#i had to cut myself off or i would have kept going LMAO

[willowser]

i need more barbarian bakugo au or im gonna burst 😢😢

NOOOOOO bc !! ofc you know who he is, right ?? he's the next in line to lead your clan; you've seen him around your little village and at the smithy and felt the wind underneath the wings of his dragon as he flew overhead. you've stolen glances in the market, between the leatherworker's stall and the potter's kiln, and you've celebrated him along with your peers and you've watched him grow, from afar, into the kind of man that will come to be chieftain.

bakugou katsuki has always, always been—important. he was never among the litter of you that were escorted around by the clan childtender when you were just a young thing, nor was he ever involved in training for your first hunt or sat around the elders as the history of the clan was recounted to you; he grew up apart from the lot of you.

occasionally, his tender's would find him scuttling about in the fields with a tiny group of other boys, ones that were brave enough to wrastle with him in the dirt, or followed his commands closely enough that he allowed them to join him on unknown and unsupervised expeditions into the wilds.

you see him closely for the first time at his own nameday, at 16. it's a big celebration, a turning point in his young life, and he stands before the village with a face painted in the markings of a warrior, body unscarred and strong, and he hoots and hollers with all the etiquette of a feral child. which he might as well be, being raised by the kind of fierce chieftess that will no doubt go down in history.

your family offers a gift, as they all do, and it's you that climbs the steps of his family's hall and hand delivers it to him: a little clay dragon, a bit crude but made with care, that you've worked on for weeks. it's hard to tell how he feels about it, because he only stares at you in silence before huffing and puffing and baring his teeth at you, and then you're escorted back down to your family in the blink of an eye.

you orbit each other, distantly, though you never exchange more than a few passing words.

—so when the maidens that serve the bakugou family come to find you in the night, on the eve of katsuki's ascension to chieftain status, you're shocked to find he's taken lives and conquered settlements and tamed dragons and journeyed far and wide and grown to be the battle-hardened man that he is—but has never taken a lover.

and you're even more astounded to find that he's chosen you to be it.

[dollgxtz]

I gotta know when you’re posting the Zayne CNC fic??? I’ve been checking your blog multiple times a day for it!

But realistically, no pressure 😂 I know writing is hard, and I can wait, lol. It’s worth the wait. I just want to show support for you and your craft. ❤️

Also, I love your yandere!Sylus fic! I’m only on chapter four and I see so many asks about it and I have to physically stop myself from spoiling it for myself, lmao. I’m so excited to read more! Your writing and your tics are a highlight of my day. 😊🥰

Edge Of Control

Word Count: 6.2k

Tags: zayne x fem!reader, cnc, cutting, tw slight blood, scalpel play, choking, biting, degradation, blowjob, degrading names, pet names like darling, pain play, home invasion roleplay, primal play, aftercare in the end

AN: Hi everyone! I know this was a LONG awaited fic but I wanted it to be absolutely perfect for my second husband ^0^. Also ty anon for the very sweet words! I hope this fic makes up for the amount of time you had to wait!!!

It was well past midnight, and the house felt eerily quiet without him. You lay on the couch, wearing nothing but a pair of Zayne’s boxers, the soft fabric a small comfort in his absence. A half-empty bottle of wine sat forgotten on the floor beside you, each sip doing little to calm the restless energy humming beneath your skin. The TV flickered, casting shadows across the room as you absentmindedly flicked through the channels, though nothing could hold your attention.

Your mind kept wandering back to Zayne, a dull ache settling in your chest. He was on another one of those grueling shifts—long hours with no word, no way to reach out to him. The pit of anxiety in your stomach tightened. You didn’t know exactly what his job as a surgeon demanded of him, but you could see it weighing on him more and more. His face had grown tired, the usual sparkle in his eyes dulled by exhaustion. You noticed the way his shoulders remained stiff, tension knotting in his body like a rope pulled too tight, barely holding it together.

Every time he came home like this, you saw it—the frustration simmering just beneath the surface. His body brimming with pent-up energy, adrenaline coursing through his veins with no way to let go. He was so tightly wound, like he was carrying the weight of a world you couldn’t fully understand. And every time you saw him like that, it broke something inside you. You wanted to help him. You wanted to be the one to take that edge off, to give him the release he so desperately needed but would never ask for.

You remembered the last time he came home with that storm in his eyes. Desperation had driven you to plead with him, to offer yourself as an outlet for all that tension, that frustration. You had begged him, your voice trembling, to let go, to take what he needed from you. But he refused. The worry in his eyes had cut deep, his voice firm but laced with guilt as he told you he didn’t want to hurt you.

That memory lingered now, thick in your chest. He was always so controlled, so careful. You knew he loved you, but there was a part of him that he kept locked away, too afraid to unleash it. But you wanted it—you craved it. You wanted him to feel safe enough to lose that control with you, to trust that you could handle it. That you wanted to handle it. But no matter how much you tried to reach him, he kept that wall up, afraid of what might happen if he let himself go.

You took another slow sip of wine, feeling the warmth of it spread through your chest, slightly loosening the anxious knot that had taken residence in your stomach. You always drank more when he was away—needed it, really. It dulled the sharp edges of worry that kept you up at night, made sleep feel a little less impossible. Without him beside you, the house felt too empty, and your mind raced with thoughts you couldn’t control.

Your eyes drifted shut, and the thought crossed your mind again—he could hurt you, if he wanted to. God, he was strong enough. His hands, so skilled and sure in the operating room, could easily push you beyond your limits if he ever let himself go. He knew the human body better than anyone; he understood exactly where and how to apply pressure, how to control every reaction. And then there was the scalpel—his precision tool of choice. He was so adept with it, using it in ways you’d never imagined.

You remembered the first time he’d worked it into one of your nights together, after you had begged him to try something more daring, something that would leave you breathless. He had been hesitant at first, but the results... God, the results. The thrill of that sharp edge glinting in the dim light, the cold metal kissing your skin before it pressed just enough to break the surface. You shivered as the memory washed over you, your body tingling with the vivid recollection.

The pain had been brief, but it was the anticipation, the unspoken threat, that had driven you wild. You could still feel it—the delicate line of fire it had traced across your shoulder, a stinging reminder of his control. And then the blade had hovered at your throat, a silent promise lingering in the air between you, making your pulse race and your breath catch in your throat. In that moment, you had never felt more alive, more his.

Your hand had barely slipped down to your heat when the sharp trill of your phone cut through the quiet. Heart pounding, you snatched it up, the suddenness of it snapping you out of your haze.

“Hello?” you answered, your voice a little breathless, still tangled in the memory of him.

“Is that offer still on the table?” Zayne’s voice poured through the speaker, low and worn, with that familiar undercurrent of exhaustion. But there was something else this time—something darker. His words dripped with a kind of danger, smooth and sweet like black honey, making your stomach flip.

You swallowed hard, a spark igniting low in your belly. “Uh, depends which one,” you managed, trying to play it cool as you sat up, bringing the wine bottle to your lips for another sip. Your heart was racing, anticipation thrumming under your skin.

“The one where I use you.”

The words hit you like a jolt of electricity, sending a thrill straight to your core. The raw need in his voice was unmistakable, and it struck every nerve you had. You faltered for a moment, caught off guard by the intensity of your own reaction. You tried to cover the sudden loss of words with another drink, the wine sliding down your throat as you let the tension stretch between you.

One more sip—just one more for courage. Then, finally, you answered, your voice steadier than you felt.

“Yes.”

“Is the wine good, darling?”

The question hung in the air, and your heart skipped a beat. “What?” you murmured, glancing around the dark living room. The flicker of the TV had left your eyes hazy, still not fully adjusted to the shadows creeping through the room. How did he know you’d been drinking wine?

Your breath caught as an icy chill swept through the house, raising goosebumps on your skin. Instinctively, your gaze darted to the front door, and your stomach dropped. It was wide open, swaying slightly as a gust of wind pushed against it.

You hadn’t heard a thing. Not the lock turning, not the door creaking. Nothing.

How had he gotten in without you noticing?

You stared at the door, frozen in place, watching as it swung shut on its own, the soft click of the latch echoing through the quiet. A chill ran down your spine as the realization hit—you hadn’t heard him enter on purpose. He wanted you to know he’d slipped in unnoticed, that he’d been watching you this whole time. Your mind spun with the thought: How long had he been there?

The phone slipped from your grasp, and you barely registered the sharp whine of the line going dead, drowned out by the thundering pulse of your heartbeat in your ears.

The soft but deliberate sound of shoes against the ceramic floor snapped you back into focus. Your senses sharpened, instincts kicking in. He was coming closer—fast.

In the low, flickering light of the TV, you saw him emerge from the shadows. Long strides brought him swiftly across the room, his form cutting through the dim light with an air of purpose. His form caught the harsh glow—the broad shoulders of his body, the sharp angles of his face—only partially revealed, but enough to make your breath hitch.

Then, without warning, the TV blinked out, plunging the room into complete darkness. The sudden silence was deafening. The sound of his footsteps, which had been closing in on you, vanished as if he’d disappeared into the night itself.

But you knew better.

He was there, somewhere in the blackness, waiting for you to realize it. The tension in the air was thick, every hair on your body standing on end as you strained to hear the slightest movement, feel the faintest brush of his presence.

You held your breath, every muscle in your body coiled tight. The tension crackled in the dark, your senses heightened by the weight of his silent presence.

Suddenly, the TV blared a sharp noise from the movie, flooding the room with light for just a second. And there he was, Zayne, only a few feet away—moving like a shadow, so silently it made your skin crawl. His face was bathed in the cold glow, and the way the light played off his sharp features made him look almost predatory. His expression was intense, dark, and unreadable, as if he was walking a line between control and something much more dangerous.

Your brain screamed danger. Fight or flight surged through your veins, heart hammering against your ribcage as self-preservation took over. Without thinking, your hand tightened around the neck of the wine bottle, the glass cool and smooth in your grip. Before you could second-guess it, you raised it high above your head and hurled it straight at him, instinct driving your every move.

But then—he catches it. Effortlessly. The bottle freezes mid-air, his hand snapping up to grab it as if it were nothing more than a tossed pillow. He doesn’t flinch. His stride doesn’t break. His hazel green eyes, burning with that same dangerous intensity, never leave yours for even a second. The best defense you could muster didn’t even make him blink.

Calmly, as though the act hadn’t fazed him at all, he places the bottle on the side table, his gaze still locked on you. The silence between you feels deafening as he closes the distance, his steps slow but deliberate.

Panic shot through you like a wild animal, adrenaline making your limbs tremble. But something else flared right alongside it—something that sent a pulse of heat straight to your core. It was fear, raw and visceral, but it was tangled up with desire, twisted into something you couldn’t quite understand but craved all the same.

You held your breath, every muscle in your body coiled tight. The tension crackled in the dark, your senses heightened by the weight of his silent presence.

Like prey trapped in the gaze of a predator, you couldn’t move.

Couldn’t look away.

And you almost didn’t want to.

You whip around, adrenaline taking over, and try to run—but you barely make it a few steps before it’s too late. You don’t even hear him behind you. The silence is terrifying, disorienting. Then, out of nowhere, his hand clamps around your elbow, and a startled shriek escapes your lips, cut off as he uses your momentum against you, spinning you sharply into the wall.

Your back collides with it hard, knocking the breath from your lungs. A whimper slips out, unbidden, from the shock of the impact. Before you can recover, Zayne’s voice, low and commanding, hisses in your ear.

“Don’t fight it,” he growls, the words sharp like a promise. “You asked for this.”

Panic surges through your body, instinct screaming at you to get away. “Let go!” you cry out, fear pulsing hot and fast through your veins. But your voice is weak, barely masking the excitement that’s battling for control inside you.

He doesn’t. Instead, he’s on you again, his mouth descending on your neck with a hunger that makes your pulse quicken. One of his hands grips your jaw with rough precision, calloused fingers pressing into your skin, holding you in place. You try to twist away, but he holds you firm, his touch demanding, possessive.

His lips travel down your neck, finding your pulse point first, then moving lower, grazing the soft curve beneath your ear. The sensation sends a shiver down your spine, and despite the panic swirling in your chest, a desperate whimper escapes. Your body betrays you, your hips instinctively rocking toward him, already aching for his touch. The heat between your legs flares, want burning through the fear.

His tongue traces a line down your neck, the warmth of it lingering only for a moment before the cool air chills the wet skin. Then his teeth sink into the muscle above your collarbone, not hard enough to break the skin but enough to make you gasp in pain. You wince, your body tensing as the sharp sensation rolls through you.

Your hand flies up to his head, fingers tangling in his hair as you try to push him off, your grip weak and trembling. But Zayne doesn't budge. His strength overwhelms you, his body pressing against yours with an intensity that leaves no room for escape. His breath is hot against your skin as he continues, relentless, leaving you caught between fear and an overpowering need that consumes you both.

"Zayne," you whimper. He releases his teeth from your neck with a chuckle that curls fear inside you…

His hands take your wrists, leading them above your head. You try to squirm out of his grasp. Partly because you don’t want to give him the satisfaction of pinning you. Partly out of the fear of what he could do if you can’t push him away, his entire aura shifted to something more angry and dangerous than usual. 

"Don't pretend like you don't like it," he says into the angle of your jaw. He leaves soft kisses there while he effortlessly pins your arms above your head. He holds them there with one hand.

The other gropes and squeezes it’s way down your body. Your chest, your side, your waist. He grabs a hold of your hips, thumb perfectly lining up with the dune of your hipbone. He pulls your hips towards him harshly enough to draw a noise from your lips. He works his knee between your thighs, then pushes them open. He swallows any attempted protests with a kiss. His knee presses against your sensitive cunt and you whimper against his lips in response. 

“Oh, what happened to all the struggling?” Zayne mocks you, punctuating his words by squeezing your wrists hard enough to bruise. His hand comes up under your t-shirt and you shiver against the sensation of his fingers on your bare skin. You melt. Fucking putty in his hands.

You open your mouth to protest, to say anything that might break the tension or reclaim some of your control, but before the words can form, Zayne grinds his knee into your core. The pressure sends a jolt of raw pleasure through your body, and the only sound that escapes is a desperate, breathy whine. His reaction is immediate—he hums with satisfaction, his lips curving into a smug smile. He does it again, harder this time, and you can feel him reveling in the control, in the power he has over you.

Your mind scrambles to catch up with your body, which is already responding in ways you can’t hide. You try to meet his gaze, desperately wanting to say something sharp, something biting, anything to regain your footing. But the moment your eyes lock with his, whatever witty retort you had dies on your tongue.

His face is half-hidden in the darkness, but his eyes... there’s something in them that makes your heart stutter. Not just the hunger, not just the dominance—it’s deeper. There’s a flash of genuine anger simmering beneath the surface, something darker that you hadn’t expected, and it sends a ripple of unease through you. The intensity of it levels you, catching you off guard.

Suddenly, this feels like more than just a game. Warmth floods your chest, your body still responding to him in ways you can’t control, but a new sense of apprehension takes root. You’re playing with something dangerous, something unpredictable. The heat between you is no longer just desire—it’s the burn of real fire, and you’re not sure if you’re ready for the flames.

