.  

“Good boy.” You smiled, taking a step closer to cup his chin, lifting it a bit more as you leaned forward, placing a light and slow kiss upon his lips; he closed his eyes, sighing, relief washing over him, he had been busy all night with requests from senators and nobles, now he could let go. Your fingers made their ways down his neck, feeling his quickening pulse, sliding underneath his tunic to play with a thin leather string tied around his neck, pulling on it to press his lips more against yours, hearing his fists grab the fabric of his toga.

“Take your leave. I shall excuse you to our guests and join you when it’s done.”  You ordered him as you parted from him, hearing him retain a whimper of happiness. By taking the lead you relieved him of suffering more the presence of political guests, he only had to leave and wait for your return.

Excusing the Emperor next to all his guests took as long as you expected, close to an hour. Commodus must have been on the edge waiting for you all that time, but as you made your way to the emperor’s private chambers, you found yourself remembering the first time you had attempted to tame Commodus during an intimate moment. Oh he had been furious as you resisted him and instead tried to reverse the roles. He had been confused as to whatever he was doing was bad, if he hadn’t been told about this peculiar power of wives, or if you were a danger to his position.

“I apologize if my attitude troubles you. I perhaps wrongly assumed you would enjoy this. I merely wanted to…” you had caressed his face tenderly, looking at him in the eyes with all the devotion you had for him. “I want to make you understand that you can fully trust me and let go whenever you are with me, you don’t have to pretend or be on your guards. We are past this, you know I adore you. I want to take care of you…” at his words you had witnessed a change in his eyes, in this moment of extreme vulnerability you had touched a sensitive spot.

“No one ever said that to me.” He had replied, moved, from the start he had trusted you, making you his greatest friend before asking for your hand; your words were the proof he wasn’t wrong about you. From that moment on, Commodus had surrendered to your hand, your will.

And here he was, tonight once again, as you penetrated the imperial chambers. He was waiting for you, stripped of any clothing but the leather string around his neck. He was in the same position as before, kneeling with his hands folded on his lap, his head lowered. He was shivering, both from excitement and cold. You quietly closed the door behind yourself, detailing him as he had recognized your footsteps, his breathing quickening, anticipation building, the temptation to look at you…

“Poor Commodus, you must have thought I had forgotten about you.” You cooed playfully.

“Never mistress. I trust you fully…I just worried that…” he started but was interrupted by your thumb on his lips, you were here now, and you would take care of him. You let go of his face and went to sit on the bed, facing him. “Everything has been taken care of. You did good tonight, pretending to care about their insignificant problems, they believed you, I saw it.” You praised him softly, gesturing with your fingers for him to join you.

Commodus’ eyes lit up, he went on all fours and slowly crawled to your feet. You loved to watch the muscles of his shoulders work as he did this, resembling a predator, almost. He came to brush his face against your knee, you could almost hear him purring. He exhaled happily, placing kisses on your thigh. “I will have them killed tomorrow.” He said with a grin but gasped when you grabbed his hair, pulling on them to make him look at you.

“Haven’t I taught you patience? Or have you forgotten already?” you asked, watching his pupils dilate, once again he was following his impulses too easily.

“I am sorry. I won’t kill them yet.” He muttered but knew it wasn’t enough, that he would be punished for it, after all, he had done it on purpose, he loved when you taught him a lesson. Your foot went to caress his legs, sliding between them, almost reaching his crotch but not touching it, your toes brushing against his inner thighs which squeezed in anticipation.

You clicked your tongue “Keep them open.” Your ordered, making him lick his lips. His arousal was starting to show, his nipples hardening just like his cock. You retracted your leg, and stood up, going in front of the bronze mirror. Slowly, you started to undo the pin that was holding together your tunic, letting the fabric slide off your curves, you wore nothing under for this special night. You heard him take a deep breath; you were starting to make it hard for him to control himself.

As you turned round, you met his eyes making him quickly turn his head away. You approached, a little smile playing on your lips, that boyish impatience of his had made you fall for him in the first place. You circled around him, your fingers tracing his shoulders “Patience is a virtue you can acquire…lay low, observe your enemies, watch them rip each other apart, let Pluto take them…all they want is that you act so you can make a mistake. Allow them to show who they really are, those old men haven’t much time left to live, they don’t have the time to be patient. The People will see who the traitors of Rome are.” You murmured, your tone almost playful, you enjoyed politics.

Then you moved away from him once again, Commodus could feel his skin grow cold, he craved your touch, to be buried in your reassuring embrace. He watched as you laid in bed in front of him, slowly parting your legs to give him a view on your Venus mount.

“Stay. Do not move Commodus. You will learn that with patience, you can get what you desire, and it tastes even better…” you purred, giggling as he swallowed down. When it came to lust, Commodus was full of eagerness, sometimes not even waiting to be in your private quarters but taking you in some dark corner of a corridor to slide his head under your tunic or chasing the servants out of the kitchen to roughly pound you on the table, loving as you slapped his face in fluster.

You hummed as your caressed your breast with your hands “I have missed your mouth Commodus...your poet lips dancing on my nipples…” you lightly pinched your bosom, letting out a soft moan. He adjusted himself, as if to be closer but he was already pressed against the edge of the bed, his eyes greedily following your fingers, how much he craved that breast. He watched your breathing quicken under excitement, his cock throbbing against his belly.

His eyes trailed down your body, to your glistening entrance, so ready to be tasted, filled. Your hand briefly shielded your pussy from his gaze, hearing a strangled whimper from the Emperor, how could you prevent him from watching you? Oh sweet torture from the wife he adored. He reached to touch himself but retracted his hand, you wouldn’t agree in that moment.

“Good Commodus, excellent…ah..” you moaned, praising him for resisting his impulse, letting him look again as you pleasured yourself, looking at him, your only source of desire, those scarred lips, his round and soft face, those curly raven hair begging to be pulled and those eyes…the most expressive eyes you had ever seen, so deep and passionate, dangerous…

Your pleasure was fast increasing, your pussy quivering with impatience, you even started to struggle with eye contact in fear of reaching your peak already. You kept circling around your soft spot for a bit more until you felt you had reached your limit, just like Commodus whose eyes had become teary with desire, he was panting, it took all his strength to resist you.

“Commodus…how do you feel?” you asked seriously, wanting him to feel the difference, to learn. At first, he seemed confused by your question, then focused, what would have happened if he had followed his impulses? He would be done by now, perhaps regret, understand some mistakes he did, feel relieved but would he be satisfied?

“I feel...powerful, as if I could accomplish the labors of Heracles. I savor the sight of what I have in front of my eyes, memorize every detail, think of the best way to act, how to please...” he answered, understanding what you had taught him, the benefits of patience and he was about to taste it all.

“Good.” you smiled, how beautiful, how fragile and yet how strong he was “Join me, your wife commands you.” You purred, he almost couldn’t believe it and grinned, finally! He quickly jumped onto the bed, closing the gap between you two, his lips crashing against yours, placing himself between your legs, his cock rubbing along your slit. Then, he guided it inside you, moaning loudly as he buried inside you, your fingers grasping his hair needily. His moans were raw, high pitched sometimes, his brows furrowed as if his pleasure had been multiplied, he could finally enjoy the relief of being reunited to his wife, feel your warm embrace around him. His senses were overwhelmed, sharper, he was conscious of every bit around him. He looked at you, smiling a bit among the moans, he understood what you meant. “How wise you are…” he praised devotedly your unusual methods, filling your face in kisses, thrusting passionately, enjoying your hands running on his back until your nail dug into his back, marking him once again with your love.

Soon, you found yourselves laying in each other’s arms, panting with your legs entwinned, your hand playing with the leather string around his neck as his fingertips traced your nipple gently.

“I never thought my marital life would be like this.” He said softly, deep in thoughts, he was at peace, a little smile on his lips.

“How so? Did imagine something radically different?” you asked, arching an eyebrow. You were a stubborn woman who knew what you wanted, you had always imagined a relationship of trust and power.

“Of course. The senators have wives they rarely love and instead countless mistresses. My father and mother was quite the affair…passionate. But she cheated on him one day with a gladiator, he caught them in the act and killed him, as the man laid dead in a puddle of blood, he took my mother again. Not long after…mother died in a military camp. Some say father poisoned her, other say she killed herself. All of this to say that we are not like the couples we see around us. We care and respect each other.” He explained, kissing your inner wrist devotedly “How many men can claim they can sleep with both eyes closed next to their wife? to talk about their political projects or to weep in their arms? You and I are blessed, the gods put you in my path…” he cooed fondly, looking at you in the eyes “No one stands a chance against us, and I lay the Empire at your feet Y/N.”

Tag list: @skaravile @lyoongx @weirdflecksbutok @stardancerluv @sgtsavoytruffle​ @ohcarlesmycarles​ @rajacero @niniitah-ah @morrisonmercurryphoenix @fly-like-a-phoenix​ @thatdummy-girl​ @galos-writing @hopelessdisasterr @buttergirlie​ @rosebloodstuffandthangss​ @clowndaddyfleck @jaylovesbats @dreamingmarie​ @just-a-fucking-comedy​ @lady-carnivals-stuff @sierraclegane @lemondedeniname​​ @hvproductions​​ @syvellsworld​​ @papercut-paranoia​​ @jokerflecker ​ @bring-your-holy-water @five-miles-over​ @beatlebabe1996​ @kfanniart @soulsfrostedheart18 @pstvchld @chiclunatic

[random-thot-generator]

Better Not to Know + Pt. 2

KYLE GAZ GARRICK x FEM READER

-

Summary: It's been months, but you've not been able to forget the stranger you hooked up with in a night club bathroom. Then again, it hard to forget someone who left such a lasting impression.

Warnings/Tags: no serious warnings, mild profanity, no smut this round, no use of Y/N

(Notes: This one wouldn't leave me alone either, so here's a second installment. Bit of a cliffhanger at the end. Yeah, I'm a literary sadist.)

banners & dividers by: @saradika-graphics

-

March comes in a like a lion, the wind and rain making it a misery to step foot out-of-doors. Small wonder that your boss decides to send you to pick up his dry cleaning for him instead of doing it himself. Why risk ruining his tailored suits and Italian shoes, when he could just send you, who bought your clothes off the clearance rack?

Umbrella clutched in your fist, you hurry along the sidewalk, dodging puddles and people as you make your way to the dry cleaners. You're relieved to see there's not a line, counting your blessings as you step through the door. An automated chime announces your arrival— bing-bong.

"Hullo. Can I help you?" A young woman with colorful tats sleeving her arms and teal hair gives you a customer service smile from behind the counter.

You pull the ticket from the pocket of your raincoat and slide it over with a tight smile. "Just a pick-up."

The young woman picks up the slip of paper, heavily lined eyes scanning the ticket before flickering over your damp, bedraggled form. "Be just a tick, luv," she murmurs, disappearing through a curtained doorway.

With nothing better to do, you drift over to a display of travel-size stain remover sticks, not bothering to turn around when the door opens, a gust of wind fluttering the hem of your coat. The automated chime sounds, drawing Tattoo Girl out of the back with what you assume is your boss' dry cleaning held aloft in one hand.

"Well, hullo, handsome!" she greets her new customer with a wide, toothy smile. "Got your uniform ready. Just need to take care of this lady first."

You don't look back to see who she's addressing, all your attention focused on fishing your boss' credit card out of your pocket. You do absently notice that the new customer smells nice. You catch notes of sandalwood and pine, a hint of musk, definitely masculine and strangely familiar. You also don't fail to notice how Tattoo Girl keeps glancing over your shoulder as she rings you up, the remnants of her wide smile still lingering.

"Here you go," she says, handing over the dry-cleaning bag and receipt, her eyes already focused on her more desirable customer.

"Thanks," you mutter, drawing the bag over the counter and draping it over your arm. Pulling the sides of your coat together, you turn, curious eyes flicking up to catch a glimpse of the man who has so distracted the pretty cashier, then almost trip over your own feet as you stumble to a halt.

"No bloody way," you breathe in a shocked whisper, staring up at the face that's been haunting you for the last five months.

His eyes widen at the same time yours do, recognition clear in his expression. "Christ, I don't believe it," he mutters, a mystified smile curving his sensuous lips. "It's really you."

You feel the same way. You can't believe it's really him, the gorgeous bloke from the club, Mr. Tall, Dark and Dangerous himself. "Um— wow. H-Hi."

His soft brown eyes register surprise but also pleasure as they lock with yours and his mega-watt smile appears. "Long time, no see, pet. How ya been?"

You gaze up at him dumbfounded, shaken all the way down to your sensible shoes. It's really him. Holy shit! "I, uh... I'm g-good. And you?" Christ! When did you develop a stammer?

He steps closer, his smile turning into something softer and intimate. "Been doin' alright." His eyes dart over your face, taking you in as if he still can't believe you're real. "This is bloody mad, innit? You wouldn't believe how many times I've..." He lets his words trail off, shaking away his dazed expression. "Ah, never mind. 'M just beyond chuffed to see ya again, pet. You look— lovely."

At least he's pleased to see me again, you think. That's a good sign, isn't it? You adjust the dry-cleaning bag in front of you, suddenly feeling self-conscious.

Tattoo Girl clears her throat, drawing your attention back to the counter. You glance over to see a perturbed little frown on her face, her eyes bouncing back and forth between you and the gorgeous man standing by your side.

"Oh! Sorry," you apologize, stepping away from the counter. You glance back up at him, feeling flustered and more than a little overwhelmed. Gripping the dry-cleaning bag closer to your body, you ignore the fact that you're probably wrinkling your boss' clothes.

"Ha. Making a right nuisance of myself, aren't I?" you murmur with a nervous titter. "It was, um, nice seeing you again, uh..." You give him a sheepish little grin, feeling terribly awkward and thoroughly embarrassed. "I-I'm so sorry. I don't think I ever got your, uh... name." God, how embarrassing...

He shuffles his feet and grins, looking a bit sheepish himself. "It's, uh, it's Kyle," he answers in a soft voice, holding out his hand. "Kyle Garrick." He dips his chin down to meet your eyes, giving you a teasing little smirk. "I don't think I got your name, either."

Taking his hand, you utter your name with a dazed expression as his touch sends warm tingles of awareness shooting up your arm. Neither one of you let go until the Tattoo Girl clears her throat again and sniffs in irritation.

Kyle's brows tick together in mild irritation as he shoots a quick look in her direction, then flicks his gaze back to you. "Would ya mind waiting while I take care of this? It'll just take a moment," he says, sounding anxious. "I'd really like to catch up with ya, maybe buy ya lunch or a coffee?"

Your head bobs in eager agreement. "Yeah, sure. I've got time."

Honestly, you didn't, but to hell with your boss. This is far more important to you.

Stepping out of the way, you wait by the door for him, your mind racing. As you stare at his broad back, your teeth worry at your bottom lip, wondering what he will have to say, then fret over what you're going to say to him. Is he just hoping to hook up again or does his interest go deeper than that? The way he's acting, it seems like it's more than that, but who knows? It's not like you really know him that well. Or at all, really. Jesus, this is nerve-wracking...

By the time Kyle has paid for his dry cleaning and is turning around, you have worked yourself up into a jittery mess. His smile dims as he takes in your nervous expression, concern plain on his face.

"Ya alright, pet?" he asks, stepping close to grasp your elbow. "You look like you're about to be sick."

Shaking your head, you offer him a weak smile. "No, no, I'm fine. I just feel a bit peckish," you lie, not wanting to make a scene. You can see Tattoo Girl staring daggers at the two of you, a petulant frown on her face. "Could we go ahead and get that coffee now? I think I need to sit down."

"Yeah, of course, love," Kyle murmurs, caressing your arm with a worried look. "C'mon, let's go."

He takes your umbrella from your numb fingers and opens the door, holding it for you as he snaps the brolly open over his head. Lifting his arm, he lays it across your shoulders, pulling you into his side as he shifts the umbrella to shield you both from the rain. Casting another worried glance down at you, he leads you to a nearby sandwich shop and quickly ushers you inside.

"Here we go," he murmurs, guiding you over to a table. He takes the dry-cleaning bag from you and drapes it over the back of a chair with his own. "Here, love. Let me take your coat," he offers as he steps behind you, and you're so flustered that you let him slip the coat from your shoulders before realizing your mistake. Quaking in your shoes, you turn to face him.

Kyle stands frozen, his mouth open to say something, his eyes now riveted on your waistline. You glance down as well then stare up into his shocked face, your hands going to your stomach to splay over the gentle swell of your baby bump.

A pained grimace twists your features as you whisper in a shaky voice, "I suppose I should explain."

-

part 1 part 3

[drewmorg4n]

Perhaps a soft and somewhat smutty transmasc insert x negan fic where he’s heavily focused on the readers surgery scars, just tracing them with his fingers and kissing them cause I just know that man has a scar kink

(Also this is just a fully self indulgent req)

Glass Scars

pairing: negan smith x trans male reader

wc: 4,621

tags: smut, fluff but it’s negan so you know, scar kink, oral (reader receiving), only masculine terms used

an: (this is such a basic fic title but my mind blanked out and i couldn’t come up with anything else) i know this literally took forever for me to finish but i think it’s worth it? maybe? idk but i really enjoyed writing this and i hope you enjoy reading :)

dni: cis/fem people…it’s self explanatory

(i tried to add in a really sexy gif here but i’m stupid and it didn’t work so </3)

“Jesus christ, that was a fucking shit show.” Negan exhales heavily. He’s currently hunched over, hands on his knees, completely out of breath.

After running into a small horde of walkers, you and Negan had to basically fight your way through them. There was nowhere to simply stay put and wait it out as they came at you from all directions and quickly boxed you in. Honestly, you were sure you were about to kick the bucket right then and there, but luckily Negan kept an eye on you and stepped in to help you as needed. You truly don’t know what you would do without that man. Die, probably.

“Yeah.” You agree softly, panting. Your pants and tee are basically drenched in blood and some small bits of guts, sticking uncomfortably to your skin. You have to stop yourself from gagging a few times as the smell of it all finally hits you. “We’re going back, right? I really need a shower.” You mention tersely, grimacing at your current state.

Negan sighs. “Fuck, babe. C’mon, you look so hot covered in blood.” He exasperates, slowly striding over to you and enveloping you by your waist, gently pulling you close.

You roll your eyes, though the small smirk attempting to cross your lips eventually betrays you. “Negan, please. This shit smells awful and feels disgusting.” You whine softly, starting to pull out of Negan’s grip even though you really don’t want to.

Negan kisses your cheek before you get too far away from him, his lips tinted red after. “Well, I think we’ve gathered enough supplies.” He mentions, glancing at the few duffel bags that you’d both dropped when the horde approached. “Yeah, let’s go back. This shit does feel fuckin’ disgusting.” He agrees, his form suddenly stiff and uncomfortable.

You nod in response, feeling relieved about Negan’s decision. After tucking away your knife and checking yourself over - making sure you didn’t drop anything - you make your way over to the bags and haul one up, resting heavily on your shoulder. As you move to grab another, Negan moves in the corner of your eye, catching your attention. You glance over and watch him for a moment; he slowly peels off his leather jacket, seemingly in a bit of pain. His white tee underneath is damp with blood, the fabric clinging to his skin. He may be in pain but he also looks extremely attractive like this. You can’t help the way your eyes skim up and down his upper body, taking notice of his hard nipples protruding his tee.

Just as he turns his head to look at you, you also turn, attention back on the bags. You repeat your previous movement with another bag, though luckily this one is a bit lighter. Still, the strain of them on each of your shoulders is definitely gonna hit you later.

As you try to make the weight as bearable as you can, Negan comes over and gathers the rest of the bags; three in total. Negan then leads the way, walking a short distance back to the truck. It was honestly a stupid idea to leave it, but the spot you guys were trying to get to wasn’t accessible by the road as it had been blocked off, which really left no other choice but to walk. You definitely wouldn’t be coming this way again without a few more men.

Just a few minutes later you’re piling the bags into the bed of the truck and soon after making yourself comfortable in the passenger seat. The drive back to the sanctuary shouldn’t take too long, but things aren’t always set in stone out here. You guys could stumble upon another horde or maybe even some people. All you can do is just sit back and wait.

You drift in and out of sleep throughout the whole ride, Negan’s hand a comforting warmth on your thigh. He laughs at you every time your head bobs forward, on the brink of sleep. You only have enough energy to groan softly, exhausted from your previous exertion.

Eventually you’re home, parked in the small parking lot beside the sanctuary. Negan squeezes your thigh a few times, getting your attention. “C’mon.” He says, nodding his head in the direction of the building. “Let’s get cleaned up, hm?” He offers softly, though his voice is deep and husky.

“Mhm.” You hum slowly, still half asleep and feeling very groggy. You manage to get out and step onto the gravel, hearing it crunch beneath your boots. The sound brings a wave of comfort over you, knowing that just an hour ago you were on the verge of death. The slam of Negan’s door rattles you from your thoughts, bringing you back to reality. You take a moment to gather your bearings and close your door, then you slowly make your way to the back of the truck towards Negan.

“I told the guys to get the shit in the back. I’m dying for a shower.” He sighs dramatically, waiting until you’re close enough so he can take your hand in his. He then leads the way, entering through one of the side doors and ascending a few flights of stairs before stopping at the third floor.

He trails down the long hallway, stopping at the door to his room. He lets go of your hand and enters his room, immediately chucking his shirt off and tossing it to the floor. You stand in the doorway for a moment, just watching him. He’s absolutely ridiculous but you love it.

Following him inside, you close the door behind you and lock it as usual. When you turn back around the only piece of clothing left on Negan is his boxers, which happen to also have a few spots of blood on them, probably from the thick liquid seeping through his pants. Lastly, he removes his boxers, sighing in relief.

You’ve seen Negan naked hundreds of times now but each time always feels like the first, sending a shock up your spine and a shiver throughout your entire body. He’s just so alluring and gorgeous, no matter how many times you’ve seen his body; he’s perfect.

You eventually begin to follow Negan’s lead, undressing. You move extremely slow as you’re still very exhausted, but Negan seems to notice this and is quick to step in and help. He unbuckles your belt and unzips your pants, undoing the button and letting your jeans fall down your legs. You hold onto his shoulder as you step out of them and kick them aside. The same movement is done when removing your boxers.