Your breath comes faster as you take in the sight of him. His chest rising and falling, his lips parted slightly, the way his muscles tense beneath his skin. You’re mesmerized, caught between the fear of what he might do next and the undeniable pull he has over you.

You take him in, eyes sweeping over the familiar lines of his body now that he’s standing in front of you. His white lab coat is gone, discarded somewhere behind him, leaving him in his crisp white dress shirt, the sleeves rolled up to his elbows as if he couldn’t be bothered to fully undress. His shirt is buttoned neatly up to the collar, accentuating his thick, muscular frame in a way that makes your heart skip a beat. The tie around his neck is still knotted, slightly loosened from a long day’s work, but there’s something disheveled about him now—something raw and untamed lurking beneath the polished exterior.

His dark slacks cling to his legs, perfectly tailored to his build, emphasizing his long leg now settled between your core. The soft fabric sways with his movements, while his polished shoes make almost no sound against the floor, their silence unsettling given the tension simmering between you.

His arms cage you in, closing off this small corner of the world to just the two of you. It feels like there’s nothing outside this moment, no one else but him—towering over you, his strength radiating off him in waves. The air between you feels thick, charged with tension and unspoken desire. Your gaze travels back to his face, meeting his intense eyes, and despite the weight of the moment, you can’t help but smile mischievously.

Without a second thought, you turn your head and sink your teeth into his arm, biting down just enough to feel the resistance of his skin, tasting the salty warmth of him. At the same time, you grind your hips down against him, pressing into the hardness beneath his slacks.

You expect him to react instantly, to snarl an insult or degrade you for your boldness. To throw out one of his usual threats—punishment, discipline—his voice dripping with disdain for your insolence, for the way you always push his boundaries. You brace yourself for it, for the sting of his words, the sharp crack of his tone that would send heat rushing through your body.

But it doesn’t come.

Instead, he goes completely still. The tension in his muscles shifts, tightening under your bite, but his silence unnerves you more than anything. You can feel it—the raw power coursing just beneath his skin, his body vibrating with restraint. His muscles flex under your teeth, taut with the effort of holding something back. You release your grip slightly, confused, nervous. But Zayne says nothing. He’s a coiled spring, quiet, calculating, like a predator biding its time.

Methodically, he moves, his hands sliding down your arms, his touch precise, controlled, like he’s performing surgery. Each motion deliberate, calculated. His fingers glide over your skin, and with each inch he covers, the nervousness inside you builds. His control feels absolute, every movement designed to unsettle, to leave you wondering what’s coming next.

Then his hands reach your head, enveloping it completely. His fingers curl around your skull, not rough but firm enough to make you feel small, trapped in his grip. His thumbs rest near your temples, steady, as if he’s taking his time to savor the way your breath catches. The weight of his touch presses down on you, making it impossible to move.

With one harsh movement, he’s pushed you down onto your knees. He undoes his belt and pulls himself free, his beautiful cock glistening with pre-cum. One hand presses hard into your jaw. Harder. His thumb pressing against the muscles there until you open your mouth for him. The head of his cock comes to rest against your lips.

The taste of salt and Zayne’s soap is too tempting to resist. He was usually such a giver, and when you went down on him, he always liked it slow. You lick up the length of his cock and he shivers in response. He drops his hands to your shoulders and you watch his forearms flex in pleasure. Your tongue swirls around his soft tip, and then you take him into your mouth soft and sweet.

Except... this time he doesn’t respond with shaking breaths and high pitched whimpers. Not even an utterance of your name. Insecurity flashes through you - you were sure this is how he usually liked it. Were you not doing well enough for him? You cast your eyes upwards for guidance, barely able to see him in the dark. 

“You really think that’s going to cut it?” His voice is cold and hard. Then his hands are on the back of your head, pushing you down onto his cock so fast and deep you almost gag. You pull away to drag a sharp breath into your lungs, abdomen muscles flexing.

 “You want to be fucked like a slut, you’re going to have to earn it.” He pulls you back down onto him.

Suppressing the urge to gag brings tears to your eyes, and it isn’t long until they’re falling down your cheek, mingling with the saliva making a mess of your mouth and chin. Wet, choking noises echo into the empty hall. When you start to slow, whimpering from the effort, he’s quick to pick up the slack. He thrusts his hips forward, pinning your head between him and the wall. You choke and gag around him, struggling to adjust around the brutal pace he sets, fucking your throat like you're nothing to him but a toy. Your hands come up to his hips, but he wrenches them away with a furious grunt. 

He pulls out suddenly, thick strands of saliva dripping off his cock. His breathing is hard and sweat rolls down the lines of his ab muscles. Your shoulders slump and you try to catch your breath. You’re absolutely spent. How humiliating that he didn’t even have to touch you to keep you wet for him, a vague sense of disgust emanating through your core.

“Was that good enough?” you weakly ask, but you might as well be begging him to fuck you for the look in your eyes. You don’t even bother to wipe the spit from your chin or the tears from your cheeks. You hope the sight gets under his skin so he can fuck you just as rough as he did your throat. 

“I don’t buy it,” he says. You furrow your eyebrows in confusion and frustration. 

“What?” 

“I just don’t buy that you want me to fuck you.” 

You’re about to ask what you can possibly do more to prove it when something hard presses against your warmth, pushing your soaked boxers against you. You look down do see Zayne presenting his shoe. Polished and tightly tied, the mere sight of them gave obvious impression of what he wanted from you. But why?

You look up at him, but all he does is look back at you, expectantly. Your can feel the heat creeping up your neck as you adjust to straddle his shoe. You keep hoping he’ll just end your suffering by mocking you for even considering it, but it never comes. The cold, hard leather against you sends a wave of electricity through your body. Your hips are moving on their own. Your body desperate for anything it can get, chasing it’s high no matter how humiliating. You turn your face away from him, unable to stand him looking at you like this. Grinding against his shoe... 

“There they are. My desperate little darling,” his voice has the first touch of warmth it’s had all night. It’s enough to spurn you on, the heat coiling in your abdomen. You pick up the pace against your will, your body chasing ecstasy like an uncaged animal. And Zayne just watches you, expression never changing, never reaching down to touch you. God, were you really going to cum on his shoe while he looked at you like that?

He kneeled down to one knee, doing his best not to disturb your work. His strong hands take hold of your hips and push you harder against his shoe, dragging your hips up and down. You moan, tears collecting in your eyes again. You can’t believe you’re enjoying this. Even - no, especially because it hurt. You were getting closer, your moans coming faster. 

“Beg for it,” Zayne orders. 

“Please let me cum, Zayne, please!” 

“Tsk. Not that,” he pulls his shoe away like he's disgusted and you whimper in protest. Then, as if you were light as a feather, he’s tossing you to the side. You catch yourself on your elbows and feel them scrape against the ceramic floor. Your hips grind against the air as they searched for any friction at all that would send you over the edge. They found nothing. 

“Silly girl.” He sounds bored as he stands to his full height above you.

You watch as his hand pulls a scalpel from his pocket. It captures his full attention, glinting in the light of the TV behind him. When he speaks, it's almost to the room.

“Isn’t this your favorite part? Where you try and fail to escape?” 

You don’t move. He flips the scalpel in the air, catching it by the tip of the blade, and then again to catch it by the handle. He admires it as if it were the most beautiful thing in the world. 

“Start crawling,” he suggests. 

You push yourself onto tired, shaking limbs and try to get up. They give out on you. You pull yourself forward on your elbows instead. You hear the nearly silent creak of his shoes. The another. Then another. You feel small crawling beneath him, listening to the gentle whirl of the scalpel as he tosses it in the air. His shoes creak again, then again. 

You turned to look at him. You were almost overwhelmed at how he towered above you. His broad shoulders blocking out the light in the hallway. One hand busy toying with the scalpel, the other pulling his pants further down his hips. He was clearly taking his time.

“You ever wonder why you like to fight so much?” You watch shoe follow shoe in lazy strides until they were at either side of your ribcage, standing above you.

“Should I let you get away again?” he asks, but then he’s dropping to his knees, pinning you beneath him. Fear takes hold of your vocal chords and you make a desperate noise, pushing at his legs. “Will you just give in already?” 

With a calculated shift, Zayne turns your body to face him, your heart pounding so hard it feels like it might burst from your chest. The tension between you crackles in the air, and before you can fully process what’s happening, his hand finds your neck, fingers wrapping around it with unyielding force. His palm presses against your throat, squeezing just enough to send a jolt of pain through you, sharp and undeniable.

"It takes about 10 seconds for pressure to the jugular to result in unconsciousness," Zayne says calmly, his voice low, almost clinical, as if reciting a fact from one of his textbooks. His grip tightens again, harder this time, and the sensation of control he wields is overwhelming.

The edges of your vision blur almost immediately, the world around you starting to fade. You feel lightheaded, like the ground is slipping away beneath your feet, your body caught in the thin space between pain and pleasure. But beneath the intoxicating sensations, panic begins to swell. The lightness in your head grows, and then you feel weightless, disconnected from reality as the darkness creeps in around your sight.

Your body starts to respond, instinct driving you toward the rising sense of panic. The pleasure and thrill that had mixed with the danger of it all suddenly feel too real, too much, as Zayne relentlessly pushes you to your limits.

You bring your hand up weakly, your fingers trembling, and tap his arm three times. The motion is small but deliberate, your safe signal.

For a brief, terrifying second, you wonder if he’s noticed.

He releases and you gasp for air. He lets you catch your breath, and for a minute you’re almost angry. But the growing wet between your legs betrays you to yourself, forcing you to admit you liked being pushed to the edge. An exhilarated smile picks up the corners of your mouth and Zayne, intently waiting for you to lead, just watches.

“More,” is all you need to say, and he’s on you again. Hand lighter on your throat, he brandishes the scalpel to catch your eye. It makes contact with your skin and you fight to control a shiver. 

It glides around your shoulder, then down your collar bone. The razor sharp point leaving a thin, red cut beneath the bone. You gasp, back arching into the sting. He withdraws. 

“If you keep squirming, I’m going to hurt you for real.” It’s as much a warning as it is a threat, and the dark rasp of his voice sends a chill down your spine. 

Then you go still again, he continues. The scalpel crosses your chest, taking it’s time tracing each and every one of your ribs. He draws a bead of blood there, before lifting the blade again. You moan, squeezing your thighs together to keep from moving your hips. The anticipation almost too much for you. But the movement catches his eye. He pockets the scalpel, and then he’s prying your thighs apart so hard you feel the ache in your hips. You try to shimmy away, but his hands hold your thighs fast against him. 

“I said hold still,” he grunts, squeezing his hands around the squish of your thighs hard enough that you make a noise. "What part of stop squirming do you not get?"

Your hand comes up to his hips, trying to hold them at a distance, but it doesn’t help. He pulls you closer to him and you feel his cock hard and leaking over your boxers. Fuck, you almost come undone all over again. Feeling him pressed against you like this... his cock easily reaching your belly button, reminding you how deep inside you he could be. 

“Zayne, please,” you whimper. 

“Please what?” He asks. You feel the cold blade against the tender, exposed part of your thigh. 

“Please fuck me.” 

He grunts, a noise that commits to nothing. He pulls the fabric of your boxers off your body and slips the scalpel beneath it. He cuts the thin fabric off of you in a show of strength and skill that intimidates you. 

He leans over you slowly, his hips pressed flush against yours, his cock pressed against where you want it most. A hand comes up to your face then, holding your jaw hard as he turns your face away from his. The scalpels beautiful surface approaches your cheek. Your breath picks up, fear coursing through you. He says nothing, and it makes it all the more terrifying. Your instincts freeze every muscle in your body. 

“You asked for this,” he reminds you, tracing the curve of your cheek. You bite your lip.

He pockets the scalpel once more, and you realize then that he's still entirely dressed, his pants only pulled down enough to fuck you. He shifts his hips, lining up with your needy hole. You’re already moaning for him.

“Begging me to use you like this, begging me to hurt you like this.” He pushes into you, your cunt struggling to adjust to his size. He only makes it a couple inches. He pulls out of you, then thrusts again, moaning as he does. This time when he pushes into you, he completely fills you. You both release an almost victorious sigh.

“Always fucking struggling. Can never just make it easy,” he growls, that angry look in his eye. His jaw flexes. Your cunt tenses around him.

He thrusts into you again, and again, so hard it feels like he could fuck you in half. He dips his face into your neck, moaning.

"You want me to force you onto my cock." His voice tightened with effort, but never lost that black-honey edge. "Can't say no to you. Do this because I love you."

You reach up and cling to his shoulders, nails digging into the fabric. His words shouldn't thrill you, but they did. Your eyes flutter closed. Your body shook beneath him.

“This is messed up,” Zayne’s hips start to pick up their pace. You wrap your legs around him, encouraging him, pulling him deeper into you. You find yourself moaning his own words back at him; so messed up, so messed up. 

Fuck, he felt so good. The two of you dissolved into senseless babbling, saying whatever it took to push each other closer to the edge. A meaningless cloud of fuck and just like that and you begged for this until neither of you could form words at all. Your pace became erratic, moaning into each other’s necks, limbs tightening around each other as you both approached your highs.

“Fuck, fuck, m’so-” you barely manage, panting and moaning through your words. Your thighs tighten around him and he groans in response. 

And then you’re coming undone together. His hips driving his cock as deep as they can with the primal need to fuck his cum deeper inside you. You take it, greedily, breathlessly as your own climax rocks through your body like an earthquake. 

He rests his forehead against your chest while he pulls out of you, then collapses onto the cool ceramic floor of the hallway beside you. He turns you onto your side and buries his head against your back, forearms tight against your chest while he hugs you close to him. 

“I didn’t think,” you take a deep breath, trying not to pant through your sentence, “that when I asked you to use me after your work shifts, that it’d be like that.” 

“Bad?” He asks, his voice uncharacteristically small. 

“No, no,” you rush to recover the situation. You lace your fingers with his, “Of course not.” 

He says nothing. You turn to look at him, and there’s that distant, tired look on his face. 

“Are you okay...?” 

“I will tell you about it soon, darling” he says. You hum as acknowledgement, wishing you could say anything, but feeling like nothing was the right thing to say. Instead you just let him hold you for awhile. 

Zayne held you close, his body a solid, comforting weight against yours, his bodily warmth gradually soothing the whirlwind of sensation still buzzing under your skin. But then, you felt him shift. His fingers, cold and precise, began to ghost over the cuts he had made, tracing the delicate lines he’d etched into your skin with surgical precision. You shivered at his touch, a soft gasp escaping your lips.

His eyes softened, and in a voice barely louder than a whisper, he said, “I need to tend to these.” His words were gentle, but firm, a quiet reminder of the care he always took with you, even now.

He pressed a tender kiss to your temple, the warmth of it contrasting with the coolness of his fingers, and then he pulled away. You watched him button his pants, his movements deliberate but unhurried, before disappearing down the hall. Even through the exhaustion weighing you down, you heard the faint sound of him rummaging in the bathroom, retrieving what he needed.

When he returned, Zayne knelt beside you, his medical kit in hand. His usual calm, professional demeanor was still there, but this time it was softened with a tenderness only reserved for you. Gently, he began to disinfect the cuts, his touch as light as it was thorough. The sting of the antiseptic bit into your skin, making you wince, but his hand found yours, his thumb brushing reassuringly over your knuckles. It was a silent promise: I’m here, I’ve got you.

With every stroke of the gauze, every carefully placed bandaid, Zayne’s focus never wavered. His gaze remained trained on you, on the cuts he was tending to, but there was something deeper in his expression—something protective, almost reverent, as though he was caring for a part of himself.

When he finally finished, he sat back slightly, his hand resting on your arm, his eyes searching yours as if to make sure you were truly okay. You could see the tension from earlier still lingering in the set of his jaw, the concern etched faintly into the lines of his face.

“I’m okay, I promise,” you murmured, your voice heavy with exhaustion, your body finally giving in to the weight of the night. Your limbs felt like lead, but your heart fluttered at the care he was taking with you, the gentleness of his hands now so different from the intensity you’d felt earlier.

“I’m just…so exhausted now” you sigh, briefly closing your eyes as another wave of tiredness washed through you.

Zayne’s expression softened into a small smile, one so full of adoration it made your chest tighten with affection. He stood, helping you up with careful hands, supporting your weight as he guided you to the couch. His arm stayed wrapped around you, keeping you close, steadying you as he laid you down gently, as though you were something fragile.

He settled in beside you, his body curling protectively around yours, pulling you against his chest. “We’ll clean up later,” he whispered, his lips brushing against your forehead in a soft kiss. The warmth of his breath and the steady rhythm of his heartbeat lulled you, the scent of him comforting, grounding you.

You nestled deeper into him, the tension of the night melting away in his embrace. Wrapped in his arms, in the safety of his presence, your exhaustion finally caught up with you. Your eyelids fluttered closed, the world around you fading into the soft haze of sleep. And there, in the quiet of the night, you both drifted off together, tangled in each other, with nothing but the sound of your breathing and the quiet rise and fall of his chest.

[bunnyscryptarchived]

fight fire with fire.

when i said you don’t take any of rafe’s shit i meant it

pairing: dark!crybaby!rafe cameron x reader

synopsis: your boyfriend accuses you of flirting with someone at a party causing an argument to ensue. what happens when he snaps and you snap back..

warnings: slight domestic violence (reader hits his ass back), swearing, dark!reader (kinda? sorta?) dark!crybaby!rafe but lets be real……thats just rafe lmao

a/n: the synopsis isn’t the best i’m sorry, my brain malfunctioned. this idea has been eating at me and i’ve changed the scenario like 3 times. the ending wasn’t what i planned originally but i hope you enjoy! pls comment, reblog, like! feedback is always appreciated <33

“bet you won’t disrespect me like that again, hmm?”

you held your breath, hand pressed against your cheek. the stinging in your face and the throbbing in your throat from his where his grip had been confirming what you already knew. brain going a mile a minute as your kept your gaze on the ground and that infuriated rafe even more.

grabbing both sides of your face to force your attention back to him. 

“hmm?! don’t- dont you ever raise you voice at me like that again. don’t you ever fix your lips to fucking swear at me like that.” he sneered, shaking you violently causing you to squeeze your eyes shut. “do i make myself clear?” 

“look at me when i’m talking to you!” you snap them open— wide eyes staring into his. “now i asked you a question. do i make myself clear?” 

he removes his hands from your face when you let out a yes. nodding his head, stepping back to run a hand across his mouth with a huff. 

all this because someone had flirted with you at a house party. rafe didn’t like how another guy, a pogue at that, had the nerve to walk up and talk to you. he especially didn’t like that you “entertained” him. you weren’t, you were making nice, friendly conversation while you got a drink. but rafe didn’t see that, he saw you smiling at another dude that wasn’t him and already planted the idea in his head that you wanted that "dirty pogues" attention instead of his. 

so he charged over to you and dragged you to his truck, no words spoken. ignoring all your concerned questions. 

when you got home is when he snapped. chastising you for flirting with someone else. pacing back and forth, voice getting loud. “the fuck is wrong with you? flirting with that pogue. humiliating me like that.” confused and hurt is all you felt as he accused you of wanting someone else so you defended yourself. he wasn’t hearing any of it tho. so your voice raised a bit, wanting to get it thru to him but to rafe it was af it you screamed at him. saying how this is ridiculous and “you’re being a fucking asshole.” 

that was the last thing you got out before his hand was on your throat and your head whipped violently to the side. 

you let out a shaky breath as you stare at him with wrath that was hidden by faux fear. 

he looks back at you, letting out a long sigh. “look baby..” voice now calm, and quiet as he walked back into your space. “listen i- i know i shouldn’t take my anger out on you like that, okay. but… you- you can’t talk back to me like that, a’ight. i know you can be a good girl, you just need a little discipline s’all.” he eyed you, focusing at your cheek. “cause cussing at me like? tsk, you’ll have bigger problems than a little sl-“ 

he wasn’t able to get out the rest of his words before you delivered a swift slap to his face. catching him off guard causing his head to whip to the side. he recovers quickly, looking back at you with a look that would make anyone else cower in a corner and tremble but before he can retaliate you strike him again. your nails scratching him in the mix making him step back with a hiss— pressing a hand to his cheek he pulls it back it to see his fingers stained crimson. three cuts adorning his face. eyes filled with tears.

your quick to walk up to him, grabbing his jaw tight. nails pressing into his skin— digging deeper when he grabs your wrist. 

“don’t…” you start, licking your lips. “don’t you ever…. lay your hands on me like that again.” you spoke lowly, bringing his face closer to yours. eyes locked on his tear filled ones. “i will fucking bury you, you understand me?” you shake his head bit, making him wince from your nails going deeper. "let g-" you squeeze his lips together. “don’t think that just because i love you i won’t throw back what you give me times 10.” you other hand wipes a tear that falls from his eye. “my love, i’d do anything for you but..” your eyes narrow. “hit me again and you’ll have bigger problems than a couple of claw marks. do i make myself clear?” you mock and don’t let go until he croaks out “okay” releasing his face with a little shove. blood seeping through the indents from your grip. you ignore the whimper he lets out and head towards the bathroom. “sit on the couch�� not checking to make sure he does. you know he will. 

coming back with the first aid kit, you sit on his lap and begin cleaning his cuts in silence. thumb softly rubbing against his cheek when he lets out a hiss from the alcohol. placing a bandage on the cuts, you place a kiss on top. 

“baby look at me”

he lifts his eyes to meet yours— red from irritation making you frown, leaning forward to press a kiss to his eyelids. he sighs softly, arms wrapping around your waist, pulling you closer. you comb your fingers through his hair, feeling his grip tighten. “we okay?” he bites his bottom lip, hand reaching up to caress the cheek he made contact with. you close your eyes with a soft sigh. feeling his lips press to your skin, he mutters against it, “yeah. we’re okay”. it's quiet for a while before he breaks it. "i- i'm gonna get my shit together, ya know. 'm gonna do better. be a better man for you. i promise. i j... you- don't leave me a'ight." his eyes start to well up with tears again. "please- you can't- just don't leave, okay. you.. you gotta see." repeatedly pointing to his chest as his voice cracks. "gonna show you how 'm a be someone you deserve. you just gotta stick with me baby. i promise. i promise you."

you grab his hand, pressing kisses to his knuckles to quiet his babbles. "hey. hey." his body jolted from your voice snapping a bit but he still uttered on causing you to sigh and grab his throat. tight. forcing his head up to pay attention to you. he sniffed loudly, wide eyes staring back in to yours. “i love you, you know that, yeah?” he nodded his head. “okay.” you circled your thumb softly over his skin, a show of affection. “show me then”

you leaned your forehead against his. "and don’t try that shit again."

[thana-topsy]

Trying to fill my dash with good vibes - what are your favourite tesblr blogs? Art, memes, writers, anything!

Good vibes for all! What a great ask, thank you. I might turn this into a tag game of sorts.

I'll divide this into categories to make things easy to navigate. This is in no way comprehensive, because otherwise I'd be here all day just listing literally everyone I follow. But here's where I'll start!

Favorite Aesthetic TES Blogs: Gifs, screenshots, edits, in-game gorgeousness~ - @darkelfguy

Favorite Art & Writing Blogs: These blogs don't only post their own art and writing, but also reblog a lot from the community! - @falmerbrook - @moriche - @dirty-bosmer Favorite Lore Blogs: Blogs that tend to have canon-friendly lore posts and civil discussions - @nientedenada - @kookaburra1701 - @greyborn2

Favorite Meme Blogs: Blogs that just makes me smile or have a chuckle - @incorrectskyrimquotes - @nerevar-quote-and-star

Well-Rounded Tesblr Blogs: This category goes out to the homies who post all the good shit from art to writing to memes to shitposts to lore dumps. The MVPs in my books. - @skyrim-forever - @trickstarbrave - @v1ctory-or-sovngarde - @captain-of-silvenar - @throughtrialbyfire - @elavoria

I seriously had to cut myself off otherwise I would have just kept listing blogs LMAO. If I tagged you in this, please feel free to add your own favorites and maybe we can get a nice chain going!

[drabbles-mc]

Never Been Us

Angel Reyes x F!Reader

Warnings: 18+, language, angst, mentions of character death

Word Count: 3.1k

A/N: the way i've been so blocked up and unable to finish fics and somehow i finished 2 in the last 2 days. no idea where it came from but I'm not questioning it. i started and finished this tonight. throwing it out there before i can second-guess myself lmao

When Angel rolled into your driveway and saw your front door open, the first thing that went through him was panic. You’d never been the type that was stupid or reckless enough to leave your front door open. And with the way that things had been going in Santo Padre, what with the club and the cartels and Border Patrol moving in, you were less likely than ever to leave yourself so vulnerable. Hell, lately whenever Angel showed up your door had not only been closed, but also locked.

Putting the stand down on his bike, he left his helmet hanging off the handlebar and started making his way towards your front door. He’d pulled his gun from his kutte before he even had one foot on your front step. He kept his breath trapped in the back of his throat as he clutched his gun tight. He kept it pointed down towards the ground for now, but he was ready for that to change.

He stepped through the threshold, one boot hitting the paper-thin throw rug just inside your door. It hardly muffled the sound. Before he could bring the other half of his body into your house, though, you popped up, quickly coming around the corner.

The sudden nature of both your appearances had you both cursing in surprise. You hugged the box in your hands tighter to your chest as your half-yell turned into a sigh of relief mixed with exhaustion. All of the emotions that just shot through you were evident as ever as you said, “What the fuck, Angel?”

His eyebrows were still practically in his hairline as he tucked his gun back away again. “The fuck you got your door open for? Had me thinkin’ someone fuckin’ broke—” He cut his own sentence off as he really took in the sight of you, the box in your hands that was hastily labeled BEDROOM. “What…?”

The confusion on his face made you unable to keep meeting his eyes. Your gaze dropped to the box you were holding, the seams of cardboard and tape suddenly more interesting than you would’ve ever imagined they’d be.  Even though you weren’t looking directly at him, you heard the way he was shifting in the doorway, looking back at your pickup truck. You knew he’d see the other boxes you’d already stacked in the bed of it. You weren’t quite done loading up yet, but you were getting there.

He waited for you to look at him again before asking, “What’s going on?”

There was only one answer to his question, and it was an obvious one. But you knew that if the shoe was on the other foot you’d be doing the same thing—you’d need to hear him say it. Clearing your throat, you gave a shrug that accomplished nothing in terms of softening the blow of, “I’m leaving.”

His frown deepened, confusion transforming into hurt that almost had you rethinking your decision to get the hell out of Santo Padre. “L-leaving? You can’t…you can’t just leave.”

“Angel—”

“Nah,” he shook his head, “nah you don’t get to do that. You can’t just leave. You didn’t even—were you even gonna tell me?”

The lump in the back of your throat felt like it was on the brink of choking you. “Yeah.”

“Before you crossed fuckin’ county lines?”

Tears stung your eyes. “Angel, please.”

He backpedaled out your doorway and back onto your front step. “Don’t do that. Don’t say my name like that, like I fuckin’ matter to you.”

“You do—”

“You’re leaving me. You can’t stand there with your shit all boxed up,” he gestured to you and the bed of your truck, “and try to tell me I fuckin’ matter to you.”

There was no getting out of this argument now. It was an argument you’d been planning to have over the phone, an argument you were hoping would happen when there were more than a few area codes between you. You didn’t want it to be like this—not because he didn’t matter, but because he mattered too much. And you knew that if you had to look into those sad, puppy-dog eyes and tell him that you were leaving, and if you had to tell him why, you just might hang it all up and not leave at all. You couldn’t afford that.

There was no avoiding the argument but you didn’t want to do it while standing there holding a box that had books and trinkets from your bookshelf packed inside it.  You slipped past him without a word and walked down to your truck. Angel didn’t follow, hanging back and watching as you set the box on the tailgate and gave it a strong push to send it sliding and landing right alongside the others.

When you walked back past him and into your house, that was when he decided to follow you. He shut the door behind the two of you, following you through your now essentially empty home. It was strange for him to walk through your living room and not see all of your picture frames and plants, the art prints that had covered your walls. You stopped in the kitchen, leaning back against the counter and facing him. You watched him look around, take in the fridge that was no longer covered in magnets and photographs and takeout menus. No more dishes in the sink or drainboard, no more succulents on the windowsill. Seeing it all empty made him remember that you were just renting this place anyway, that you could pack up and leave whenever you wanted. And now you were. Then the hurt and anger swelled up in his chest again.

“Why?” he asked.

You let out a hollow laugh, raking your fingernails along your scalp before letting your arms fall back to your sides again. “You’re really asking me that? This…this town is fucked, Angel. You know that. I know you’ve been waist-deep in your shit with the club but…but that’s the exact type of shit I’m talking about.”

“This town’s always been fucked, querida,” he tried to argue, tried to pepper in a pet name like it would change anything. “What’s so different now?”

The answer to that question made bile creep up your throat. You didn’t think that you could say it to him. Not the real answer, the raw unedited cut of it. “Everything,” you answered, a shake to your voice that was never there when you talked to him.

“C’mon,” he said, tone softer than it had been this entire time as he stepped in towards you. “Don’t leave me like this. Don’t do this to me.”

“This isn’t just about you.”

“No, it’s not,” he agreed. He put his hands on your hips, pulling himself closer to you. His voice dropped to something just above a whisper. “After all the shit we—”

“We?” you cut him off, not yelling but your tone cutting nonetheless. “We? You’re choosing now to start throwing that word around?”

His brows came together, offended and confused. “What’re you talkin’ about? It’s always been us.”

You laughed, a cruel sound as tears prickled along your waterline again. “Oh, has it? It’s always been us?”

“Yeah, what’re you—”

“It’s never been us, Angel. Never. It’s been you, chasing around every girl who stumbles into that clubhouse and then running back to me when you get bored of them. It’s been you going out being reckless with the club and then coming to me when you need someone to patch you up, someone to tell you that you’re right and they’re all wrong. It’s been you coming to me whenever it’s fucking convenient for you.” You pushed him away, a half-hearted shove. “And it’s been me fucking letting you.”