Negan’s hands are on your waist in an instant, skimming them up and down your sides, lightly scratching his nails against your skin. You have to bite back a moan, though it’s not from arousal; Negan’s hands just feel incredibly good and cause you to become even more tired.

“C’mon. I’m gonna fall asleep if we don’t shower soon.” You warn slowly, smiling softly as your eyes begin to close unwillingly.

Negan chuckles deeply, the sound rumbling in his throat. “Alright, alright.” He concedes, his hands coming to a halt. “I just love touching you.” He whispers, lips gracing the shell of your ear. He then plants a few gentle kisses along your neck, ending with a quick nip.

“Yeah, well, you can do that in the shower, y’know.” You point out teasingly, earning another chuckle from Negan.

“You fuckin’ bet I will.” He growls lowly, leaning in for one last nip to your neck.

From there, he finally obeys and leads you to the bathroom, quickly turning on the shower. You both idle for a minute or two as the water begins to warm up, eventually shivering a bit from the cool air touching your skin.

Negan steps in the shower a moment later, pulling you along. The warm water rains down on your head, running down your body and effectively warming you. Before you know it Negan’s massaging shampoo into your hair, the sudden touch startling you a bit. You quickly relax into it, though, tilting your head back and closing your eyes.

A good minute of massaging and Negan’s maneuvering you around the shower, letting the spray of water hit you directly. He gently rinses out the shampoo, placing a kiss to your temple afterwards.

“Thank you.” You say softly, warming even more at Negan’s lips against you. “Let me do you, too.” You offer, moving to reach for the bottle of shampoo and pouring some out onto your hand. After lathering up your hands you reach up and run your fingers through Negan’s hair. He smiles at the feeling, dipping his head down a bit so it’s less of a reach for you.

Once his hair has been thoroughly washed, you help him rinse out the shampoo, wiping away any suds that get too close to his eyes. You give him a quick, chaste kiss after, amused when he furrows his brows and pleads with his eyes for more.

“Later.” You counter, though you’re not even sure if you’ll be awake later. With the way you feel currently, you assume you won’t be, but who knows.

“Why do you always play hard to get?” He chides lowly, swooping in close and wrapping his arms around your waist.

You roll your eyes, offering a soft smile. “Negan, we’re both covered in blood and I’m fucking exhausted. I just wanna shower in peace.” You explain a bit firmly, though the smile covering your lips has yet to drop.

“Well, I can surely be of service.” He assures with a wink, immediately moving to grab your washcloth. After rinsing it out he grabs the bar of soap and lathers up the cloth. He then starts cleaning you up, rubbing the cloth against your skin to get rid of the dry bits of blood. Continuing on, he does the rest of your upper body and then your lower, humming pleasantly once he’s done and sees that you’re clean.

After he rinses out the washcloth and hangs it back up, he again grabs the bar of soap and lathers his hands this time. While you watch him, you immediately know what he’s about to do.

Negan settles himself behind you and slips a hand around your waist, resting gently against your lower stomach. His other hand follows but rests on your groin, soon moving down and slipping your cock between his fingers. The motion makes you gasp, feeling arousal start to build in your gut. When his fingers move down just a bit then back up, you can’t help the moan that slips past your lips.

You honestly thought you were way too tired to get worked up, but clearly you were very wrong about that. You know Negan is still just cleaning you up, but of course his movements are painfully slow - most likely on purpose - which isn’t helping your increasing arousal.

Eventually his movement concludes, removing his hand. You sigh at the lack of touch, somewhat wishing Negan would put his hand back even though you’re still exhausted.

You take a moment to gather yourself before you copy Negan’s actions, offering to wash him off. He lets you do as you please, ridding his body of sticky blood. When your eyes manage to drift down, you’re sort of surprised he’s not hard. With the way he was touching you, you fully expected him to be.

As you finish up, Negan’s hands rest on your chest, trailing down and stopping right above your diaphragm. “Couldn’t see your scars when you were covered in blood.” He comments softly, eyeing your chest. His thumbs glide along them, from edge to edge.

You’re quiet for a long moment, unsure of what to even say to such a comment. His thumbs continue to trace your scars, side to side. “That feels good.” You say, lifting your head to look up at him. He looks totally entranced, eyes following the movement of one of his thumbs.

“Do you know how much I truly adore your scars?” He asks gently, eyes unmoving from your chest.

“Well, I could guess.” You chuckle softly. A smirk creeps onto Negan’s face in return, eyes finally looking up to meet your own. He dips his head down and places kiss after kiss along your neck, trailing them down to your collarbone; each kiss elicits a warm flush throughout your entire body.

Eventually, you completely lose track of time, though; the water runs colder and colder and soon you’re almost shivering.

“Negan, c’mon. We used all the hot water.” You note, slowly pulling yourself out of his grasp. He practically whines at the movement, hands moving quickly to pull you back into him, though you refuse and step back, turning off the water. “I’m freezing.” You grunt softly, looking up at him with annoyance.

“You know I’m a fuckin’ human furnace, babe.” He winks, his usual sly smirk covering his lips. He moves to push aside the shower curtain, stepping out after. He grabs one of the towels set on the counter and unfolds it, holding it up in front of him. “C’mere, let me warm you up.” He offers, softer than before.

You reluctantly step out, quickly wrapped up in the towel with firm, warm arms surrounding you. Negan first dries off your hair, ruffling it with the towel until it’s just damp, then moves onto your body. He’s quick but gentle, working up then down, making sure you’re all dry. Now, without cold droplets of water covering your skin, you’re much warmer but you still feel a deep need for actual heat.

Right as you’re about to head out of the bathroom, aiming to find something warm to wear, Negan stops you with a gentle grip on your forearm.

“Wait. Don’t get dressed.” He requests quickly, loosening his grip on your arm.

You furrow your brows. “Why?” You question curiously, confused.

Negan doesn’t respond for a moment which just manages to confuse you even more, but the light pink blush tinting his cheeks distracts you until he does. “I just like seeing you; your scars, the rest of your body. I love it.” He admits softly, his voice trailing off into a whisper. His cheeks are now red rather than pink, which tells you he was probably nervous to confess such a thing.

Negan’s statement has you at a loss for words, though. Of course he’s not necessarily the softest person, he’s always sarcastic and vulgar, causing him to usually say all the wrong things, but throughout the time you’ve been together, his soft side peeks out more and more each day.

“Oh.” You sigh, trying to muster up the right words to say. “Thank you. I-I-“ You stutter, quickly stopping yourself from continuing. You can’t believe the second you’re vulnerable you immediately start stuttering. Although it’s somewhat expected, it doesn’t make it any less embarrassing.

Negan smiles, holding back a soft chuckle. “It’s alright, baby.” He assures, noticing the nervous expression etched onto your face and wanting to bring you some comfort. “I’m gonna dry off. Just go wait for me.” He nods, quickly kissing your cheek.

You give him a soft smile and then you’re turning around, heading out of the bathroom once again. You end up following through with Negan’s request, ditching your clothes completely. You’re not even that cold anymore, the embarrassment and slightest bit of adrenaline warming you. Once you slide onto the bed, making yourself comfortable on top of the silk sheets, you finally relax. After today, you definitely need a break from beyond the walls. Knowing Negan, he’ll probably be hesitant to let you out again unless he’s by your side, but you’ll worry about that when it happens. For now, you let your limbs go limp and sink into the soft mattress as you wait for Negan.

A few short minutes later the bathroom door squeaks open, revealing a naked Negan. He wastes no time getting into bed; he pushes apart your legs and settles himself between them, his chest against your stomach. He really is a human furnace.

Soon enough you feel his lips against you, kissing up and down your chest, your nipples, your scars. He hums contentedly as he kisses along each scar, from one edge to the other; he doesn’t miss a single spot.

You work your hands into his hair, combing it back as he continues his relentless kissing. After a few minutes, you realize you could definitely fall asleep like this; Negan’s lips grazing your chest. You’re already exhausted, so why not? You let yourself slowly drift off, eyes feeling heavier and heavier as each second passes.

“You’re so perfect, baby. So handsome.” Negan mumbles deeply, his throat and lips vibrating against you.

His soft words cause your eyes to pop open, feeling overwhelmed with affection and love. You somehow still haven’t gotten used to Negan’s praises; each time he says something even remotely good about you, your stomach flips and twists with the strongest feeling of appreciation. You’ve never felt so loved in your entire life.

“Kiss me.” You plead softly, almost whispering. He makes a noise similar to a hum but doesn’t stop what he’s doing. You pull on his hair gently but he resists, ignoring it and continuing his kisses along your chest. “Negan, please.” You groan, tugging on his hair again, though a bit harder this time.

He releases a throaty moan at the harsh pull of his hair, finally relenting and moving up your body, coming face to face with you. His usual sly grin is smeared across his lips, cockiness clearly flowing through him as he idles in front of your face, not making any attempts at moving closer and kissing you.

Feeling annoyed, you hurriedly grab the nape of his neck and pull him close, crashing your lips together. He chuckles at your gesture and struggles to kiss you back for a moment, but rather quickly he settles down and starts moving his lips against your own.

The movement of your lips started off fast but is beginning to slow and match Negan’s pace, which you really don’t mind. As long as you’re kissing him you have nothing to complain about.

Negan’s tongue dips into your mouth slowly, licking past your lips and grazing your teeth with his tongue. The moan that slips out of you is purely accidental but Negan certainly finds the noise pleasurable as his lips curl up into a small smirk.

His hands then skim up your body, stopping below your pecs. Once again he begins to smooth over your scars, each of his thumbs moving back and forth. You have no clue why he seems to be so obsessed with them, but it’s honestly a very relieving feeling knowing that your scars don’t bother him.

Suddenly Negan bites your lip, not hard but the gesture somewhat surprises you. As you relax into it, it feels good, almost intoxicating. Again you moan, wishing he would bite just a little bit harder. As if Negan is capable of reading your mind, he bites down harder a short moment later, eliciting yet another moan from you.

Fuck, his teeth feel so good latched onto your bottom lip, worrying it between his teeth. The sensation of it is almost overwhelming. An immeasurable amount of pressure and heat builds within your groin, quickly becoming unbearable. You grind your hips up, coming into contact with Negan’s cock, his warmth pressed against you lightly.

“Please.” You ground out after pulling out of the kiss, panting. Honestly, you’re not even sure what you’re begging for at this point, you just want to be pleasured, touched. Anything.

Negan hums lowly, smirking as usual. “What do you want? Hm?” He inquires deep but soft. He begins placing kisses to your neck and slowly trails them down to your nipples, kissing each one wetly as his thumbs continue to caress your scars. “What does my pretty boy want?” He murmurs into your skin, his lips vibrating against you softly.

Unwillingly, your hips buck, connecting with Negan’s lower chest. He chuckles against you, lips around one of your nipples. You open your mouth to speak but find that you simply can’t. Instead of words coming out of your mouth, a loud moan slips past your lips. Without even thinking you grab Negan's hair, both hands twined into bundles of strands. You pull up, even though that’s not the direction you want him to go in, you just desperately need to tug on something.

Negan groans softly at the pull of his hair, humming lowly after. Before he kisses down the rest of your torso, his tongue darts out and ever so slowly licks across each of your scars, making you shiver.

“Jesus.” You gasp softly, a bit shocked. Negan must really have a thing for scars. Either way, his tongue feels good on you, tracing side to side.

Once he seems to have his fill of your scars, he kisses down your stomach all the way to your groin. You whine as you feel his lips getting closer and closer to such a sensitive area, resisting the urge to roll your hips. He places feather light kisses to the inside of your thigh, trailing them up and down. He’s kissing everywhere you don’t want him to; not that it doesn’t feel good but you’re so pent up with arousal that it’s starting to hurt.

Tightening your grip on his hair, you quickly tug, his head now hovering right above your cock. His eyes flick up to yours, dark and teasing, his usual sly smirk covering his lips.

“Are you gonna tell me what you want now?” Negan asks lowly, feigning curiosity. “Cause I’ve got no fuckin’ clue.” He chuckles soft and deep, resuming his kisses; he’s so full of shit it’s painful.

Negan’s lips are now incredibly close to your dick and you want nothing more than for him to finally put his mouth to work on you. When his kissing doesn’t stop, you finally obey and voice your needs.

“Suck me off.” You whine softly, voice barely reaching a whisper. Your hips roll involuntarily, crotch brushing against Negan’s scruffy chin. Even that slightest bit of friction has you moaning again, just hoping Negan will put a stop to his teasing and finally give you what you want.

Negan laughs darkly, eyes half lidded as he looks up at you. His tongue darts out and skims across his lips, biting it softly as he slowly puts it back in his mouth. “I can’t decide if I should make you beg for it or not.” He teases, smirk never faltering. His fingers rub along your hip, digging in just slightly.

You tighten your hand in Negan’s hair, pulling on it. “Please.” You whimper softly, desperation filling your voice.

Your begging causes Negan’s smirk to grow even wider, his teeth gleaming at you. He’s clearly enjoying this but you’re not sure how much more you can take. You’re so pent up with sexual desire it’s unfathomable.

Negan then begins to plant kiss after kiss to your groin, leading down to your sensitive cock. The second his lips come into contact with your dick you can’t help but buck your hips. Negan’s fingers are quick to dig into your hips and hold you down, though his kissing never stops.

The slight sting coming from Negan’s nails digging into you isn’t unpleasant, it’s actually extremely endearing and only turns you on even more. You’re quickly pulled from the sensation by Negan’s tongue gliding along your cock. You almost scream at how good it feels, though it’s more of a choked moan which is honestly a little embarrassing.

Your embarrassment is very quickly disregarded once Negan’s lips close around you, gently sucking what he can into his mouth. Your grip on Negan’s hair tightens immensely, fearing you may rip out chunks of it, though you know he really wouldn’t mind which would definitely be comical in another situation.

Negan continues his gentle sucking, slightly bobbing his head. You’re still rolling your hips though there’s not a lot of movement since Negan is keeping you in a steady hold.

After about a minute or so, Negan begins to suck harder along with digging his nails deeper into your hip. Both sensations mixed together have you going crazy, heading towards the edge. Whimpers begin to flood your mouth, dripping out like liquid. You simply can’t stop yourself, nor do you want to. Your own moans almost accentuate your pleasure, which is odd but you’ll gladly take it.

Negan then hums while he continues his incessant sucking - almost as if he’s also moaning - sending ripples of vibration through your groin, intensifying your pleasure even more.

“Jesus christ, Negan.” You pant, arching your back off the bed completely. You can feel the way your legs are trembling, indicating your climax is approaching. Practically your entire body is covered in a layer of sweat, droplets running down your face and chest. You’re about to burst at any moment.

You can’t even control the movement of your hips, it simply has a mind of its own, bucking hard and fast into Negan’s mouth, though he’s still holding you down as best as he can. Eventually, though, he relents and let’s go, giving you free range. Holding onto the back of his head, you fuck into his mouth repeatedly.

He’s happy to let you use him until you finally come, hips stuttering and shaking as you continue to roll them. It’s such an intense, overstimulating feeling, but at the same time it feels like pure heaven.

Your whimpering only gets louder and louder as you ride out your orgasm, body trembling with pleasure. “Fuck.” You whine, voice hoarse and wavering.

Negan chuckles, which sends another vibration through you. It’s too much, though. You’re officially overstimulated. You yank Negan’s head off of you by his hair, freeing yourself from his mouth.

“Shit.” You pant, feeling the aftershocks of your orgasm roll through you. Negan looks up at you with half lidded eyes, smiling softly. There’s a single string of saliva leading from his lips to your dick, which elicits a small chuckle from your throat. Using your thumb, you gently wipe it away.

“Thanks.” Negan chuckles, resting his head on your lower stomach.

“Mhm.” You hum in response, smiling. “C’mere, let me return the favor.” You decide, smoothing your hands along his upper back.

Negan yawns. “I already came.” He states, looking back up at you. “You’re just so fuckin’ sexy when your cock is in my mouth, making all those pretty noises. Only had to grind against the bed for like, two fuckin’ seconds before I came.” He explains easily, feeling his cock twitch as he thinks about the noises you were making.

“Oh.” You mumble softly, extremely flustered from Negan’s admission. “So, you ruined the sheets?” You question, yanking his chain.

Negan huffs a laugh. “Probably.” He agrees, chuckling. He slowly crawls up your body and places a gentle kiss to your lips before laying down beside you. He’s quick to pull you into his side, arms wrapped around you.

You sigh and relax into his hold, resting your head atop his chest; the hair there manages to tickle your nose every now and then, but you really don’t mind - you wouldn’t change it.

As you listen to the sound of Negan’s heartbeat, you quickly find yourself drifting off into sleep, body and mind completely exhausted. You refuse to fight it and eventually you slip into a deep sleep, cradled by the only man you’ve ever wanted.

[sharpth1ng]

Is Billy gonna break down and cry? I feel like he severely needs someone (Stu) to hold him while he cries

So yeah, Billy will cry and I’d say he’s already having a breakdown lmao. The crying isnt going to be super obvious though, it’s just going to be him saying his face is wet or something. He’s ashamed to be crying so it’s not something he’d likely admit (Toxic masculinity is a hell of a drug /neg)

He was crying at the end of debaser incase you didn’t catch it:

Honestly I think the ability to cry is something people take for granted at times. It’s actually a really good way to relieve tension and move on from an emotional experience, it causes endorphin release that can literally help reduce physical pain let alone mental stress.

But when you can’t cry you just feel blocked up, like a pot of boiling water with the lid welded on. You have to release it in other more destructive ways so you’re irritable, you explode at people and you take it out on yourself or you numb and distract yourself because there’s no other way to move on from the feeling.

And none of that stuff even really moves you past it, it’s all just a bandaid on a gaping wound but the bandaid was dipped in lemon juice because all of those desperate coping mechanisms have their own fallout and shame attached. So it’s a cycle.

But then when it breaks through enough that you do actually cry? It almost shocks you. Your body is so unused to the feeling that you can’t breathe and you feel like a mess and you don’t want anyone to see you even if you knew they wouldn’t judge you because you can’t stand the way people look at you when they’re worried about you.

So you only cry when you’re alone and you barely acknowledge it to yourself. And you probably belittle yourself for it too, like “Was that really worth the tears?” As if those tears are the product of whatever cued them and not the overspill of months or years worth of hurt that you never acknowledged. And then you don’t even know what you’re hurting about because it’s all just pilling up on itself, merging into this sprawling mess of carnage inside you.

So yeah Billy definitely needs Stu to hold him when he cries but he’s not going to let him, not for years at least. He’s going to keep being surprised that his face is wet.

[sundaycentric]

Hi!! I heard you had requests open, and I wanted to ask if you were comfortable with writing Neuvillette reacting to learning about the fact his s/o is trans. With him being all supportive and just some wholesome fluff. :) Gn reader please, and I wish you a fantastic day!

neuvillette x trans gn reader

content ★ headcanons, trans reader, established relationship, not proofread, no specified agab or gender, fluff, sfw

note ★ IM SORRY OTHER REQUESTERS FOR DOING THEM OUT OF ORDER I JUST AUUGH.. this one makes me really happy bc im trans myself !!

Neuvillette noticed how you became a bit more nervous around him for the past few months. He can't understand why, but he doesn't want to overstep and push you. He wants you to tell him by yourself.

When you do tell Neuvillette, it's one of the rare days where theres no courts in session. The two of you have some time to spend together, outside of his work.

He can tell that you seem nervous throughout the date. His face doesn't change, but the skies darken some. He can't help but be worried, especially since he can't properly figure out what you're feeling.

At the end of the day, when the sun began to set and the two of you were content, you began to open up to him.

Neuvillette listened to what you were saying about how you don't want him to view you any different, and how you still want things to work out and hope he doesn't hate you. Neuvillette frowns a bit. Hate you? He could never.

When you finally do tell him that you're trans, he doesn't really react much. Except for the faint smile that grew on his face, and sky lightened a bit. Neuvillette knows what it is, and has more knowledge on queer topics simply because he has been alive for so long.

Neuvillette is relieved it wasn't something that would matter that much. He doesn't really care for your gender: you're still you. Especially since he isn't human, he doesn't think that much about gender at all.

Neuvillette will immediately ask you what you want to go by. If you don't know yet, he'll offer his help with picking you out a new name. If you do have a name in mind, he'll immediately switch over to it, as if you were always that name instead of your deadname.

He'll listen to you rant and vent when you need to. Neuvillette will be there whenever you need him. He may not have lots of advice or a suggestion, but he will try to comfort you.

Neuvillette will offer to help you get your name legally changed, as well as your gender on official documents. It still costs money, but he'll pay it all for you.

Neuvillette will go shopping for you when you're out. Binders, packers, tucks, whatever it is that'll help you feel more comfortable. People may look at him oddly when he is at stores, buying these, but he really doesn't care. Neuvillette's more concerned with your happiness.

He is very supportive. :) If you are transmasc, he'll try his best to give you some tips since he's masculine. If you are transfem, he'll get Lady Furina to help you out. She does, happily, and she'll advise you however she can. If you are transneutral, he can't do much, but he will listen to anything you ask of him.

[lienspien]

tell me your rosechaser wisdom oh great one

My wisdom is I like vibes and they give good vibes.

To me they're that couple you would never expect to date but they date anyway and they are fucking glorious. Not because they hate each other or anything, but it's literally bcus they never interact with each other and have absolutely no reason to. They share no classes together, they don't know anyone who is connected to each other, like they basically shouldn't rlly know each other but they're actually dwting which is crazy

Evan is a chill guy, and that's what James needs. Someone really stable and chill with whatever he does. He doesn't have to think too much about what Evan thinks because he's usually chill about anything. And that's a first fir James because he thinks TOO much about people's feelings. He knows they like him, but he can't help but think a lil too much about it. But with Evan? His shrugs of "idk lol" and "perchance" is actually kinda relieving. At first James doesn't like it cus it's frustrating. Like "WHAT DO YOU AFTUALLY WANT AND LIKE???" and Evan is like "lol idk. Maybe you, and to be seen, but mostly you" and he's that simple and James just breathes a sigh of relief at simple. Because he cant understand hints, sure he's bright and observant, but he doesn't catch hints unless it was thrown to his face. He's simple and straight to the point but it doesn't come off as rude, just blatant idgaf energy and James loves that.