“I—”

“And I would’ve been fine still doing that. You know that? Fucking sad, but I would’ve done it. Would’ve just kept right on pretending that it was enough, or that it was going to change. But then—” you stopped short, still not able to spit the words out. “I just can’t do it anymore, Angel.”

Despite Angel’s lack of ability to really commit, to really let himself be with you in the way that you really wanted, he’d always done his best with what little he had for you. Over the years he’d been your shoulder to cry on, his flannels becoming tissues for you. He’d set you loose in the scrapyard when your anger bubbled up so much that you needed to break something because it was the only alternative you had to hurting yourself or someone else—even gave you the gloves and safety glasses to do it the right way. He’d kept the other side of your bed warm when you were both feeling lonely, making the lines defining what you two were really start to blur.

He’d been there with you through all of that and yet he hadn’t ever seen the emotion saturating your expression now. He’d never seen you so afraid. Your arms were crossed tightly over your chest, fists clenched as tightly as you could manage. Your leg bounced no matter how much you tried to will it to stop. He’d never seen you like this. How had it gotten so bad?

He stepped in close to you again. Placing his hands on the outsides of your arms, he gave you a light, reassuring squeeze. “What’s got you so scared?”

You shook your head, staring down at the floor because you couldn’t make yourself look at him. “I can’t.”

“What?”

“I can’t stay here. I can’t be comfortable here. I’m not…I’m not safe here.”

He brought one hand up to cup the side of your face. His thumb traced gently along your cheek in a way that made your bottom lip tremble. “I’ll always keep you safe, querida. You know that.”

He sounded so earnest but you knew too much now to be able to believe it. You’d tried. God, you had tried so hard to buy into that the last few weeks but you just couldn’t fool yourself. “I don’t.”

“What the fuck happened?”

Tears finally made their way to your cheeks, racing along the lines of Angel’s hand as it remained holding your face. You didn’t want to say it. You didn’t even want to think about it, but it’s all that was playing through your mind. Truthfully, it was the thing that had been playing through your mind every day since it had happened.

You could still hear it so vividly, the sound of him pounding on the door to your house. It hadn’t been his bike engine that woke you up, it was his aggressively frantic knocking on your front door. Looking back you were surprised that he hadn’t slammed it clean off its hinges. You were also surprised that you hadn’t tripped and fallen half a dozen times on your way to the front door from your bedroom because your eyes weren’t fully open and you weren’t anywhere close to fully awake.

“Alright, alright!” you half-shouted from your side of the door. You dumbly fiddled with the locks until they came undone.

Angel practically threw himself through the door. He was haphazardly grabbing for you, leaving for you to try and untangle yourself from his long limbs just to be able to close and lock the door again. You’d hardly heard the click of the lock and he was pulling you tight to him. He had his arms wrapped around you in such a way that you couldn’t even effectively hug him back. You just pressed your cheek against his hoodie, helpless to do anything else.

“Talk to me,” you said, managing to free one of your arms so that you could do your best to return his embrace.

He mumbled something into your shoulder, words that you couldn’t make out. He finally pulled back away from you, far enough so that you could see his face, the smears of blood that disappeared into the coarse hairs of his beard.

“It’s all my fault,” the words fell from his lips, raspy and choked as he repeated the sentence over and over again. “It’s all my fault. I, it’s all my fuckin’ fault.”

“What’s your fault, Angel?”

The sound of you saying his name got him to look at you, tears in his eyes and worry creasing his brow deeper than you thought was possible. His stare was so sad, so intense it had you pinned to the spot. Even when he pulled away from you, you felt like you couldn’t step in close to him again, feet glued to the floor. That was when you saw it, though, all the blood standing his palms and fingers.

You swallowed hard, what little exhaustion had still been clinging to you completely froze away. “Angel, talk to me. What happened?”

He looked down at his hands and then back at you. he knew what you were seeing, could only imagine what you were thinking. “I didn’t—it wasn’t supposed to go down like that. I tried to save her but I couldn’t…”

You finally forced yourself to move. You collapsed the distance he’d put between you. “Who?”

“Gaby,” he forced out, shaking his head in disbelief as he did.

Fear shot down your spine. “What?”

“It’s all my fault,” he said again. “I shouldn’t have—I tried to—fuck,” his voice cracked and he gave up on trying to say anything else.

You had wanted more answers in the moment, but back then you hadn’t been able to ask for them. Instead you cleaned him up. You threw his clothes in the wash. You let him slip underneath the covers next to you and keep you wrapped up so tightly for what little was left of the night that you couldn’t even fall back to sleep. The next morning he was still there, eyes hollow as he made a pot of coffee in your kitchen. That morning he was standing almost exactly where he was standing right in front of you now.

Forcing yourself to stay in the present, you finally said, “You know what happened.”

He shook his head. “I don’t.”

“Everyone’s fuckin’ dying, Angel. I, I don’t wanna be next.”

“Hey, come on now. You know I’d never let that shit happen to you.”

You scoffed, more tears spilling down your cheeks. “I’m sure that’s what EZ told Gaby, too.”

Angel flinched at that, immediately deflating. You had never brought it up again after that night. Neither did he. Weeks went by and the two of you seemingly went back to normal, like that entire night had never happened. But it did happen. Gaby was dead—that part you knew. What you didn’t know, what Angel hadn’t told you, was that EZ was the one who had killed her. Angel blamed himself, especially after EZ had told him what his final conversation with Gaby had been, why he had decided it was the only thing to do. Angel was carrying around all that guilt but he hadn’t been the one who pulled the trigger. That was all EZ. That was all the guy who had promised to keep Gaby safe.

His voice was a whisper as he spoke, like he didn’t even fully believe himself. “This ain’t like that, though.”

“But it is,” you said, voice shaking. “Or it will be. That’s what this town, this world,” you rested your hand on the flash stitched into his kutte as you said it, “does. I can’t keep feeling like I’m on borrowed time.”

He sniffled, trying to stuff his emotions back down where he used to keep them so comfortably. “So you’re just gonna leave, then? Run away?”

You knew he wanted an argument. Being angry was so fucking easy. You didn’t want to give into it. “If it keeps me alive, then yes. I lo—” you stopped and switched course, “I care about you, Angel. But I’m not looking to die for anyone. I’m not…I’m not made for this.”

He was holding your face with both hands now, palms that just a few weeks before had been coated with blood. “Don’t leave me like this. Please.”

“Come with me.” It was your final offer, one you hadn’t planned on extending until the words were tumbling out.

He shook his head. “Don’t.”

“Come with me.” You rested your hands on top of his. “Get out and away from all this shit. We’ll start over.”

“It ain’t that simple.”

You threaded your fingers with his. “It is. Pack up your shit and throw it in my truck. And we’ll leave. That simple.”

He pulled his hands away from yours, stepping back from you again. Shaking his head, he brushed his hand quickly across his eyes—erasing any hint of tears and emotion that had been there until then. “I’m not running just ‘cause you are.”

“Maybe you should. Or maybe,” you shrugged helplessly, “maybe it was never about me—not for you, anyway.”

That gave him pause. He tried to get his expression to harden, give that tough, neutral gaze, but he couldn’t get it quite right. “I shouldn’t’a come here.” He shook his head. “Should’a let you run off with no goodbye the way you wanted.”

“Angel—”

He took another step back, getting himself closer and closer to your front door one stride at a time. “Go ahead, then. Get the fuck out—away from this town, away from me. Fuckin’…fuckin’ go.”

He turned on his heel and kept walking. It took a few seconds to will your feet to move, to go after him. Even with his long strides you were able to catch up before he reached the door.

“Angel.” You stepped in front of him. “Stop.”

You saw the mist in his eyes. Still, he tried to keep his voice sharp. “You’re leaving. No point in me staying here to watch you pack up the rest of your shit.”

You opened your mouth to try and say something else, try to conjure up something that would get him to change his mind. He didn’t let you. Pushing past you, he ripped open your door and stormed out of the house. Maybe it was just as well—it wasn’t as though you were going to come up with a magical string of words to get him to leave with you. Still, the impact of his shoulder slamming against yours hurt far more on an emotional level than it did on a physical one.

Turning, you went out onto the step. Your lip began to quiver as you watched him throw his leg over his bike and get ready to peel off. The sound of the engine seemed deafening, and you wonder how it hadn’t woken you on that night weeks ago. Then it got quieter the farther he rode. Then it was silent again. And all you could do was walk back inside to get the next box, leaving the door open behind you.

Angel Reyes Taglist (If you want to be added to any of my taglits, please let me know!): @withmyteeth @garbinge @darqchilddaydreamz @narcolini @justreblogginfics

@winchestershiresauce @rosieposie0624 @kelpies-shed @beardburnsupersoldiers @proceduralpassion

@artemiseamoon @fanfic-n-tabulous @justazzi @danzer8705 @camelia35

@cositapreciosa @choochoo284 @crowfootwrites

[lovesickonmybed]

ok hi!! hello first person i’ve seen on tumblr to actually embrace their wedgie kink. seeing you back had me ECSTATIC. so obsessed with your bully!perv!eddie rn… it has me LIGHTHEADED, the way you write degradation is unbelievable.

that said, i have this thought that i can’t get out of my head that im inclined to share w/ you. if you’re not into it, no pressure! still, picture this:

bully!perv!eddie putting you in a shoulder wedgie under your clothes and making you go through your school day like that. every wince of pain belongs to him, is because of him, and in a way he gets off on knowing that you won’t take it off when he’s not around. you’re too scared of the punishment, too scared of disappointing him. just thinking about him pulling you into corners and untucking your shirt or yanking up your skirt to make sure you’re EXACTLY how he left you. . . then rewarding you for being so good once the days over. . . worse if he makes you get out of them by making you tear them off of yourself before he rewards you.

sorry eddie and wedgies make me horny.

so glad to see u back!! 🐛

I’m hoping that posting my wedgie Eddie brain rot will get others to feel more comfortable posting it too because I know I’m not the only one on here into it. I love writing degradation and humiliation so much, it comes so easy to me. (Which says so much about me lmao.) You can send me anything wedgie related and I will more than likely be willing to write for it! I’m gonna be posting a thing for requests soon that’ll have some boundaries laid out but this is perfect and definitely going to be what I think about when I’m bored at work lmao. I thought this would be short but it’s almost 2k words lol.

Nsfw under the cut!! Warnings for humiliation, degradation, dub-con, wedgies (duh), and slight voyeurism and exhibitionism.

Eddie would find you in the morning before school, he knows you get to school early to read in the library so he’d have no problem finding you. He’d drag you with him to the janitor’s closet with a big smirk on his face. He instructs you to remove your shirt and then laughs, “You better hope you’re wearing a stretchy pair sweetheart, because this is going to hurt.” He grabs the sides of your waistband, pulling it up slowly so that you can adjust to the pain. You wince and whimper as he stretches the fabric until your leg holes are pulled up onto your shoulders like suspenders. 

“You’re gonna keep this on all day for me sweetheart, if you don’t then I’ll know. I’ll check. If you take it off then you’ll be punished, got it?”

You nod but that’s not good enough for him, he pulls one of the leg holes back and then lets it go so it snaps back against your skin, causing you to yelp. “Answer me verbally, sweetheart.”

“G-Got it,” you mutter.

Eddie smiles and kisses your forehead, “Good girl, now get dressed and go back to the library like nothing happened. I’ll see you again later today to make sure you’re being good.” He walks out of the janitor's closet to let you redress. You wince in pain as you lift your arms to put your shirt back on and when you bend down to pick up your backpack. Every move you make forces the fabric deeper between your cheeks and lips and you wince every time it happens.

After second period Eddie delivers on his promise to check up on you. He pulls you aside as you’re walking to your next class and pulls you into an empty classroom with him. “You been a good girl for me, nerd?” He asks, shoving you up against the wall playfully, grabbing your backpack off your arms, setting it down for you. 

“I-I’ve been good, haven’t taken it off, Eddie,” you answer.

“Oh, have you? You been a good girl and kept your little wedgie in? I’ll see for myself, nerd.” Eddie sinks to his knees in front of you and lifts your skirt up, smiling when he sees that you’re still wearing your shoulder wedgie. He flicks your wedgied cunt and smiles when you jump. “Knew I could trust my little loser, got her trained just right, huh?”

“Yes Eddie,” you nod meekly. 

Eddie grabs your face and pulls you in for a quick kiss, pecking your lips softly. “Good little loser, I’ll see you again at lunch. Meet me here again, okay sweet girl?”

“Okay,” you smile. 

Eddie hands you your backpack and gives you a slap on the ass before leaving the room. 

You rush to class, wincing in pain with every move, biting your lip when the fabric shifts just right against your clit. Eddie catches you doing it during 4th period, he loves how you look trying to hide your pain and pleasure in front of everybody. After 4th period he grabs you by your arm leading you into the same empty classroom from earlier. He takes your backpack once again, setting it on a desk. He leans against a desk and smiles, “Turn around and bend over for me, nerd.”

You sigh and do as he says, as you bend over you gasp in pain as the wedgie in the back worsens. Eddie smirks and comes over to slap your ass, “Stand up for me.” You stand back up and he pulls you tight against him.

He snakes his arm around your waist and pulls you up against him, “You’re such a little goody two shoes, fuck I love it. You’re so good, you wanna follow every rule you’re given, even the ones given to you by your bully. That’s pathetic, baby.” He slips a hand into your shirt and twists your nipple harshly, causing you to hiss in pain.

“Does that hurt, loser?”

“Yes! Fuck hurts so bad…” You respond.

Eddie grabs the front of your panties and pulls up hard, causing the fabric to sink deeper into you. You let out a moan and he holds you tighter so you don’t fall over. “Good girl, you think you can get through the rest of your day like this for me?” He asks.

“I’ll try for you…”

“What a good little loser you are…now get to lunch nerd, I don’t want my little toy to be wedgied on an empty stomach,” Eddie puts his hand on your lower back and leads you out the door. 

You sit with your regular friend group at lunch, trying your best to not squirm in front of them. Eddie watches you closely to see if you make any attempt at all to take out your shoulder wedgie but you don’t. He checks on you again after 6th period, pulling you into a mostly empty hallway and backing you into a corner. He lifts your skirt and you squeal and pull it back down. He laughs and pins you against the wall, leaning in close to your ear. “You shouldn’t be so loud, people are gonna start looking sweetheart,” He teases, pulling up your skirt again to look at your wedgied cunt.

“Stop pulling up my skirt!” You whisper-yell, pulling your skirt back down and trying to hold it down.

“Let me get a good look then, nerd. Be grateful I’m letting anything into your little cunt, yeah?”

“Okay…” You mumble in an annoyed tone. Eddie grabs your face with one hand and makes you look at him. 

“You don’t talk to me with that tone, you’re lucky I’m not making you walk around with your panties pulled up over your head for everyone to see,” Eddie whispers angrily, “Thank me for letting you have something you can hide.”

You're silent at first but Eddie cocks an eyebrow at you and you talk, “Thank you for giving me a wedgie I can hide…” You mumble. He nudges your ankle with his foot.

“What else do you wanna thank me for, loser?” He asks.

“Thank you for…for letting anything into my…” Your face heats up with embarrassment, “into my cunt…” You’re squirming with embarrassment and Eddie is eating it up.

“That wasn’t so hard, now was it, nerd? Get to class, I’d hate to see you get detention.”

You go off to 7th period and you spend the rest of the school day waiting for it to be over. You’re horny and annoyed and embarrassed and you just want Eddie to take care of it. Finally, the bell rings releasing you and you go off to find Eddie, it doesn’t take you long. He’s out by his van, smoking a cigarette while talking with Gareth and Jeff. He looks up and notices you, signaling for you to come over. You walk over nervously, Gareth and Jeff’s eyes are on you. Eddie wraps his arm around your waist, pulling you close to him. “We’re gonna head out boys, I’ll see you tomorrow for Hellfire,” Eddie says to them. He leads you over to the passenger side and opens the door for you. When you climb into the van, he pulls your skirt down before shutting the door. Your face heats up with embarrassment as you yelp and pull your skirt back down.

“Eddie what the hell?!” You exclaim as he gets into the driver’s side, laughing his ass off.

“I was being too nice today, I had to make up for it somehow,” He laughs.

“I’ve had a wedgie since 8am, that isn’t exactly nice,” You retort.

“Well, you’ve also been wet since 8am so you’re welcome,” Eddie says as he starts up the van.

When you get back to his trailer, he runs over to your side to get the door for you, he helps you out of the van, grabbing you by the back waistband as you jump out, worsening your wedgie. You’re whining and whimpering in pain, hands flying back instinctively to fix the wedgie but Eddie grabs your wrists, holding them behind your back. “Don’t give in now sweetheart, you’ve made it so far I’d hate to punish you now…” He frog marches you inside the trailer and brings you into his bedroom.

“Strip for me, but keep your wedgie in,” he commands. You feel his eyes on you as you set down your backpack and strip. You start with removing your shirt, then your bra, then your socks and shoes, and lastly your pretty little skirt. Eddie steps forward, smiling, “You want me to take this off for you now, nerd?” He pulls one of the leg holes back and lets it snap back against your skin, making you gasp.

“Please, please take it off me,” you plead. 

“This might hurt a bit,” Eddie says before grabbing the back waistband and pulling as hard as he can. It’s beyond painful, it’s the most painful wedgie he’s given you yet, but as the fabric presses rough against your clit, it doesn’t seem so bad anymore. You squirm in his grasp, whimpering pathetically. When the fabric isn’t ripping, only a few thread popping, he takes things to the next level. He grabs you by the leg holes, lifting you into the air and beginning to bounce you, this causes your panties to rip quickly. You feel an intense pain in your lower region as the panties rip, but you can’t help but moan. It feels so good every single time you’ve felt a pair of panties ripping inside of you, it’s unlike anything else you’ve ever felt. You’re addicted to the pain of it. Eddie wraps his arm around your waist when they rip, catching you and laying you down on the bed.

“You did so well, I can’t believe you kept it in all day, you were so good sweetheart,” Eddie praises you. He runs to the bathroom and runs a cloth under cool water, ringing it out and then coming back into the room, he presses the cool cloth against your puffy red cunt. You shiver from the cold but smile as it soothes the ache. 

“Feel good, honey?” He asks sweetly, grabbing your hand and rubbing circles into your skin.

“Mhm, thank you, Eddie,” you reply.

“You think you could handle a reward, sweetheart? I wanna eat you out for being such a good girl today.”

“I could definitely handle a reward,” you chuckle.

“That’s my girl.” 

[dairyminki]

– first time clubbing with boyfriend!san

fic type: headcanon

pairing: choi san x fem!reader

description: just san taking you to the club for a night out after seeing you so stressed with studying

genre: fluff (?), mildly suggestive, established relationship

warning/s: use of alcohol, pet names (if i missed anything else pls lmk!)

wc: 1.1k

a/n: this is supery dupery self indulgent LMAO and as a giggly drunk myself, i'd like to have a choi san too pls!

* i would rlly appreciate it if you reblog and leave some feedbacks btw!

— !¡☆

UNI was stressing you out

all the studying had your head always drowning in books and you rarely leaving your room

your boyfriend, choi san, knew he had to do something

now, san had a lot of options in his head on how to help you take a break

bcos even if you kept insisting that you didn't need one

san KNEW that it was only a matter of time before you burst and break down

and so he surprises you while you're eating dinner with him one night,

"do you wanna do something fun tomorrow night?" "what? san, you know i can't afford to-"

"please?" he cuts you off, PLEADING

and who were you to say no to a pouting san?

you were ALWAYS a weak woman for him

"fine," you say, giving in. "what do you have in mind?"

"wanna go clubbing with me, baby?"

as soon as those words left his mouth, he sees it

sees the way your eyes sparkle with something akin to excitement and then you're blurting out,

"oh god, yes!"

the following night, san enters your bedroom after he was done getting ready

his hair was slicked back, he was dressed in a black button down shirt with the first two buttons unbuttoned

a silver necklace dangling on his neck, a sliver of his chest exposed

he's wearing black slacks and a belt with silvery chains hanging on it

since this will be your first night out, he wanted to look good for you

and boy was it a pleasant surprise when he enters your room and see you all dolled up from head to toe

"well, aren't you a sight to see?" san marvels while he watches you apply lipstick

you were oozing with such allure in a dress you're wearing for the first time that san thinks he's severely beguiled with you

and so it goes without saying that his eyes never left you even until you left the house

the only time san's gaze breaks away from you was when he was driving

arriving at the club, san immediately turns to you and asks,

"hey, i know, we're already here and all but i just wanna say that if you wanna back out and go home, we still can, just say the word and-"

san knew just how much your family coddled you while growing up

and you've only started to venture out of your comfort zone when you met him

so he understands how settings like this might overwhelm-

"are you kidding me?" you gave him an incredulous look, cutting off his rambling

"i wanna get hammered!" you shout against the blaring club music

and then you were the one pulling him further inside past the sweaty bodies and the heavy smell of alcohol and the blinding neon lights

"unfortunately i wont be getting my usual today, so i'll just have a soda ," san says since he'll be driving. "but, hmm, maybe a tequila sunrise for this pretty lady right here" he tells the bartender and winks at you

you roll your eyes, your gaze shifting to the dancefloor

"can i dance…later?" you ask san

san barks out a laugh and pinches your cheek

"i won't be stopping you tonight, baby, so go ahead. tonight will be all about you," he whispers these in your ear, goosebumps trailing your skin

you haven't drunk anything yet, but you already felt hot just like that

when your drinks do came, you surprise san at how you basically drunk it in one draft

"baby, hey, hey, we got all night!" he chuckles trying to get you to slow you down

soon, one tequila sunrise became five, and you were already red from the drinks and laughter

you were a giggly drunk how cute

"i think," you slur, pointing at san and then abruptly standing that you slightly wobble due to dizziness. "i think i'm ready to hit the dancefloor"

san grabs a hold of your arm, asking if do you want him to escort you to the center but you brushed him off

you were still giggling when you walked away

while you were dancing the night away, san just keeps staring at you

watching every move you make, every smile popping out to grace your lips, and every glance you sent his way

you were mouthing for him to come join you but he shook his head

san wanted you to have your fun for now

he wanted you to let loose so badly that you'll be screaming at his face tomorrow morning for letting you drink that much

but then, deeper into the night, he starts noticing that more eyes were on you now and that your intoxicated self remained oblivious to it

san downs the remaining liquid in his canned drink, licks his lips, and leaves the bar, deciding it was finally time to join you

unaware, your dancing was starting to become bolder as you become hotter with all the alcohol coursing through your system and all the body heat emitted by everyone surrounding you 

and then you feel hands on your waist

a familiar scent filling your senses and you immediately knew it was san who was behind you

you let your body become slack against his while he rocks your bodies from side to side, his hands pulling you even closer and face leaning in

you bring your hand up, caressing his face while he speaks to you in a low tone

"are you having fun, baby?" his lips brush against the shell of your ear making you shiver

you reply with a mere hum, giggling as his hot breath tickles your face

"i take it you loved my suggestion then?" "mhmm, i loveddd it san, i love youu" you mumble, smiling with your eyes closed

san chuckles at your drunk self, he doesn't really think you'll end up remembering MOST of this tomorrow

but at least you had fun

and so was he, san thinks as he smirks

later on not so subtly meeting the gaze of this one person he caught looking at you since earlier

by the time he was about to drive the both of you back home

san steps out of the car, heavily exhaling, after laying you down in the passenger seat

he needed a breather especially that he didn't expect the scenario of you grinding on him earlier at the dancefloor

san left the house with with you, hand in hand, and two of his buttons unbuttoned

and now, he comes home with you passed out in his arms and his button down shirt open 

— !¡☆

[iraprince]

TIME FOR A PROCESS POST let's talk abt getting from this (client sketch - which, btw, i know other artists have talked about this plenty, but i LOOOOOOVE a client sketch as early direction on a commission. LOVE it)

to this!

at first we didn't know if the title was going to go across the desk, or over the central figure (emara's) head against the back wall. so there was a 1st version where we were favoring a higher title, then we started favoring the desk so we scrapped the clutter + centered it more

i used clip studio's 3D models (particularly for the chair, guard, + weapon crates) and perspective rulers to help with laying everything out at this stage, tho i abandoned the 3D pretty early on bc it's a bit too clunky for me. maybe i'll find it quicker to use w more practice!

(the rest under the cut!)

once the basic layout was approved, i threw together a value study to explain how in the final image all the clutter of the bg detail would be unified and pushed back. lately i find myself thinking abt value earlier + earlier in the process; planning ahead saves me a lot of time!

i fiddled with starting to refine things digitally, but then i got A BRAND NEW LIGHTBOX delivered in the mail with perfect timing (lmao) so i just ended up printing off the digital sketch, finalizing in pencil, + scanning back in

then comes five billion different steps of locking in values, again. i did everything greyscale first, but i didn't worry abt getting things super polished at this stage bc i knew color would factor in a lot to later decisions

this is the point at which presenting these wips "step by step" is kind of misleading; i didn't do these stages one at a time, but rather had a BUNCH of different lighting/shading layers that i kept toggling on and off as i worked to make sure everything was coming along well.

(to get some of these caps i actually went into the main file again and turned a bunch of stuff on/off just for the sake of getting specific examples, because actually when i was actively working on it there was rarely a point where i was actually working on something with "all lighting turned off and just the shading on," or anything like that; but i AM interested in showing what effects different lighting/shading changes had on the base colors, even if i wasn't really making these changes in a rigid order.)

i.e., just for the sake of interest, here's how the flat colors look without those adjustments!! but i honestly never looked at it like this on its own for long...i had all the shading/lighting turned off so i could see what i was doing while flatting, but i was constantly checking back and forth.

then tones added on top (which were actually just two copies of the tone folders in the above posts, set to linear burn and overlay) -

which makes it get HORRIFYINGLY dark, but that's when we go in and add a bunch of lighting adjustments.

the most obvious lighting change above is the big burst of hot pink light from the corner, but there was also some masked overlay + burn layers to pop out the guard + emara and make sure they were pulled out from the bg. if this were a standalone illustration, i maybe would have let the bg (and all that painstakingly drawn detail..........) stand out a little more, but a cover functions differently, and i wanted to make sure the eye goes to the title first. that means sacrificing bg detail even if it looks sick lol

then final touches! a lot of my very last touches are things that are close to invisible; gradient maps on very low opacity, noise, a little bit of scribbling on upper layers. the typesetting was all by the client, except for the lettering for "emara king's," which i did myself!

finally, here's a comparison of ⬅where i left off one night close to the deadline thinking "it's probably done, but i'll sleep on it just in case," then all the adjustments i made the next day with fresh eyes.➡ and that's it!!! phew!!! that's how i make a cover!

[weemssapphic]

Would you be willing to write Larissa Weems x nb!teacher!reader smut (still female anatomy though, but without a focus on r’s chest please) where they are watching the school play/musical and Larissa starts teasing reader? Like caresses on the inside of r’s thigh, inching dangerously close to their clit, etc., to the point that they have to leave to go fuck it out somewhere else (you can choose where exactly). And if you could, maybe strong praise kink with dom!Larissa? I love your writing so much omg omg omg it’s so good!!

hello! thank you for the request, and the compliment! <3 i had fun writing it so i hope you have just as much fun reading it and that it lives up to your expectations. also Enid is clearly my favorite Nevermore student so SUE me lmao. as always, ao3 link is in the title! ^^ warnings/content: nsfw (cunnilingus - Larissa receiving, fingering - reader receiving), dom!larissa, teasing/edging, semi-public sexual activity, praise kink, mentions of marking/scratching

words: ~3.9k

when the lights go down

“Hey, you’re gonna do great, okay? I promise!” Enid was practically trembling under your gaze, eyes wide, and you pulled her into a tight hug. As the teacher in charge of Ophelia Hall, you’d grown close to the young girl in your past year at Nevermore. She saw you as a bit of a mentor, often staying after class to help you clean up your classroom and ask you for advice, which you happily gave her - she reminded you a bit of your childhood best friend. You found yourself biting back wide grins as she would recount the latest gossip about her peers, always bursting with more energy in a single second than you thought you’d ever had in your entire life.

Other students bustled around the two of you as you stood backstage, when the lights out in the auditorium began to dim. 

“I gotta go okay, and you’d better get back in the dressing room. Break a leg, kid,” you gave her a final smile and pushed her towards the girl’s dressing room, waving to some of your other students who were huddled behind the curtain and giving them a thumbs up before sneaking out the back. You hurried your way through the hallways and slipped into the auditorium, scanning the rows for a place to sit.

The entire front row was reserved for the teachers and your heart skipped a beat at the fact that the only empty seat left was next to none other than your boss, Larissa Weems. 

“Hi,” you were breathless when you arrived at the seat. “Is this seat taken?”

“I should hope so,” Larissa looked up at you, her smile blinding, gesturing for you to sit.

“Enid’s very nervous,” you whispered in her ear, committing the way her eyes crinkled at the outer corner to memory.

“Miss Sinclair will be excellent. I’ve played Audrey myself, in fact -”

Oh? You wanted to probe her further on this revelation, but your conversation was cut short by the overture of that night’s show - Little Shop of Horrors.

The students were fabulous of course. Enid had nothing to worry about - the second she began her solo in “Skid Row (Downtown)”, you knew her worries were for naught. You couldn’t help but glance up at the blonde sitting next to you, wondering how she might have sounded in the same part. She was watching the stage with rapt attention, lips parted slightly, eyes sparkling.

Your cheeks warmed as sapphire eyes met yours in the darkness - you’d been caught staring. You averted your gaze back to the stage, trying your hardest to focus on your students and the production they were putting on - not that it wasn’t spectacular, truly. But your thoughts kept wandering back to a certain blonde principal, whose body heat you could practically feel radiating off of her at such a close proximity.