While Evan also enjoys easy. He doesn't understand people sometimes and doesn't liek reading into people too much. But James is a ltieral open book who knows how to communicate and never asks for more from him. He likes simple, he likes something tbat he can get used to and understand quickly, and James is just like that. Also Evan humbles James like NONE OTHER. Sometimes he doesn't even mean to humble James. He just accidentally does. James has an ego as large as the sky and Evan is the quick heat of the sun breaking through the atmosphere.

I mostly like them in modern settings, where th eyre gym bros and in the same car enthusiast group. They go to the same gym and spot for each other. James always reminds Evan to do legs and Evan always makes sure James doesn't quit his cutting. They are also both car enthusiast and could go on for HOURS about cars and speeds and all of that shit.

My favourite rosechaser fic idea lately is real men by mitski. Where they both struggle to fall onto standards on what a real actual masculine man is like. James is emotional and always so loving, people say it doesn't fit his large build and isn't manly. Evan is too detached, isnt very good at providing and isnt that strong, he was weak as a child and was always made fun of for it even if he grew out of it. They find each other to be so lovely and handsome, to assure them that they're both men either way and society can't dictate whether or not they are just because they feel emotions and look unfit.

Rhwy look at each other and see something easy, something cool, something light and relieving. Loving and holding each other is just as easy as breathing, talking to each other is like second nature and feels wrong when they don't. In a world full of scars, they're each others clean unmarked skin.

[treasar]

A twisted tale Chapter 4 | Dreamy |

My seven stars, you’ll forever be in my heart

The luminosity derived from the vermillion moon hanging in the dark sky with twinkling stars grants her the ability to glimpse the unknown place she has awakened to. Yet, it is insufficient to allow her to fully perceive her entire surroundings.

She somehow feels like she is laying on the soft mattress, feeling suffocated. But, the scent of damp moss tells her otherwise. Light breezes are dancing in the sky as if she is in heaven.

Her mind and body relax by themselves until

BOOM! 

‘ What’s that? ‘ She jolts up. Her eyes wander around without thinking and then, spot the rings at the end of the field, which have turned yellow. 

‘ Isn’t it- ‘ She frowns, noticing the familiar place she is in. Night ball field, which they call but, the thing is that no one used it although it is oddly clean and neat.  

Just then, another strike echoes the whole world, snapping the girl out of her thoughts. She sneakily hides behind the wall, which is near to her while slowly approaching the rings. 

It is indeed beautiful. When she looks around, she oddly finds no trace of people. Yet, no one is presented but, why would the whole field be lit? ‘ Something is not right ‘ She thinks. 

In the corner of her eyes, she spots a shadow of someone. Out of curiosity, she follows it, taking a step lightly like a feather. 

As she trails behind that person, a familiar yet unfamiliar back is facing her with oddly familiar purple hair. As if that person knows her presence, he stops. So she does. 

Expectedly, he turns around, making her heart stop for a moment but she manages to hide herself. She hears a faint yet loud enough for her steps approaching her hideout, and her breath hitches. 

She can feel his eyes wandering around suspiciously and then, turns to the other direction, continuing what he is about to do. She breathes heavily. 

She peeks to make sure he is not turning her way and luckily, he is not. Her heart momentarily stops its momentum as she sees his face, enough for her to know who he is. ‘ Niki? ‘

‘ What is he doing here? Wait, how and why? ‘ She somehow feels relieved that she at alteast knows that her boys, she means the main leads are here although it is just one person. 

“ Maybe I can talk to him. “ She nods to herself before showing herself from her hideout but Niki is nowhere to be seen. “ Where did he go? “ She frowns, totally confused. 

The next thing she knows she is already hot on her heel, trying to find him. Despite being in high acceleration, she manages to check everywhere. 

“ Arr! “ A masculine voice rings in her ears, warning her automatically. “ Niki? “ Her worriedness rises up. ‘ Oh no! ‘ 

Her body reacts to it immediately and runs in the direction where the voice comes from. It’s at the end of the field where the players rest, more like a locker for them. 

She halts her steps as soon as she sees Niki, clenching his chest as if heartache is giving him trouble. “ Niki! “ She immediately runs toward him.

But, something inside her is stopping her as she can’t further move. A thick black smog is surrounding him. It’s like there is a switch in her mind that tells her that it’s his power. 

He is getting eaten up by the darkness. She struggles to help him but everything she does is a total failure. Suddenly, he kneels down, still clenching his heart and head.

“ Niki! Don’t let them get you! Fight back! I know you can do it! “ She shouts, trying her best. “ Fight b-back! “ Pellets of tears steam down from her doe eyes without her knowing. 

It is like something inside her clicks that prompts her body to regain its function. The next thing she knows is, she is on the ground, not able to move. 

She has to drag her body to reach the boy who is on the ground unconsciously as well. “ Niki… “ She mumbles. ‘ Come on, Yon. Just a little more… ‘        

But, her body can’t keep up as she drops to the grass softly, still conscious. She tries to open her eyes but, they become heavy. From her view, it shows the unconscious Niki, lying there with a black aura around him. 

“ Niki, wake up! “ 

“ You can’t let that thing swallow you… “ 

“ Niki! “   

" Niki- "

“ Niki! “ She shouts, jolting up from her bed. Pellets of sweat drip down the side of her face but speckles of goosebumps arise on the surface of her skin, feeling fresh all of a sudden. 

Her book flashes a light, catching her attention.

Are you okie? You look like you just saw a ghost.  

‘ Yea, how about you? ‘ 

I am totally fine! 

‘ Are you sure?’ 

‘ Did he do something to you? ‘ 

He? Who? 

‘ The attacker. Remember? He attacked us last night. ‘

What attacker? What are you talking about? 

She frowns due to his weird behaviour. “ You don’t remember? “ She titles her head. 

Remember what?

“ Seriously, Net? “ She asks with a hint of disbelief. 

What? Did you take your medicine after shaking it? 

“ He really has no clue about it. “ She frowns. 

_

“ Was it just a dream? “ She whispers, not functioning at what is happening. “ Or did the attacker brainwash Net? Then, he would do that to me too. “ 

“ It feels real to say that it’s just a dream. The pain… The fear… “ She shakes her head aggressively, not noticing the certain groups of girls in front of her. 

“ Ouch! “ All her books and things drop to the cold floor along with other girls’ books. “ I am sorry! “ She mumbles, quickly picking up her things and bowing again and again. “ I am sorry! “ 

“ Aren’t you-? “ The pink-haired girl speaks up, making Alex look up. “ Omg, it’s the Ace! “ The girl beside the pink-haired girl cheers, covering her mouth.

“ No way! “ 

“ She is the Ace? “

“ Omg, she is right! She is the one! “ 

“ I envy her “  

Multiple whispers echo through the hall while Alex is in a confused state. She glances her back, making sure that the girl is telling about her or not. 

“ Me!? “ She points herself, tilting her head. The girl beside the pink-haired latte nods excitedly. 

“ You still don’t know yet? “ Alex shakes her head in reply. “ Oh, well. You got the highest mark in our school. “ 

“ Highest mark? “ Alex raises her eyebrow. “ Hmm! “ 

“ So, you are- “ That girl is about to continue but, a teacher suddenly shows up. “ Good morning, ma’am! “ Everyone greets. 

Alex turns around in a flash and greets her too. “ Good morning, ma’am. “ Miss Moon’s eyes wander around under her large glasses. 

“ Morning, students. “ She adjusts her glass before opening her notebook. “ The bell is going to ring in 5 minutes. Why are you all still here? “ She says without looking up. 

No one answers her. But, as soon as her eyes shot up, all students automatically walk to their respective classrooms.

“ Miss Moon, we’re just congratulating her. “ A girl nervously grins. “ Congratulation, Alex shii! “ One of them says and the other says the same before walking away. 

Alex sneakily tries to walk away but, much to her luck, “ Miss Alex! “ Miss Moon calls out. “ Yes, ma’am? “ She closes her eyes in nervousness. 

“ Come to the office after all classes are dismissed. “ She calmly says. “ Yes, ma’am! “ She nods, still not facing the teacher. 

The sound of heels clicking echo the whole way till she can hear it faintly. She breathes heavily as she doesn’t notice she is holding her breath this whole time.

“ What was it all about? “ The more she thinks the more complicated she becomes. “ Today is going to be hard than I thought. “ She sighs. 

_

The weak sunshine is in front of her eyes, warm and cool with a little spicy theme. But, the gloomy sky is different from theirs. It seems the birds like this kind of weather as it is singing happily while flying freely. 

It’s the opposite for Alex, who is not in the mood to do something simple as her whole head is full of confusion. “ Bye, Ace! “ It’s the nth time, they call her like that, which the poor girl has no clue about. 

She lazily yet nervously takes steps toward the office as the school is over. She can hear her heart pounding against her chest as if it would jump out of. 

“ Calm down. You didn’t do anything wrong, right? “ She pats her chest softly while sighing heavily. “ You’re good, Yon! Fighting! “ She cheers, which always does when she is about to meet the teachers. 

But, fate is not looking after her as the door suddenly wides open, making her poor heart stop its momentum and stumble if not for the support of the door handle. 

“ Oh, Alex! You are here. “ Miss Moon smiles, which scared the girl more. She walks in with tiny steps. “ Take a seat! “ The teacher demands. 

“ Here “ Miss Moon places a piece of paper, which seems like a poster in front of Alex. The girl’s eyes automatically glue to that, analysing everything. 

“ …getting highest marks in Quiz? “ Again, about the highest marks. She looks up, ready to ask a question but, the woman is already looking at her. “ Yep, you got the highest marks. “ 

“ Oh? “ She deadpans, still in a confusion. “ It isn’t a normal quiz. “ She answers as if she reads the girl’s mind. 

“ We call them, carnival “ She states. “ Carnival? “ The girl repeats when she hears the familiar word. “ A quiz that is held once a year. “ 

“ With some prizes, of course. “ She says. “ However, some questions there are not taught by us so it’s totally new for you guys. But, as I say, it’s Carnival. There is no need to be worried if you didn’t pass the quiz. “ 

“ Our ambition is simple. It’s to know our students’ improvement. “ She sits on her chair. “ However, those who passed this will achieve small gifts from our school foundation. “ 

“ But, there isn’t any of them who passed this with a flying colour except you. “ She continues with an amusing expression. “ You amaze us. “ She states while gesturing with her hands how happy and proud she is. 

Alex confusedly smiles at her while nodding out of nowhere. “ As per our rule, someone who passed this quiz with the highest mark will get to attend an advanced academy of ours. “ 

She cheers. However, the girl is looking at her with pure confusion. “ Well, if you don’t know. That advanced academy of ours is teaching the same course here but, with intelligent yet outstanding students there. “ 

“ It isn’t like that student here is not intelligent and outstanding. I mean students there are greater than you can imagine. “ She nervously states. The girl is looking at her like okay. 

“ Umm, so, you will be moving there in three days “ Her comment makes the girl widen her eyes. “ Three days? “ She jolts up without her knowing. 

“ Yep, in three days. Actually, the principal wants you to move there quickly but, you know, all the dormitories are a bit occupied so um yeah. “ She sighs thinking about the principal. 

“ But- “ The girl pauses as it is like she forgets how to speak. “ No, but! You should grab this chance. It’s a good opportunity for you. “ The woman stands up, staying beside her. Silence fills the whole room.  

“ As you see, it’s rare to get this chance. As your classroom teacher, I am so proud of you. Do your best there! “ She starts, petting the girl’s shoulder. 