To how she would look gracing the stage with her regal presence, to how her angelic voice would sound crooning out some melody or other (you hadn’t known she could sing, foolishly hadn’t presumed she was into musical theater - what else didn’t you know about her?). To how lovely she looked tonight, a string of pearls kissing the smooth skin of her neck, a cream-colored dress caressing every curve of her body.

Christ, stop it. You chanced another glance at the blonde - only to realize she wasn’t watching the musical at all. She was watching you, a small smile tugging at the corners of her mouth.

“Larissa?” You felt utterly exposed under her gaze. 

“I feel I’ve flustered you,” she whispered, ducking her head so no one else would hear her. You could see amusement sparkle in her eyes.

“I’ve just been trying to picture you as Audrey this whole time,” you whispered back, reveling in the giggle she had to suppress at your comment. You’d never heard Larissa Weems giggle before, much less been the reason for a giggle of hers - you wanted to commit the sound to memory, to take it to your grave as a treasured gift.

“I knew it,” she smirked. “I promise I’ll tell you all about it sometime, darling.” You couldn’t help but notice how her voice dropped a bit at the pet name, subtly yet still noticeably. She placed a reassuring hand just above your knee, giving it a gentle squeeze, and it took every ounce of willpower not to openly shiver at the touch. 

You turned your attention back to the stage, acutely aware of how Larissa’s thumb began to trace soothing circles on the inside of your thigh. At first, you weren’t sure she was aware she was doing it, when you peered at her out of the corner of your eye and she was watching the current song “Mushnik & Son” as if it were the most riveting thing she’d ever seen.

It soon became apparent, however, that she was more than aware of her actions, when her hand shifted higher on your thigh, subtly but definitely higher. Her thumb pressed insistently into the flesh of your inner thigh and you had to suppress a moan, cheeks burning brightly in the dark auditorium. 

Ms. Thornhill, who was sitting to your right, turned to look at you with furrowed brows, and you sputtered out a weak cough in an attempt to conceal the moan that had peeled from your chest moments before. 

You were disappointed to note the sudden absence of Larissa’s hand on your leg, cursing yourself for ruining the moment. Great. Now she won’t touch you for the rest of the evening.

“Sorry, Marilyn, I think I’m getting sick,” you shot her an apologetic glance, clearing your throat awkwardly.

Her eyes searched your face for a moment before her features softened, her hand giving your shoulder a sympathetic squeeze before she turned her attention back to the stage. You let out a defeated sigh and slumped back into your seat, stewing in your own misery at the desperate, building ache between your thighs. 

The fabric of your slacks shifted slightly as Larissa’s fingers returned to their former position, continuing their tantalizing ministrations. What was Larissa doing? Surely this woman would be the death of you… Her palm was warm against your leg and a fresh wave of arousal pooled at the apex of your thighs as you shifted in your seat in an urgent attempt to gain some sort of friction to relieve the tension building in your core.

Larissa’s hand caressed the top of your thigh, stopping just shy of your center, coming to rest. She leaned back in her seat as Enid began to croon out “Somewhere That’s Green” and you huffed in frustration, the coil behind your navel wound tight. You glowered up at Larissa until she finally, mercifully, looked down at you, eyes darkened with desire.

You bucked your hips up into her hand, forcing her fingertips to brush against your clit. She sucked in a breath, eyes darting down to your lap then up to the stage, as if contemplating something.

Her lips brushed against your ear, breath fanning across your neck, the hairs on the back of your neck standing up as goosebumps erupted on your skin. Her voice was low and breathy as she murmured in your ear. “Follow me in 2 minutes, darling.”

With that, she stood and left the auditorium. You watched her go, mesmerized by the sway of her hips, slightly dizzy as you wrestled with your own desire. 

The longest 2 minutes of your life.

Once you were sure you’d waited long enough, you followed Larissa’s path out of the auditorium. As soon as the door swung shut behind you, a pair of strong arms pinned you to the wall of the hallway and a warm mouth latched onto your skin, peppering open-mouthed kisses down the column of your throat. Larissa’s body pressed flush against yours, trapping you between her and the wall.

“Rissa,” you whimpered as one of her thighs came between yours and pressed into your center. You felt as if you were burning alive from the inside, desperate for her touch and already absolutely drenched.

“Shhh,” Larissa silenced you with a searing kiss, swiping at your lips with her tongue. You moaned into her mouth and she nipped gently at your lower lip. 

“Come with me,” Larissa threaded her fingers between your own, the close contact sending a shiver up your spine, and began a brisk pace down the hallway. You followed in a daze, hardly able to believe your luck. 

You’d harbored a crush on the woman since you’d started at Nevermore. Well… to call it a crush would be a bit of an understatement. You were quite sure you were in love with her. Everything about her drew you in - the soft, almost maternal smiles she would give passing students, the little creases that would form between her eyebrows when she was deep in thought, the way she seemed to be able to calm your nerves with nothing more than a hand on your shoulder and a whispered praise in your ear.

But she was your boss, for fuck’s sake. Not to mention intelligent, stunning, put-together, a consummate professional… Why would she be interested in you? And yet here she was, dragging you down the hallway to… your own classroom? 

Larissa fished her master key out of the pocket of her blazer and unlocked your door, all but pushing you into the classroom, locking the door behind the two of you.

“Don’t you look simply divine tonight?” Larissa husked, inching towards you like a tiger stalking their prey. You stepped back out of instinct, bumping into your desk. You couldn’t even the count the number of times you’d sat at that very desk, picturing yourself bent over it as Larissa towered over you, fucking you into oblivion. And here you were…

You gulped audibly, every nerve-ending in your body alight, heat pooling in your core. Larissa’s pupils were wide, eyes darkened with lust in a way you’d only seen in your wildest fantasies. 

She stopped in front of you, her breath warm and delicious on your face, raising the hairs on your arms. “I have wanted you since I first met you, my darling.” You whimpered, reaching out desperately and rather pathetically to pull Larissa towards you by the lapels of her blazer, rushing to crash your lips together. You felt the blonde smile against your lips, her hands coming to rest on your waist. 

“Tell me, can you be good for me tonight? Do you want this just as much as I do?” Her whispers against your lips shot straight to your cunt.

“Yes, Larissa, god yes. I want this.” Larissa smirked, sliding the blazer from her shoulders to reveal bare arms, pale skin dusted with light freckles that you’d never been privy to before. You traced them with your eyes, struck by the sudden sense of intimacy you felt clawing at your heart. 

A whimper clawed its way from your throat as a warm hand cupped your cheek, forcing your eyes to meet sapphire pools, swimming with lust. The pad of her thumb grazed over your bottom lip, dragging it down then letting go, her eyes watching intently as it snapped back into place.

You found yourself white-knuckling the desk behind you in an attempt to keep your knees from giving out as Larissa’s fingers began to toy with the button of your slacks, her teeth sinking into her lip in question. “May I?” 

“Do you have to ask?” Your voice was hoarse as you tried to rasp out an answer. The salacious smirk you received in return had you nearly melting on the spot, and Larissa wasted no time in dragging the slacks down your legs, nails raking at tender flesh on their way down. 

Larissa pulled you in for a heated kiss, teeth and tongues clashing, picking you up to set you on the edge of your desk. She rounded the desk until she was behind you, pulling you back against her until you could feel the swell of her breasts pressing deliciously into your back. 

Larissa’s hot breath ghosted over your neck as she nibbled on your earlobe, before her lips latched onto your pulse point. Her hands soothed over your torso, moving lower and lower until her right hand finally dipped between your thighs, knuckles brushing the damp patch at the center of your underwear. You felt a groan from Larissa’s chest vibrate against your spine.

“So wet already and I haven’t even touched you yet?” The low timbre of her voice caused a fresh wave of arousal to leak out of your core.

“Larissa, I-I need you, you have no idea,” you hissed as her fingers dipped beneath the waistband of your underwear and teased your entrance.

“I think I may have an idea, my darling,” the blonde cooed, finally applying the pressure you’d been searching for as she swiped two fingers up your slit. You moaned, bucking your hips up just as her fingers reached your throbbing clit.

She began to massage the bundle of nerves, drawing a series of moans from your lips as her own lips focused on your neck, your jaw, your shoulder, leaving little bite marks which she soothed with her tongue.

“Rissa, please, I need more,” you gasped, rolling your hips in time with her fingers in search of more friction. 

You could feel Larissa’s smile against the bare skin of your shoulder as her fingers dipped lower, spreading your folds on their way to your dripping hole. She dipped the tip of a finger into your entrance, immediately letting out a groan directly into your ear.

“I love how wet you are for me.” Her finger dipped further into your core, pumping slowly in and out, before adding a second finger, stretching you out.

“You take me so well, my love,” Larissa cooed, her thumb coming up to continue drawing languid circles around your aching clit. Long, slender fingers curled into your sweet spot and you arched into Larissa’s touch, hips twitching. 

Larissa could sense that you were getting close as your walls began to clench around her fingers, drawing them further into you, as your thighs began to tremble. She withdrew her fingers from your cunt, tracing your entrance with the pads of her fingers as she slowed her pace on your clit to languid strokes.

You whined at the loss of contact, bucking your hips up as the coil behind your navel twisted almost painfully.

“What do you say, darling?” The blonde teased.

“P-please,” you didn’t care how desperate you sounded, you needed Larissa inside of you again.

“Please, what?” She peppered soft kisses down the side of your neck, fingers gliding through your wetness so lightly you almost felt you were imagining her touch.

You squeezed your eyes shut, desperately rutting your hips against the air. “Please fuck me, I-I need you inside.”

Larissa’s fingers pressed more firmly now, giving in and providing you with more friction. She slid back inside you, curling her fingers just so as her thumb circled your clit.

“Right there,” you panted out between moans. “Faster.”

Larissa obliged, adjusting her pace as she added a third finger. You teetered on the verge of your orgasm, thrusting your hips up to meet her fingers, thighs twitching. The air between the two of you was charged with electricity, your body tingling from head to toe.

“That’s it my darling,” Larissa cooed, and you let out a low whine, your pussy clenching around her fingers. “You like being called mine?” You felt more than heard Larissa’s low chuckle as you nodded against her. You would be hers in whatever capacity she would allow it, in whatever capacity she wanted or needed you to be. 

“You’re doing so well for me,” she murmured. “Can you come for me?” Reaching behind you, you grasped at Larissa’s shoulders to steady yourself as you reached your high, thighs quivering as a string of obscenities dripped from your lips.

Larissa’s left hand was splayed across your stomach, pulling you firmly into her, grounding you as you rode out your climax. Her lips were on your ear, whispering faint praises that were lost on you in the moment, too focused on steadying your breathing.

“You look so ravishing when you come undone like that,” Larissa whispered in your ear as your breathing slowed. You turned your head, fingers twisting into the blonde’s silvery strands to pull her in for a bruising kiss.

She brought her fingers up to her lips, shining with the evidence of your orgasm. Her tongue swirled obscenely around the digits and she let out a guttural moan, immediately pulling you in for another kiss so you could taste yourself on her tongue.

“Fuck, Larissa, I need to taste you.” You watched the grin unfold on Larissa’s face as she dragged you towards the edge of the desk, sitting back in your desk chair - your desk chair, the one you sat in 5 days a week and would surely never see the same way again. She hiked her dress up around her waist, hooking her fingers around the waistband of her white lace panties and dragging them down her legs to reveal her own glistening arousal.

“Come here and take care of me, then,” Larissa husked, and you were off the desk and perched on your knees between her legs within seconds. After pressing alternating kisses up the insides of Larissa’s thighs, you flattened your tongue and dragged it slowly up her cunt. 

“Just like that, right there,” Larissa breathed. Your lips closed around her clit, tongue flicking at the sensitive bundle of nerves, pleased with the low whine you were able to elicit from the blonde.

She draped her thigh over your shoulder, the tip of her heel digging sharply into your back, a delicious mixture of pain and pleasure coursing through your body. Your arms wrapped around her legs to steady yourself, surrounding yourself in Larissa.

“That feels so good, darling,” she moaned as she writhed beneath you, fucking herself on your face. You lapped at Larissa’s core, letting out unrestrained moans as you were finally given the pleasure of being able to taste the woman’s sweet nectar. The heat of her on your tongue only fueled your own carnal desire.

Larissa’s breath hitched in her chest as your tongue dipped into her entrance. “You know exactly how to make me feel good,” she breathed, her hands weaving themselves into your hair, fingernails scratching at your scalp.

You groaned into her pussy, the vibrations drawing heavenly sounds from her throat. Gazing up at her, you were in awe of her blissed out face, eyes screwed shut, head thrown back in ecstasy, mouth hanging open. Her cheeks were flushed the most adorable shade of pink and you felt wickedly proud of yourself in that moment to be the one bringing Larissa to the height of her pleasure.

Suddenly, Larissa’s hand pulled at your hair and forced you to still your movements. 

Larissa had stilled above you, her attention turned towards the door of your classroom. You strained your ears, unable for a moment to focus on anything but the dizzying sensation of Larissa Weems on your tongue, Larissa’s skin pressed against yours.

But then you heard it, the hallway flooding with students. The musical must be over by now, everyone must be heading out of the auditorium. Would anyone come looking for you? Or for Larissa? Surely no one had even noticed the two of you were gone. Right? In any case, it was too late now. 

Your eyes wandered back to the principal, who was gazing down at you with a fresh sense of unadulterated hunger - cheeks flushed, chest heaving. 

“Are you going to finish what you started?” Her voice was low and raspy, barely audible above the ruckus of students and staff just outside the door.

You were all too happy to oblige, bringing your tongue back to Larissa’s center. She rolled her hips against your face, pressing her heel firmly into your upper back as her thighs began to twitch around your head. 

“Make me come, love,” Larissa whispered, letting out a series of soft, breathy moans. Your gaze traveled up her body and you let out a loud groan when you caught her kneading her breasts, rolling and pinching her clothed nipples between her fingers. 

“Shhh,” Larissa cooed softly, “Can you be quiet for me, love? We wouldn’t want anyone catching us.” You whimpered and nodded softly, though from the smirk Larissa was giving you, you were quite sure that she was at least a little bit turned on by the illicit nature of your situation.

“I’m s-so close,” Larissa gasped quietly, and you could tell that she was by the erratic way her hips bucked against your face, the way her heel slipped a little on your back, scratching at your skin, the way her thighs began to tremble, closing around your ears. She was losing her composure, and you were absolutely drunk on the sight.

You flicked and sucked at her clit as she came, her hands weaving themselves back into your hair to push you farther into her center, breath quickening above you. You licked at her core, gladly drinking up every drop of arousal she had to offer as she rode out her high until, finally, her thighs loosened their grip around your head and she sank back into your office chair. 

When you looked up at her, she gazed down at you through heavy-lidded eyes, lipstick smudged around her mouth, a blissed-out smile playing on her face. Her hand came to cup your cheek, thumb grazing over your lips before she pulled you up for a kiss, mewling into your mouth as she cleaned her own essence off your chin. 