This tone of voice suddenly reminds her of the memory of her and Miss Kim, when the teacher is cheering her before entering her painting competition.

“ Thank you, Miss Moon, “ She blurts out, a stream of tears dripping down from her glossy eyes. Miss Moon smiles sweetly at her. 

“ It isn’t like we are not seeing again. You will see me there too although I am not your class teacher anymore. “ She chuckles, hugging the crying girl. 

“ Don’t miss me too much, okie? You still have three days to see me! “ The teacher jokes to light up the mood, to which the girl chuckles. 

“ Read this when you reached your room. “ She hands a blue envelope. “ Don’t show this to anyone, okie? Since you are special, it is too. “ She says with the sweetest voice.   

The girl nods while wiping her own tears with the sleeves of her uniform.” Alright, I am going now. I have to attend the meeting. “ The teacher says and hurriedly disappears from her sight as if her rent is due to. 

_ 

  Under the vermillion moon, hanging in the dark yet dim sky, a glimmer of moonlight is enough to show her presence. But, her dark grey hoodie and black jumper cover her. 

She is now in the Night ball field, where she was here last night. The difference is that the whole field is dark and there is no trace of using this as if it is abandoned long ago. 

“ There is no way it is just a dream… “ She whispers, touching the place where she and Niki had collapsed. She closes her eyes, trying to feel something but, all she feels is nothing. 

She glances at the front, where the rings are supposed to be there. Emptiness is what the air says. “ Impossible! “ She shakes, debating her mind. 

She lowers her head in tiredness as she makes her way to the frontbencher before popping down in the seat. But, she immediately stands up from a cold yet hard seat, which startles her sense a bit. 

She glances at the letter, which is given by Miss Moon. “ Maybe I should read this while waiting for them. “ She says, making herself comfortable as she is going to wait for the boys, her mind telling her that they will not appear. 

She goes through the congratulatory letters from the principal and her timetable and the place where she is going to study. “ Ooo, I am going to study here. That’s why Miss Moon says I am going to see her. “ 

What makes her surprised is the timetable. “ No way! “ She gasps, dropping the paper from her hand. A wave of surprise passes through her as if electricity enters her body because it says…

“ Classes start at 9 p.m and end at around 2 p.m “ 

__

a/n: a story where main characters are appeared only after ep 3 is kind of crazy right- well, yep, that's me- ^3^ \(￣︶￣*\))

To read next chapter ^_^

[puptoy]

The following fantasy includes: a little bit of piss, werewolves, cnc, outdoor sex, stalking/voyeurism, facefucking, talk of breeding, possessive behavior, musk/scent marking, humiliation, gender play (a sub with a pussy who likes to crossdress/present masc, referred to as "bitch" a lot, "wife" one time, "boy", and with female anatomical terms), size kink

Imagine you're a werewolf (or some other pent-up and feral beast of your choosing) and I wandered too far into your territory. There's nobody out here in these beautiful woods as the sun starts to set, but I'm new in town, so I figure it's a lucky coincidence. I think I'm extra safe because I'm wearing masculine clothes; people don't tend to bother me for hiking alone when I look like a guy. Big hoodie, cargo pants, my hair cut short but grown out a little shaggy.

But you don't care about any of that. You can tell just from my scent that I'd be easy to breed. And more than that - you can tell I'm lonely. Can't smell any other humans on me. You don't normally do this, but you're so pent up yourself... Something about me is driving you to desperation. You follow me at a distance for a little while, just to be sure it's me that has you reacting this way, aching, your cock heavy and swollen half mast just from thinking about it. And as the full moon rises higher, you keep thinking: this little human is here for me. Why else would they come here? Has to be for me. Your instincts keep telling you I'd be a good little mate.

Finally, you see me looking around a little clearing, the ground padded with soft clover. I check over my shoulder to make sure I'm alone and can't see you (humans have terrible night vision, poor things). You watch me pull my hoodie up and hold it between my teeth, exposing my tummy, the place where my hips curve up to my waist, the little trail of hair that goes down from my navel. I unbutton my pants and push them down along with my boxers, stepping out of one leg, then the other, bent over, exposed. You see the way I carry weight on my soft, plump ass and thighs and you think about mounting me.

Then I squat down low to relieve myself. And I just look so vulnerable like that, my thighs spread out wide, a hand braced against a tree for balance as I try to keep from stepping in my own mess. You can smell things I don't even know about myself; you know I'm ovulating. Your eyes fix on my pink pussy, on display for you, and your instincts take over entirely.

By the time I hear your low rumbly growl, it's way too late to run.

I make a pretty cute effort, though. You chase me for a few yards, easily catching my arm and pulling me against you. I freeze for a moment, feeling you solid and hot against my back. You're huffing against my neck, licking and grazing your sharp teeth against my shoulder, making me shiver.

You're so keyed up at first, it's hard to get words out, but you've heard communication is important in relationships. You manage a low, "Bitch. Wife. Mine."

Shocked out of my freeze, I jerk and shake my head, coming up with the first panicked excuse I can think of. "No, ah, oh fuck, I'm not- I'm a boy, not your wife, wrong person, sorry-"

You don't see how that should matter when I was clearly made to be yours. You push a hand up under my hoodie and touch me all over - my belly, my waist, my soft little tits - while I squirm and gasp and try to get away. Twisting me around so you can kiss me, you lick into my mouth until I've settled and then speak against my lips. "My boy. Bitch boy," you insist.

I make a noise that's half shame, half gut-punch arousal. I didn't know being called names like that would turn me on so much. Amused, you lick my neck. I moan. As far as you're concerned, that settles that.

You pin me down hard under your heavy body so I can barely move, but I still thrash when I feel you pushing one of my knees up to part my legs. My heartbeat is pattering so quick I sound like a prey animal. You slide a hand down my hip, between my thighs, laughing softly when you feel it, murmuring, "So wet." And then you're rubbing little circles into my clit, honing in on what makes me wetter until slowly I go from struggling and kicking to softly whining and spreading my legs a little wider for you.

You purr, "There, that's right, good boy." You tell me you're gonna take me right here. That you're gonna keep me in your den and breed me over and over. Mate me, keep me. I'm out of my mind, but I nod and say "Yeahhh" as you let your fingers dip lower.

You feel my slick entrance, watching the way I lift my hips to chase the touch. I spread my legs even wider. Your fingertips press into me, and even that is a snug fit at first. Even as wet as I am, it'll be a struggle to fit your cock in me. You can see it when we grind against each other - your thick, monstrous breeder cock bobs down under its own weight, the length of it going up past my navel. You tug my hoodie up and lap at my sensitive tits to soothe me, but you think it's cute how tense and tight I get around your fingers when I notice how big you are, how deep you're going to get inside me. "Oh god," I breathe, "It won't fit, we can't, I can't-"

You grind against the crook of my hip, getting off on the thought of making it fit. Your mate is so cute, so soft, so easy to push around. You pull your fingers out of my pussy and shove them in my mouth, growling, "Suck." When you feel my tongue moving obediently, you nuzzle my chest, proud. "Good. Mine. Gonna be a good bitch, use your lil' cunt, train you t'take it. Mount you every time I need it. My cocktoy, good boy, mine..."

Perfect. It's all perfect and you love me, love your mate. You could fuck me right here but you're too impatient, so you just keep going, making possessive promises and playing with my mouth while you frot against me. You rub and hump against my belly, my thigh, my hip until you cum with a feral whine, long ropes of thick cum landing on my skin. And that's... Mm. You like that.

Oh. Fuck. You don't know what it is, but you like that a lot.

You gotta make sure I smell like your bitch.

Making me kneel on the ground, rubbing your cock on my face, making me lap against and worship your full, heavy nutsack. Rubbing you cockhead against my lips, smearing them with pre until I open up and suck. At first enjoying the way I suckle and swirl my tongue around the tip, then grabbing a fistful of my hair and sighing in pleasure when you push into the tight squeeze of my throat. I'm trying my best to swallow around you but it's just too thick. Such a mess, drooling down my chin, tears in my hazy eyes.

Cum against my open mouth and tell me not to swallow until you say so. Bite an obvious mark into my neck, and then finally stand back up pick me up. Take me to your den and keep me.

[exquisiteserotonin]

Precious Possessions Chapter 4: Mastermind

I lied last week, obviously, not the final chapter. Who knows along this will go. It ends, when it ends. 😏

Series Summary: Defense intelligence conferences are always the same informative but also always boring. You didn't expect anything different for this one, but an unexpected meeting with a man named Dave York, changes the trajectory of your conference experience and maybe even more.

Previous | Next

Pairing: Dave York x Fem!Reader, Dave York x You

Word Count: ~2.4K

Rating & Warnings: Explicit, 🔞MDNI!!!🔞 This fic contains, but are not limited to the following, dom!Dave, spanking, bondage, overstimulation, PiV sex, creampie, oral (f! and m! receiving)dirty, dirty talk

A/N: Not beta'd (all funky grammar an spelling things are my own).

Plans are beginning to take shape.

And as always a big, big thanks to my slut collective @blueheat1-blog @best-little-secret @basicoccult @redhotkitchen @legendary-pink-dot @sparklefarts38 @arcanefox207 @imalrightllama

Chapter 4: Mastermind

You sat on your plush, cream-colored couch, a blanket covering your lap as you sipped a cup of tea on a Thursday night. Nearly a week had passed since you had come home from the conference. You should have been relieved and relaxed to finally be in your cozy and quiet townhome, away from the noise and the toxic masculinity. Instead, you sat here having flashbacks of the excruciating ecstasy of Dave’s hand slapping your ass, being tied up while he ate your pussy like it was his last meal, and how his massive cock sent orgasms through your body that nearly split you in two. Before he even slipped a finger in you, you both knew you’d never be able to go back to your normal life. Instead of reading a book or binge watching your favorite tv show you replayed one of your conversations in your head.

“What are you talking about?” He asked again as he sat up, resting against the headboard.

You sat up on your knees, playing docile for him you couldn’t stop staring at his large cock. 

“Did you think it was a coincidence that we met, Dave?” You purred. “Some people would say I’m exceptionally gifted at what I do, it only took a little bit of digging to find out about your extracurriculars.”

You remembered him getting angry with you. 

“You have no idea what you’re asking me.” 

Yes, you did. 

“Yes, I do.” 

You crawled towards him on all fours. 

“Teach me to do what you do.” 

You remembered how dark his expression was, how low his brow was furrowed, but also how he licked his lips the closer you crawled towards him. 

“I promise I’ll be a good girl.”

From your hands and knees you lowered your face to his cock. He could look at you, scold you, spank you, or tie you up but you knew he wouldn’t say no. 

You remembered that he didn’t answer for a while, and he shuddered with a moan as you touched the tip with your warm lips. 

Then you remembered him grabbing your hair. 

“If we’re gonna do this, you have to do everything, and I mean everything, I say.” 

“Yes, daddy.” 

“Now give me that pretty, little mouth again.” 

****

Falling asleep on your couch only to wake up in a daze to traipse to your bedroom was becoming a nightly occurrence since you got home. This evening threatened to follow the same pattern. Nearly 8:00 pm and your eyes were already starting to feel heavy from a cocktail of boredom and exhaustion. The singsong chime of your doorbell camera alerted you to someone outside and you were suddenly awake. You looked at your app and raced to the door to confirm who was standing on the other side.