“I suppose we’ll have to wait here until everyone has gone back to their dorms,” you teased as you straddled Larissa’s lap, eager to be as close to her as possible. Larissa hummed in agreement, pressing her forehead against yours. 

The two of you breathed in tandem, simply enjoying being in the other’s company as the din in the hallway slowly faded. Larissa’s hands pressed into your back, dipping under the hem of your shirt and pulling you against her while your fingers traced patterns across the freckles on her shoulders.

“You’re stunning, Larissa,” you whispered into the crook of her neck. She craned her head back slightly to peer down at you, a faint hint of amusement glittering in those gorgeous, sapphire eyes. 

“I could say the same about you, love,” she murmured, pressing a kiss to your hair and pulling you possessively close. “However, as much as I would love to spend the night ravishing you, it is getting a bit uncomfortable here.”

“Hey, you’re the one who ordered these chairs for our classrooms,” you grinned up at her, raising an eyebrow in defiance. 

“That was before I realized I’d be fucking you in one, Y/N,” Larissa replied dryly, ushering you off her lap and smoothing her dress. You dressed almost numbly, unable to take your eyes off the blonde for too long, turning her words over in your head.

The two of you made your way to the door of your classroom. “Larissa?”

“Yes?” Her voice was gravelly with desire as she smirked down at you, fingers threading through yours to pull you down the hallway in the direction of her own quarters.

You cleared your throat and quirked your brow, trying to play it cool. “I believe you said something about ‘spending the night ravishing me’?”

“Oh, darling, you didn’t think I was done with you?”

x

thank you to the bestest writing buddy @afeatherformills for helping me edit this and work out some things!

[sayakxmi]

Finishing chapter 6 in Reverse1999:

Thoughts under the cut. Including spoilers, obviously.

Boy do I have thoughts. Most of them already shared with Yudja, as usual, but I felt the need to post them, too, lmao.

These bitches weren't lying, when they were saying that the writing of this chapter [6] elevated R1999 to one of the best written gacha games, because, man. Don't get me wrong, R1999's writing is fantastic in general, but the last chapter especially had me go through such a rollercoaster of emotions and opinions that I found myself changing my pfp to Kakania on discord out of respect. It sounds funny, but after going on and on as to why I liked her, I thought, you know what? Time for a change. I don't think I've ever changed my Sayaka pfp there, lmao.

Anyway. Silly thing first is that I was super proud of myself, bc in the 5th chapter when that plane appeared, I guessed that it was around 1914. And kept guessing until I had it confirmed in the 6th chapter. Listen, if it was stated earlier, I overlooked it, and I just went on my history knowledge & I'm very happy with myself.

Which also kinda made me go "uh oh" when I checked the date under some of the parts early on, and saw 1/7... and then I realized it was the USAmerican date format, so it's just January. Lmao.

Anyway, the chapter was a ride, and the sheer amount of dread it had caused me was something else. You just things were about to go horribly wrong, but I had no idea how and what exactly would happen.

Also, funny thing is that aside from the fact that it was supposedly super well written (turned out to be a fact), I also got spoiled on two things, Hofmann's death (I just knew she was going to die, not how), and that yuri was doomed.

Man, was that yuri doomed.

Honestly, I'm super glad I got spoiled on this factTM, bc I ended up with assumptions, which ended up being compltely wrong in the best way.

Ngl, maybe it was some internalized ableism from me, but I kind of expected Isolde to be the "victim" in the doomed yuri, as in, Kakania doing something that would cause Isolde to turn away from her. But I was wrong in the best possible way, because I think it managed to write a tragedy for the both of them that wasn't some form of character assasination.

I think the writers took a bit of a risk with Isolde that ended up paying off. I mean, they wrote a mentally ill character who causes lots of deaths, but managed to do it in a way that didn't demonize her, but also didn't excuse her actions. Imagine stricking that kind of balance these days... And aside from that, you can even understand what led her to that kind of state of mind. I mean, aside from curses and expectations and being deemed hystric, she was a medium for ghosts, which included ghosts from the future. I'm fairly certain she references both world wars when she explains things to Kakania, and all in all, it's difficult not to sympathize with her. And it's easy to see why Manus sought her - she was suffering, especially from her mental illness, and aside from Kakania, nobody really treated her with respect and gentleness she deserved (no wonder she fell for her), so she made an easy prey for them.

But, you know, she still got a bunch of people killed.

It's as good time as any to talk about my favorite character of this chapter, Kakania - it took me by surprise. The media made me really distrustful of fictional doctros & psychologists, huh. But anyway.

What I loved about Kakania is that she wasn't fine with any of this. Even if Isolde said she'd done it for her, to realize her dream, it was so refreshing to see a character be genuinely horrified by another character's actions, regardless of the intentions or mental health.

It's such a popular trope, accepting somebody who'd done awful things because of love, and I do like it (when it's well written), but it was so incredibly refreshing to see R1999 not go for it. Reverse1999 really said that it was still awful, and there was no justification for that.

By God it was all so painful - it was painful for Isolde, because she just wanted to make Kakania happy, and it was painful for Kakania, because she was essentially betrayed by her dearest friend, and indirectly caused so much pain and destruction. You'd truly want nothing but for these two to make up somehow, for Kakania to hold Isolde close and tell her everything's gonna be alright - but Kakania doesn't do that. And you know what? I fucking respect her for it. She values human life too much to budge out of love. Even if it hurts. Isolde has simply caused too much pain and destruction to swipe it under a rug.

And, god, the last part, the hypnotism. As if I wasn't in enough pain already. It hurt to see Kakania, who hates hypnotism with burning passion, use it on somebody she cares so deeply, and it hurt to see Isolde in the end just accept that. Even if it gave the Foundation a fighting chance against the Storm, it was still hard to watch. It still meant Kakania crossing the kind of boundary she'd never wanted to cross, and for yet another person to take Isolde's agency away from her. But in the span of this entire chapter things changed, they changed. And Kakania was willing to do anything to help, after indirectly causing that hell.

I think in a way that ending... honestly this entire chapter speaks volumes about the dangers of "idealism" and "meaning well". There's a reason why the saying "the road to hell is paved with good intentions" exists. Idealism alone can lead to a catastrophy, and at the same time, sometimes something that goes against your principles might be more helpful in the long run.

As Madam Hofmann had said.

Honestly, moving to another character - Madam Hofmann. Not gonna lie, if I didn't spoil myself that she's gonna die, there's a chance I would've grown more attached to her... but watching Marcus beg her not to die was still heartbreaking. In general, her death was painful to watch. For most of the chapter she was so composed, but in the end she was stil just a person, and being in so much pain naturally broke her. Seeing her fight with her thoughts, clinging to her more rational side was painful.

I also loved her relationship with Marcus, especially since at first I was a bit unsure, given her rather cold demeanor, but, again, that one was on me and my assumptions. Hofmann was a great mentor. [*] A few quotes that I especially liked:

I think I like this one especially, because it manages to explain the problem, reassure Marcus, and at the same time doesn't bagatelize the issue. Like, that's how people your age are, but that's still not great and you need to get your shit together eventually.

A different quote, from Kakania's monologue this time:

But anyway, last but certainly not least, Marcus. I'm gonna be honest, I don't care about her all that much, but that is to no fault of her or her writing. Sometimes you just don't vibe with a character the right way. That being said, watching her growth throughout the entire chapter was a fantastic experience, and by the end I felt proud of how far she'd come. You did it, Marcus, you saved that mission. Madam Hofmann is definitely proud of you, too.

What a banger of a chapter.

[dannystheone]

Welcome home!!! So exciting to hear from you again!

Can I ask what your South Park fic is going to be? Who’s the lee/ler?

Thank you so much! I still can't believe it lmao

Sure! I decided to just put the fic here lol

I had this idea over deployment and I kicked myself cause why didn't I think of it before lol

Here is the mash-up song that is referenced in the fic! I know super last year LMAO stop I haven't been here

also sorry if my formatting is weird and my writing is rusty it's obviously been a while but I hope you enjoy it nonetheless :)

WARNINGS: Cursing, references to SH (self harm) and drinking

Which Song? (Lee/Ler Jersey Shore Kyle/ Lee/Ler Goth Stan) (aged up)

Jersey Shore!Kyle and Goth!Stan are having a sleepover and decided to pull out the karaoke for this one! But which song can they agree on despite their differing tastes?

------------------------------------------------------------------------------

"Hey, Stan. Stan- Stan. Watch me." Stan looked up begrudgingly to Kyle with one pierced eyebrow raised expectantly. Well, it was a stud glued on to his skin, but he would never admit it. Stan watched as Kyle flipped his black cap backward on his head and donned stylish black shades.

Kyle adopted a stance that showed off his lean yet toned torso and picked up his phone to start taking selfies. Wearing a tight white tank top and Elmo pajama bottoms that hung off his hips, Stan was his complete opposite dressed in all baggy blacks and grays.

"What? I'm watching you make thirst traps? You're gross." Stan rolled his eyes and looked back down at his phone. Alt TikTok was his current addiction. Anyone who danced on Tik-Tok like mindless zombies were posers.

Kyle snorted at his best friend and crossed the room to throw his arm over Stan's shoulders and snapped a photo. It came out blurry as Stan struggled in his grip.

"Ah come on Stan, you're no fun anymore. Come on, you can sing with me." Stan shoved Kyle off as Kyle was already moving to the karaoke machine. Kyle pressed a button on the machine that booted up a song immediately. Kyle tipped his shades down to look at Stan with green-tinted eyes as he pointed at Stan with one hand and held a microphone with his other as the first notes of his song began to play. Stan rolled his eyes once more as he scratched near his eyelid, shedding black eyeshadow in the process.

"Hey, baby girl, what you doin' tonight? I wanna see what you got in stooore~ Giving it your all when you're dancing on me-" Kyle rocked his hips in tune with the music which Stan stifled both a groan and a blush at the same time at that; very confusing.

-"I wanna see if you can gimme some more~ You can be my girl and I can be your man, and we can pump this jam however you waaant~ Pump it from the side pump it upside down-" Kyle lifted one leg onto the couch and started humping the air in tune to the song, to which Stan stood up abruptly and crashed into him to get him to stop.

"Alright alright alright! Quit it!" Stan clicked a button on the machine that paused the song, silence filling its place. Kyle tsked, disappointed as he threw his arms up.

"Dude it was getting good, what the fuck?! Turn it back on." Kyle pressed the button to turn the song back on, but the machine didn't respond. Kyle pressed it a few more times, to no avail, and kicked it out of frustration. "This shit's gahbage. Need to get a new one, it's been acting up lately."

"Or the machine just doesn't want to play your shitty-ass song. Here, I'll show you what real music is. Not this disgusting Disney pop trash." Stan programmed the machine to play a new song, and snagged the microphone from Kyle, but not without a flirtatious wink from Kyle first. Stan's cheeks burned an uncharacteristic red as the first few notes of the song began to play. He began to sing.

"Hey scene slut, I'm still cutting tonight. That's why my wrists are so sooore~" Kyle gave Stan a bewildered look as Stan kept going.

"I know you got a boyfriend, but you're a whore. Everybody drinking, shot glasses on the floor. We be clubbing all night, gimme some more-" Now it was Kyle's turn to shut off the machine. Stan petered out the last few words without the song's help and whirled around to face Kyle.

"Hey, what the hell? It was getting to the good part!" Stan asked angrily. Kyle put his hands on his hips and motioned to Stan.

"You call that music? They're talking about cutting themselves and whores for Christ's sake!" Kyle rose his voice while adjusting his shades, which riled Stan up as well.

"What about your song with you humping the damn air? That's not inappropriate?! Turn it back on, I said." Stan reached to turn the music back on the machine, but Kyle gripped his wrist before he could make it. Stan attempted to wrench his hand back but Kyle kept a firm hold on him.

"Hell no. We either listen to my music or not. I'm not catching your depression from your emo My Chemical Romance crap." That was Stan's final straw. With a growl, Stan launched himself at Kyle and took him to the floor. Kyle's shades and cap were knocked off his head as Stan straddled his hips. Stan knew he'd have to take the advantage as soon as possible because he did NOT have a physical advantage over Kyle. It was a part of the Jersey aesthetic for men to be ripped, and Kyle was indeed that while Stan was...not.

So Stan tore down Kyle's defenses the only way he knew how. Stan started scribbling his fingers in between the spaces of Kyle's lower ribs and sides; Kyle already bubbling up in laughter as he wriggled on the carpet.

"My music is not Emo you wanna-be Jersey Shore copycat. It's better than anything you've ever played!" Stan yelled, his black lipstick staining the corners of his mouth. It's been a while since he touched up his makeup, but that would have to wait. He would have to teach this lesson to Kyle quick before he tried any retaliation.

Kyle's red hair splayed on the carpet as he laughed and tried to grab Stan's wrists. "Pffmt- Stahahan! Stohohop thahat!" Funnily enough, in his laughing fit, his Jersey accent mysteriously disappeared. Kyle's eyes squinted as his smile took up his face; Stan's hand spidering his hard stomach. How could he have this many abs and still be so sensitive, Stan thought distantly.

"No, this is the only way you'll listen. You're not only calling my music Emo, but you also called it crap." Stan's next point was drowned out by Kyle's outpour of laughter as Stan kneaded an exceptionally mean thumb in Kyle's bare hip divet. Wearing his pajama pants so low had its consequences. Kyle's eyes were screwed shut as he was temporarily too weak to fight back."STAhahahan! Gehehehet ohohohoff!" Kyle yelled out and wriggled like a worm on a hook.

"Hmph, your fault for wearing your pants so low. I mean, who does that? It's like you're asking for this to happen. This is why your music and fashion tastes are questionable at best. See, if you would pay attention to any of the Goth Tiktoks I send you, we'd agree a lot more often." Stan grew way too comfortable with the situation in his position. He attempted to hold both of Kyle's wrists in one of his hands, which Kyle easily broke out of.

Kyle's hand shot out to start squeezing the closest part of Stan to him. It was Stan's knee that was exposed through his baggy jeans. Stan yelped and folded to the side, crumbling easily. Kyle popped up and dove in, causing Stan to shriek. Kyle's face was flushed and his curls bounced around his forehead while his fingers squished and kneaded into his best friend.

"W-Wahahait wahait waihait! No nohoho no I'm SAH-! I'm sohohohrry!" Stan fought to bring his knees up to his belly to protect himself, but Kyle found weak spots all over him. He squished Stan's sides, which made Stan cover his sides, and when his hands were out of the way he kneaded into his hips, causing him to squeal.

"Oh, talk about my accent leaving? You raised 3 octaves in your voice! I've never heard you so loud. You know maybe if you spoke up more often, I'd actually care about your opinion on my tastes." Kyle swung a leg around Stan's thighs to force one of them down and attacked his belly with one hand. Stan's tummy was definitely softer than Kyle's, with some chub around his belly button. Which just so happens to be ridiculously ticklish. Stan yelped as Kyle repeatedly squished the patch of chub over and over again.

"KYhyhyhyhle! Stohohohop stohohop stop! Nohohot thehehere!" Kyle was unfazed at his best friend's reaction. He knew when Stan really needed it to stop, and he wasn't nearly there yet.