“Dave?!” You gasped as you swung the door so hard that a gust of air swept at your hair. “What are you---?”

He stood before you with the hungriest eyes, grabbing you by the waist and pulling you in for a  messy kiss before you could utter another word. As he kicked the door closed behind him, his large hands slipped under your shirt, kneading your right breast until he was rolling and pinching the nipple, forcing you to yelp. As he corralled you to the couch, you pushed against him weakly trying to get him to offer you an explanation. His lips gripped yours, fast, searing, and desperate to taste you. Your center, ass, and legs were suddenly cold as he pulled your sweatpants off you and onto the floor. 

Finally, he gave your lips the briefest of respites until they found another set of lips on your body that he was more hungry for. 

“Da--ahh,” you cried as his tongue licked a long, slow, deep stripe into your folds. 

He devoured you with his unforgiving tongue and lips. His wet hunger mixed with your essence sent tingles that undulated outward to every nerve ending in your body. Moans of his name were all that could leave your lips as his tongue lapped into you and as his lips sucked on your bundle of nerves until you were uncontrollably writhing, shaking, and screaming his name. 

“One,” Dave growled, sitting on the couch next to you while pulling you on top of him at the same time. His cock sprung upwards after he unzipped and pulled down his pants. He pumped himself for a few moments and lifted you, teasing your entrance with his erect cock. 

“Ride,” he demanded as he helped you lower you onto him, bucking his hips up to thrust into you. 

His fingers gripped the skin of your hips like a seatbelt keeping you in place. You bounced and rolled on his cock as his hands marked your hips that he was claiming as his own. He was so deep inside you this way and with each grind and thrust you felt his tip reaching into your deepest center, nearly sending you over the edge every time. Searching for a way to retain some semblance of control, you reached behind him and started massaging his balls. A rich moan traveled from his throat as you touched him. In your head, this would have made him cave to you, would have given you permission for you to make him yours for a little while. Yet, with every move and push of his cock inside you, he reminded you of how wrong you were and how in control he was. As if that weren’t enough, he swiped the pad of his thumb across your sweet bundle of nerves, circling it with furious determination as you bounced on his cock. 

“Fuckin’ ride me, firefly,” he said his voice coming out in a low thunder, the movement of his thumb growing faster. “Fucking missed your tight, little cunt.”

You tried to form words to tell him how much you missed him too. How much you missed being impaled by him, but all that came out was moans and screams. The tight, sensitive shivers intensified as he kept working at your clit while fucking into you, bouncing you up and down.  You desperately tried to brace yourself against him as his cock pounded your spongy center until all you could do was clutch at the cushions on your couch as you screamed out his name in desperation and ecstasy as you reached you high.

He laughed again, pressing your torso into him as he sat up. His tongue blessed your nipples with aftershocks to add to your orgasm. 

“Two,” he murmured. 

Counting. He was counting how many times he made you come. Your chest heaved, with hot breaths and sweat that illuminated your skin all the way to your ears. 

“Can you give me one more, firefly?” He teased, rolling you onto your back on the couch. “Strangle my cock with this tight pussy?”

“I, I--,” you tried to will the words out of your mouth through the overstimulation. 

He was your drug and you needed your fix.

You watched in a misty gaze as his dark eyes fixed themselves on you with something even deeper than a primal hunger for you. Your body nearly melted at the touch of his hands as he pushed your legs close together, pressing your knees up to your chest. The ragged breaths that escaped his mouth as he lined himself up at your entrance set fire to the air. A forceful slap of his stiff, wide cock had you crying out for him.

“Fuck, Dave, please!” 

He pushed himself into you, stretching you, his skin causing every fold in you to flutter as his thrusts quickened. 

“Can’t stop thinking about this pretty pussy!” He growled. “Couldn’t stop thinking about it, when I had to fuck her.” 

His words would have made any other woman stop at the thought of him filling up someone else, even if it was his wife. It sent your ego soaring and you clenched him tighter in response. A loud, rumbling groan left his lips and he pounded into you faster. The most sensitive part of your core, began to roll and rumble sending a wave after wave of pleasure that had you searching for anything to grab onto to brace yourself for its arrival. 

“So--fucking--tight,” Dave growled as he held onto your legs in vice grip until you screamed his name over and over, not caring if your neighbors could hear you through the walls, “choking my fucking cock.”

With one final push Dave emptied into you, keeping his cock tight into you for a few moments to feel every tremble your body made for him. Intoxicated in the afterglow, you rolled over with a gasp when he pulled out, trying to regain some semblance of yourself. He gave a quick slap on your cunt and then on your ass, evoking one last desperate moan from your cherry lips. 

“Where’s your bathroom, firefly?” he asked with a low, raspy chuckle, admiring how you lay breathless and weary because of him. 

You gestured down your hallway, weakly. Laying naked on your couch, all you could muster was a soft giggle of ecstasy. After deep breaths, the kind you practiced during yoga, you felt yourself recovering. It felt like a dream as you saw him walking back to you, naked and confident like he was in his own home. He put on his boxer briefs before sitting next to you on the couch.

“Clean yourself up and come sit in my lap,” he stated as he patted his leg. 

You nodded and ran to the bathroom to clean yourself of his cum, its stickiness imprinting itself within you. You brushed your hair quickly and then returned, taking your place on the throne of his lap just as he had asked. His right hand wrapped securely around your waist while his left hand ran over the surface of your legs. There was almost something domestic about it. Another deep breath forced you to force that thought from your head and you took his chin and turned his face towards yours, biting his bottom lip. 

“What are you doing here?” you inquired, nursing his bottom lip with your thumb. 

“You mean other than fucking you?” 

You rolled your eyes as you waited for an explanation, hoping it would ease your anxious thought that someone, anyone might know what was going on between the two of you.

“Yes, other than that.” 

“Carol and the girls are out of town for a long weekend,” he smirked, “a girls scout camping trip.” 

“Mmm, lucky me,” a giddy mischief boiled up inside you. “So I have you all weekend long.”

You straddled him and grabbed his face in your hands. He wrapped his arms around your waist, giving you a discerning look that consisted of a furrowed brow and dark, determined eyes. 

“Oh, I see,” you replied, feeling the warmth of your afterglow cool on your skin. “Mixing a little pleasure with your business?”

You tried not to reveal any kind of disappointment. The sides of your jaw tightened as you narrowed your gaze to his face, trying to read the expression on it. A veil of realization covered you, understanding the importance of his unexpected arrival to your home.

“You are my business; you wanted to learn, firefly, get dressed.” Dave ordered, swooshing a large hand to your ass with a firm slap. 

“Yes sir,” you growled, nipping at his lips and grinding into him. 

“I said, ‘get dressed,’” he reiterated through gritted teeth as he grasped her by the wrists, “I don’t need the distraction and neither do you.” 

You stood up, taken aback with how quickly he shifted from pumping you full of his cum to a man who so easily and systematically killed people like it was a nine to five job. His eyes stayed on you intently, a smirk painting his lips in appreciation of the view that was you. Upon your return you were clothed in a pair of joggers and a sweatshirt. You found Dave dressed in sweatpants and a v-neck t-shirt, his laptop open and on. A close examination of his screen revealed an already comprehensive, electronic dossier created for Brad from where he was born, where he’s lived, all his schools, jobs, and relevant figures in his life, an asterisk by the name of his father, a lifelong diplomat. 

“Nice homework,” you remarked, “but an easy find on the internet.”

You felt the gravity of the situation grow heavier on your shoulders when Dave gave you a cold, harsh glare in response to your quip.  

“Rule number 1: you get cocky , you get killed.”

You straightened your posture at the words and nodded in acknowledgement. Dave excelled at this for a reason. Remembering the intensity and hard work it took you to excel in your job helped you to reframe your perspective of how you expected Dave wanted you to act. You pulled your hair up in a ponytail, hoping to show Dave that you were ready to listen and learn. With his leg he pushed back the stool next to him at your kitchen counter and you took it, moving closer to him.

“I’m not going to make this easy on you, firefly,” Dave said, the tone of his voice void of any expression or urgency, “but we need more than what I have and the only way I can get it is through you.” 

“I’m listening,” a tightness formed in the back of your throat, “what do I have to do?” 

“I’m oversimplifying it,” Dave replied, “but you have to do whatever it takes to get Brad to trust you.” 

An initial, uneasy chill traveled through your bones at the words. It lasted fleetingly, as something different and indescribable took over your brain. You could work with this, especially with someone as slow-witted as Brad.  The sweet memory of how you got that lecherous teacher fired replayed in your brain. This was really just the next logical step from that. An anxious excitement brewed inside you as you turned to Dave. 

“So…when do I get started?”

Brad, the poor bastard, he would never see it coming.

[im-not-a-l0ser]

Okay, I want to talk about the Trans Richie headcannon. I'm not going to say anything bad about it, this is just some ideas and opinions about it, regarding it as canon.

I like the idea that if Richie and/or Trevor were trans, they'd be given an alliterative name set originally. Like Richie and Rachel, Trevor and Tracey, or Samantha and Sabrina; something like that. And then when one or both changed their names, they were so relieved that their names didn't start with the same letter anymore. Maybe they even hated it so much that they'd like... go by Chel, CeCe, Sam and Rina. Shit like that, that'd be so funny.

I would really like to see a show about how they grew up. As much as I don't know how to feel about a cis person playing a trans character, I also wouldn't want Richie played by anyone else— *the idea of Jae Hughes as Richie* Okay, that'd actually be pretty sick, and you could have both Trevor and Richie on stage without Jon having to do a bunch of quick changes, or prerecordings, and you could even have them on stage at the same time, but YOU GET WHAT I'M SAYING! Anyway, I think it'd be really neat to have a song of Richie post-transition and Richie pre-transition singing about how they feel out of place, or how they have this secret that they have to keep, pre-trans not being out at all, and post-trans having transitioned in stealth mode. It'd be cook to see 'her' looking in a mirror or something, seeing post-trans Richie there because that's what they want to be. Some fuckin' reflection from Mulan shit, y'know?

Maybe it's just that I want to see Her as a musical, maybe that's my problem... I mean, now I'm thinking about it, and I'm right. I want that so fucking bad. Like, just imagine that for me, will you? I keep specifically imagining a scene of Jeri and Jerry berating 'her' for being too masculine as a song— I'm sorry, I'm being such a dork.

If Jon Matteson did a stream where he read trans richie headcannons and fics, I would fucking cry, especially if Her was included, since I'm very proud of it thus far.

I need like... a 5+1 fic of Richie coming out to people, I'd love that.

I forgot any other thing I wanted to say, just give me a second.

Oh, okay, here we go. I like to think that Richie is a cosplayer (my sister disagrees with me, so I know that some people don't agree) but I like to think that him cosplaying masc characters is one of the things that helped him realise his identity. This has nothing to do with the fact that after I started cosplaying TSS I got more masc and embraced that side of me, I don't know what you're talking about.

I wonder what Jon Matteson (and Will Branner, and everyone else) thinks about Childhood Friend Michie, not even them together romantically. Bc like, I fully understand not understanding that ship; I don't fully understand it myself, despite literally shipping it. But them as childhood friends? It almost makes too much sense, whether or not Max knows Richie is trans. Either way, you can make it make sense in some regard. I particularly like how @24-guy handled it in their trans richie story, but I won't spoil that for you (that's also their user name on ao3)

I think that's all I got for now, maybe I'll make a part two when I'm on a proper dose of adderall that actually does anything for me.

[37womenwieldingknives]

It's obvious to anyone that there's been a pretty huge shift in how we all treat each other over the last few years, characterised by a greater sort of detachedness and subsequent shaming of any amount of earnest expression of positive emotions and femininity. People are scared about being cringe (god forbid), everything is delivered with a layer of irony or intellectualism, and you absolutely have to appear unmoved at all costs unless you can do it in a masculine sort of way that's acceptable e.g. being angry at the 'woke left' or maybe declaring your love for your country or your wife and two children. At it's worst, there's even this encouragement to be outright mean, especially to easy targets.

And I get it, despite my criticisms there's a lot that I admire and find useful from the likes of Nietzsche and the Stoics. We're all trying to make our lives a little bit more bearable and reclaim some power. We're all sick. We're all depressed. We're all scared. But when it's taken too far it's a reactionary and cowardly approach, and it's obvious that it's been taken too far.

I'm not saying we go back to the other extreme either. I don't want a bunch of people who show insincere kindness for the sake of protecting feelings or walking on eggshells to avoid crossing countless boundaries, routines of niceties that only create impersonal relationships and barriers between people that don't allow us to relax around each other. We need to give primacy to freedom over wrapping each other up in cotton wool. There's also only so much cringe I can tolerate too before it becomes annoying. There's only so many convoluted conversations I can take where people are trying to say things in precisely the correct way rather than being relaxed and natural. Or being serious all the time and no room for making light of things. These people on this side of the extreme are also often too critical of some of the typically masculine qualities that I admire, like physical bravery and appropriate toughness and aggression, and they lean into a trend of collective and individual victimhood and feeling sorry for ourselves. All of this also tends to lead towards rigid moralists and a prevelance of rabid cancelling, public accusations and hounding, and constant policing, while achieving next to nothing other than alienating people from our movements, crippling them with self-consciousness, and making them feel like they're fucked up. I'm critical of claims like 'working class people don't do x, y, z' but it does seem that this kind of behaviour typically comes from the bourgeois 'left' and mostly alienates working class people.

Because of this, I found myself siding with those that I began criticising at the start of this post. I'm also guilty of this detached way of living that I'm now critical of. But these professional moralists and self-proclaimed emotional intelligentsia are no longer the prevailing issue of today, we've already moved back into the other direction. These things are like a pendulum where public behaviour swings back and forth over years and I get caught up in it too. I fully expect the pendulum to start swinging back the other way now and I'm honestly relieved. If you're like me and find some positives in being a bit detached, I can't urge you enough to allow a little bit of cringe back in your life. If you're too detached or paranoid about being cringe then you can really miss out on important, cherished moments of deep intimacy and joy of life. I love chess so I'm always thinking about this interview of chess grandmaster Vasyl Ivanchuk after one of his games in Gibraltar: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=pUgvAoTzWBA. Look at his excitement as he describes the game, not giving a fuck if he should be playing it cool. It's refreshing and honestly wonderful.

Also one last thing, I don't think it's a coincidence that this social trend has happened at the same time as things have gotten particularly worse for trans people, migrants, women and left wing people. When I say that people are being outright mean to easy targets, I'm talking imparticular about the rising animosity and degradation towards these groups of people where it has become somewhat acceptable to put them down. Yes, we don't need an omnipresent moralism or sickly-sweet insincerity, but the solution is not this detachment or callousness; it's solidarity, it's doing our best to live outside of capitalism as much as we can, and it's trying to break up the monopoly on power that the state and capital currently has.

[sorensolsikke]

Am i a therian? A furry?

People of tumblr, i am gently asking you to help figuring out what the hell is going on

So yeah well

The desire to look non-human accompanies me since such deep from the past that this feeling became the very home, the shelter of my identity.

Yes, of course, i am autistic, i have a paper on it, yes i have ptsd and untreated adhd and i am queer, so i guess wanting to get away from the difficulties of being part of the human society is logical, but like.

Understanding where the feeling comes from shouldn't erase the experience itself.

I recall wanting to growl and purr, moving tail and ears since i was at least two and a half. Of course, i had grown up along many animals, my parents had worked with service dogs, and in one hand, small children learn languages so easily, why would be animals' body language so different? I just got fluent in it– And in the other hand, wanting to have ways for easier self-expression is such a common autistic experience.

But these thoughts lingered, transformed, grew as years passed. Of course i always played with animal toys, or roleplayed the animal company in games with (my very few) friends, but that's not very dramatic, not like other memories linked to the topic, for example.

The very first time i got penalty in school was in the second semester of first grade, when i growled at a girl who bullied me, and then i bit her. That's very strange of a memory, because it made me feel so guilty, so childish, that i didn't let it happen ever again. But that doesn't mean i didn't think about it anymore. When i moved schools and other bullies came and i just couldn't defend myself because of extreme empathy i think, i always imagined myself as a blue dragon, growling and roaring at people. It was, and still is, the easiest way for me to understand my own anger.

What i really feel alone with is that how these fantasies, images became the very pillars of my self-image.

I remember having the idea of wanting to be a dog first, when i was the smallest. I said goodbye to that imaginery when we had to sell my first and only puppy whom i loved dearly, because he was aggressive. I got obsessed with cats instead, then horses, and finally, the perfect mixture of every kind of animal: dragons. Anyone who walks into my room mentions how many dragon related things i have in there. I emphasize that i am 17.

But the reason i started to talk about this all how it forms the way i want to look.

For instance, lately, i've got a long mullett, which i style with a hair straightener in a way it looks like i've got animal ears. While it makes me somehow relieved, at the same time it leaves me with the longing for more.

I want hoop snakebite piercings, so to give the impression of long canines. I cannot stop thinking about this, even though i know very well that my father wouldn't approve it. I just found a really small thing that would make me feel better about myself, and i want to achieve it, quickly, because yk, there are so many things i cannot change.

There are some grotesque ideas in my head how'd i want to look like since i was very little. I've always stepped on tippie toes so to raise my ankle long, up towards my knee, like it is with dogs, cats, horses. I wanted my ears to be pointy, and i crave the black line connecting the eyes with the mouth, what the cheetah's have – therefore i absolutely loved face painting from a very young age. I've always wanted wings and tail, long tongue, and defined muscles; a bunch of these are somehow managable, but others are so distant. It doesn't usually hurt me, like not having a dick hurts me on some masculine days, but the cravings are there, and i think about them a lot.

What i want to ask is: what does it make me be? Am i a furry with a dragon fursona? Am i a therian, am i experiencing some kind of species dysphoria? I know labels aren't quite needed, but is there anyone sharing my experience? Where are my people? Dunno i guess i just don't really want to be alone.

[youcalledmebabe]

꒰ 13 ꒱ “i say this with all the love in my heart, but you look like shit.”

꒰ N ꒱ fondness

꒰ 𓅨 ꒱ a spare bedroom

for babe’s anatomy skip & faye please!

build a fic

thanks for the prompt, it was very fun to write them :)

The room started to spin two drinks ago but Faye is determined to take this shot. It’s her first time hanging out with Skip’s new group: the other male nurses at East Easy he’d fallen head over heels in love with, plus one of the surgical interns, and she wants to prove that she can be one of the boys.

In truth, the move to Chicago has been hard. Faye’s never been one to make friends easily, not like Skip, who’s already befriended the people in the apartment below them, their mailman, and the aforementioned boys group. Faye’s friendly with plenty of her coworkers—Skip doesn’t call her Sweet Faye Tanner for nothing—but she hasn’t made a real friend yet.

And she wants to. So she accepts another shot from the red-headed guy—Malarkey?—with grace. This one makes her want to throw up but she forces it down.

“You’re a real one, Tanner,” he says and claps her shoulders.

“Faye,” she corrects. She’s trying to be one of the boys tonight but that doesn’t mean she wants to do the whole masculine last name thing.

He smiles at her and offers her a hand. “Well, in that case, it’s Don.”

“Hey, Sweet Faye Tanner, you want another beer?” the funny one calls. George? George Luz.

She’s bad with names when she’s sober, right now, she’s surprised she even remembers her own. “Yep!”

Don tugs on her ponytail. “You sure about that?”

She frowns at him. What is he, five? Pulling her ponytail? Seriously? “Yes.”

She leaves and accepts the beer from George with a grin. They cheers and George makes a joke about cold ones that she doesn’t really get but laughs along with anyway.

She’s deep in conversation with the intern, Bill, about their shared interested in ortho when someone puts an arm around her shoulders. Faye glances up to see Skip, handsome, sweet, lovely Skip. She beams at him.

“Hey, baby,” Skip whispers. “I say this with all the love in the world but you don’t look so good right now.”

“Rude, Warren,” she hisses. She is making real progress with his friends. Although the room has begun to blur, and Bill did have to steady her shoulders.

“Bill, can Faye and I borrow your spare room?” Skip asks.

Bill cackles. “Oh, absolutely. Don’t get too frisky. The mattress creaks like hell.”

Skip does his I’m humoring you laugh and leads Faye down the hallway. The Nelly songs gets quieter and quieter until he shuts the door. Faye collapses onto the bed. It does indeed creak alarmingly loud. She shuts her eyes and feels like it’s moving beneath her.

Skip sits beside her and strokes her hair. “How much did you drink?”

“Too much,” she admits.

She hasn’t been this drunk since college. It reminds her of the first time she’d gotten drunk, actually, when she and Skip had raided her mother’s wine coolers after junior prom. They’d spent the entire night puking—she’d gotten off with just a warning from her parents, who were more relieved that they’d been too drunk to sleep together.

“Why?” Skip asks.

She forces her eyes open and focuses on the familiar curve of his jaw, the warmth in his eyes. “I want your friends to like me.”

“Everybody likes you,” he says, leaning forward and kissing her nose. “Sweet Faye Tanner.”

She shrugs. Skip loves her so much he thinks the entire world must see her the way he does.

“They do. I think Malark might be in love with you. And to that, I say, get in line.”

He presses a kiss to her lips and runs a hand up her side. Faye sighs into it, reaching up to run her hands through his hair. They kiss slowly for a moment before Skip pulls away with a smile. “Rest a little, honey. I’ll call us a cab.”

Skip pulls a knit blanket off the end of the bed and tucks it around her. They should call him Sweet Skip Muck, she muses. He’s an angel among men. And how lucky she’d found him in Tonawanda of all places, that she followed him to Dartmouth and he followed her to Chicago.

“Don’t bother with the cab yet,” she mumbles. “Hang out with the guys for a while longer.”

“Really? Are you sure?”

She nods and closes her eyes. Frankly it’s not her being a saintly girlfriend—she just doesn’t think she could handle the stairs out of Bill’s apartment or a cab ride right now.

“Faye?”

“Hmm?”

“I love you.”

“Backatcha,” she says, like he’d said to her when they were sixteen.

He laughs and then the door closes behind him.

The next morning, a very hungover Faye gets a phone call from George inviting her to the bar after work. A victory! She relays the invitation to Skip.

“Absolutely not,” he says. “I want you all to myself tonight.”

And, well, can she really argue with that?