"Huh, I wonder what would happen if I recorded this and sent it to your uppity black-clothed douchebag friends. You think they would kick you out of their dick-sucking club- GAH!" Stan didn't know how he did it, but he managed to wrench his grip out of Kyle's hold and shoved his hand up Kyle's armpit and started to scribble.

"Youhohohou ahahahasshole! Gehehehet ohohout of thehehere!" Kyle winced as Stan rose higher and shook his hand in the sensitive spot.

"Yeah? Well what if I recorded this and sent it to your orange spray-tanned "5-seconds-of-fame" seeking asshole friends and show them what a poser you are? I'm sure anyone THIS incredibly ticklish couldn't fit in-" Kyle reached forward and gripped Stan's hip and started to knead. Stan fell backward on the carpet of the living room like a felled tree. Kyle smirked at how easy it was to disarm his friend.

"You're one to talk aren't you, huh Cabbage? Well, you won't be talking in a second." Kyle's chain escaped his tank top as he thrust forward and started squishing into Stan's belly. Stan shrieked a manly sound as he started to curl up into his defensive ball.

"Shuhu-ahahaha! Shuhuhuhut uhuhuhup!" Stan yelled out. Kyle snorted at Stan's attempt at being intimidating. Stan reached out and did what he could. Kyle's chain glinted in his eye as he grabbed the cross and yanked it off Kyle's neck. Stan kept it in a tight grip in his fist and raised it above his head.

Now it was Kyle's turn to roll his eyes as he simply started scratching his fingers in Stan's armpit. Stan instinctively shot his elbow down to save himself as Kyle attempted to pry his fingers open.

"Give that back asshole! It's my only Ed Hardy chain!" As Kyle was distracted trying to get his chain back, Stan reached forward and scribbled his fingers in Kyle's ribs. Kyle winced as he tried his hardest to ignore it, but he couldn't ignore his side getting squished. Kyle let go of Stan's hand and angrily squished Stan's kneecap to get back at him, to which Stan yelped and kicked his leg out reflexively. His Converse-covered foot kicked the glitchy karaoke machine.

Both Stan and Kyle stopped respectively at the loud clank; their hearts beating wildly in their chests. The machine made some whirring sounds, like recording and re-recording and wires getting crossed. Suddenly, a song started to play. The last two songs that were recently played on the machine glitched into one melody.

"Hey baby girl what you doin' tonight?"

"Hey scene slut, I'm still cutting tonight."

"I wanna see what you got in stooore~"

"That's why my wrists are so sooore~"

Kyle looked to Stan; his makeup smeared and his hair tousled. He lost his beanie somewhere in the fight. Stan looked to Kyle, his tank top half drug up and his hair a mess. Stan silently handed Kyle over his chain and shrugged his shoulders.

"This song actually..." Stan started.

"...sounds pretty fucking good." Kyle finished. They both smirked at each other, everything wordlessly forgiven as it always was since they were kids, and picked up the microphone, where they proceeded to sing their hearts out for the rest of the night.

[i-got-ur-nose]

Two Slow Dancers (Last Ones Out)

Rafael Barba x Reader

Warnings: angst, hurt/comfort, mentions of alcohol, mentions of a hospital setting, everything is very vague tho lmao

(this is a vent LMFAO)

((sorry not sorry <3))

She could smell the bourbon on his breath when he let her in. Her eyes tracked the way that his jaw clenched and then unclenched— something he did to calm himself down whenever he was on the brink of losing his composure.

This time was different though.

It wasn’t some insolent witness that was just getting on his nerves or a criminal that was too difficult for even him to handle. No. This was different. It was her that was causing him to act like this.

Only she could rile him up in such a way that he was itching to break something. Her and her eyes. Stoic and masked— he loathed to love her eyes.

“You promised that this guy wasn’t going to walk.” she reminded evenly. Rafael scoffed, meeting her gaze with a very specific kind of annoyance.

“Would you like to become the Assistant District Attorney and see for yourself what it is I have to do everyday?” The venom in his voice was clear as day.

“You promised—”

“I know what I promised.” He hissed, bristling anger she had already been trying to stuff down.

“If you would just—”

“Why so you can make me feel worse about myself?” Her mouth dropped open, face radiating nothing but heat.

“You promised—”

“Sometimes promises can’t be kept!” He shouted, cutting her off. The volume of his voice had grown to something that she had never heard before. Her eyes drifted from his screwed shut ones and down to his hands. The tremors were visible from where she sat.

Without saying a single word, she stood up from the leather chair he kept in the corner of his office and glided to the space right in front of his desk.

Right in front of him.

He still had his head down, his shoulders so tense that she was sure he was going to turn to stone. A knot formed in the middle of her chest, threatening to choke her from the inside out. She opened her mouth to speak but he beat her to it.

“You,” He said roughly before taking a deep breath a meeting her eyes. The watery green almost knocking the wind out of her. “You are the single most important thing to me in the world.” His breathing was coming out harder than before. “Nothing else.” He waved a hand in front of his body, the other still holding him up over his desk.

“I-”

“Please let me finish.” He cuts her off again. She swallows thickly, but nonetheless nods for him to continue.

“I messed up. I got too close— too personal.” He admits. “When I saw him, all I saw was you in th-the hospital and I…” He breaks himself away from the train of thought forcefully.

“I fucked it and I’ll never be able to forgive myself for it. But I swear to God, hermosa…” the nickname springs tears to her eyes. “The second the chance is mine, I’ll take it. He’ll never see the light of day again.”

She nods, trying to blink back the tears.

“Can I go now?” She tries to quirk a half-assed smile. Rafael huffs a dry laugh but nods.

“You promised me that he wouldn’t walk.” She started off and Raf looked like he had just been kicked in the gut. “But that means nothing if you aren’t by my side.” She was glad that she was able to get that out before the tears that she had tried so hard to keep down fought their way down her face.

Rafael crossed to her in two strides, crushing her in a hug that could have fed her for a thousand years. One of his hands cradled her neck so carefully into his shoulder, while the other was wrapped firmly around her waist.

“I’m so sorry, baby.” He whispered into her ear, softly kissing her temple over and over again. “I’m so sorry.”

She held his face in between her hands and smiled sadly, but not a single ounce not loving. A single tear made its way from Rafael’s eye and down his cheek. She brushed it away, kissing the skin that it had touched. They were going to be okay.

[alevicke]

Hi! I hope your morning/day/evening is going good! Can I please request a Gangle X Female!Reader with the two having their “first time” after confessing their feelings for one another? Basically Reader is G’s best friend and after another tragic Comedy Mask breaking episode(with Reader fixing the mask for the billionth time), G finally tells the Reader her true feelings(which in turn leads to their first kiss and, ahem, some spicy scenes).

I honestly headcanon that while Gangle doesn’t have a regular human body, she can still experience orgasms and the like(I’m sorry if I’m rambling. I’m tired lmao)

Also yes the reader is 18+. Gotta keep everything fun yet safe!

Hi! Sorry it took me so long. I'm not gonna lie, this was so hard to write for me and it's far from perfect or even good ;^; but I did my best 🫡 it was also my very first time writing NSFW... So don't be too hard on me please 🫠 still hope you enjoy it and like it! Also sorry if it's too long 🙏

Gangle x f!reader - Confession and first time 💖

Tw: use of her ribbons as hands, reader is female with vag, rubbing clit with ribbons, insertion of these. Gangle can orgasm, don't ask how that works I'm unsure myself even after writing it

🔞NSFW minors DNI! 🔞

As you gave the final touches, Gangle approached your side, seeing how you meticulously fixed her mask, once again, for the third time that week. It was only Thursday. But that was usual, and Jax was being kinda annoying again against Gangle so it was expected for her mask to break even more often during that week. You already tried to defend her against Jax and most of the times you could, but sometimes her comedy mask would just break for the bare minimum. It was a really weak mask in your opinion. But it made Gangle happy and at the end of the day that was the only thing that mattered for you.

- Here you go! - You said as you handed Gangle the fixed mask.

Thanks to everything being digital, the fixes weren’t even noticeable.

Gangle picked the mask with the end of her laces, as she used them as hands, and extended them while looking at the mask smiling, tears still in her eyes though.

- Thank you so much! I love it! As always you do such a great job… I really wish I had something special or good to give you for all your work… You’re always by my side no matter what.

Gangle tried to smile, although you could feel some sadness in those words. You gently smiled and approached her side, softly caressing the side of her mask, her cheek. As time passed, it was usual for you both to be so close to each other sometimes, but it was just seen as “gals being pals”, described by Caine.

- Gangle it’s alright, for me what matters is to see you smile, really. I’m happy the mask is fixable so it’s no biggie. Besides, whenever I need a favor, you’re always there, and if I need someone to talk to, you’re there as well. You do so much for me I don’t know what I could do without you! I- I think I would kind of go insane- you quickly chuckle, trying to take some importance off of your own words. You didn’t mean to seem so serious about being around Gangle.

- Well… I like being by your side - Gangle smiled, a more simple but soft smile - I would feel pretty lost without you too if I’m honest… I- I’m pretty sure I would be completely alone and-

Gangle seemed to bite her tongue off to cut herself mid sentence, which raised some preoccupations on you. Gangle saw your eyes locked on her so she knew she had to continue, but perhaps it was the right time. You probably didn’t tell anyone something so serious or close as going crazy without them, right? She hoped it meant something more…

- I… I just… - Gangle kept struggling with her words, fidgeting with her laces together until you softly grabbed one, looking directly at her eyes. She took a deep breath and continued - I think I like you… Well not, not think? I know? I know! And- I didn’t know how to tell you or even if it was appropriate! But- If there is a chance I’d like to know… Living in the darkness, in the uncertainty is pretty sanity consuming as well. And we cannot really afford that luxury here.. And I don’t know if you would accept me but I want to hear from you…

You could feel all feelings bottling and pushing all at the same time through the door of your mind. Not a single one being coherent, just a bunch of screams trying to process the information. Gangle trusted you a lot to be open about her feelings in general, but never even gave a hint about having romantic feelings for you. But god were you glad! You weren’t the only one there who wanted you two to be more than gal pals!

With her lace-hand still in yours, you softly caressed it with your thumb, trying not to sound too nervous despite the chaos murmuring in your mind.

- I’m honestly so happy you’re starting this conversation… I- I have been thinking about feelings for you for quite some time as well but I never dared to say anything. I mean- We spend a lot of time together? But I never got any hint that you wanted a relationship with me and I never knew if you would be ok with this, if you would love me, if you would even find me attractive, if you would feel comfortable for a relationship, if you- As Gangle noticed you got yourself into an endless loop of doubts, she built up the courage to finish all your fears and leaned in against you, softly pressing her mouth in her mask against your lips.

The feeling was… Unusual for you, Strange. There were no lips to connect yours to. But your cheeks still heated up. It was more than the sensation, it was everything in between. Gangle decided to jump out of her comfort zone to kiss you and prove to you that she loves you!

You kissed her back, the best you could. It was obvious none of you really knew how to handle the situation nor how you would do it but you both wanted that kiss more than air. Gangle was so relieved that you didn’t push her away and you felt the same.

The longer the kiss lasted, the more comfortable you both felt in it. You softly moved your fingers tracing caresses along the ribbons of her body, sometimes gently tangling in them. That seemed to cause Gangle to blush harder and make some soft pants escape.Every breath of pleasure she gave was music to your ears and no matter how lost you both felt, it also felt like the right thing. For once it felt like you were doing and going the right direction, together.

You pulled Gangle on top of you as you laid in bed, a soft squeak coming from her due to the surprise but not a negative one. She almost tried to avoid eye contact since she was so nervous but she still smiled and leaned closer to you in another kiss, this time with better experience, longer, sweeter, warmer somehow…

Your fingers kept trailing caress around her ribbons as they started to tangle against your arms and legs as Gangle kept herself closer to you, part of her shyness fading in the kisses. You could feel the ribbons tease and get tighter against your thighs, slowly getting closer to your heating core. Now clothes were nothing but annoying. But to be fair, Gangle seemed to think the same as her laces struggled against your clothes. They were touching softly on top of them, tempted to take them off but not without your permission.

You saw this question in her eyes and you nodded. Her laces tried to free you from your clothes but to be honest, without fingers it was quite a hard task so you helped her, slowly disposing of every fabric that was left between Gangle and you.

Gangle gently leaned back to admire your naked body. It didn’t matter it was a persona in a digital world, she loved you, every part of you including your new body in the digital world. If you accepted her despite her body being just a few shiny fabrics she would love you no matter how you were.

- Y-You look so pretty… This still feels like a dream… - Gangle muttered under her increasing heavy breath.

- It’s all real, I promise, it’s our reality -you smile as you pull Gangle back into a kiss.

Her laces tight against your body, once again, her one used as hand reaching for your inner thigh caressing until getting to your clit already needy for some attention. It did help how wet your folds already were for the lace to softly rub, making you give a soft squeak and whimper that felt like sugar for Gangle.

Her ribbon kept caressing and even gently stroking the clit until it moved down against your inner folds. For a second she seemed to doubt, worried about being able to give you enough pressure, but feeling your heavy breath in desire for more sure was a good inspiration to continue.

While sure, her ribbon wasn't as thick as a tentacle it was strong enough for her to insert and look out for your sweet spot, that one that made you arch your back, moaning in pleasure as she wrapped herself around your naked figure. A smooth whimper made the way to your ears as she seemed to find the delight in your body and movements against her.

The pace started slow, making sure you were comfortable all along and enjoying yourself with her, but eventually the kisses became way more heated as she pumped in and out of your core against your pleasing point. Her other lace reaching back to your clit, delicately stroking it and rubbing it again to add more to the already almost overwhelming pleasure.

Both your moans and fast, heavy pants loathed the room in a steamy hot invisible cloud, wrapping and capturing you both in your own world of sensations and new feelings discovered. It only took for a bit for you both to fill the room louder as the satisfaction grew.

Your voice slammed between those walls as Gangle gave a few final thrusts and you felt the sweet relief of the climax around her ribbon.

Gangle, however, followed just in a matter of seconds, whimpering loudly as her laces grew stronger and then trembled her tightness around your body. It could be confusing, but it was obvious she reached her orgasm by your side, her body around yours rubbing and feeling your skin.

In a few minutes, all that could be heard was the lowering breaths that were slowly recovering. Gangle looked at you, a smile in her mask with tiny tears on her eyes, at least, from pleasure and happiness…

You softly caressed her mask while she cuddled against you and whispered.

- I love you…

[lonestarss]

sumeru boys redesigns + notes

as you may know, i redesigned the sumeru boys a few weeks ago because, as much as i love them to bits, their designs are well. not that great in some areas. also because i wanted to draw them more often without the roadblock of their designs being so complicated. i've mainly been drawing my cyno and tighnari redesigns, but i did also do alhaitham and kaveh, so i thought that i'd show off these redesigns in one post, along with some notes on why i made certain decisions. hope you enjoy!

(pre-note: just so no one gets confused, i also renamed everyone when i did my redesigns, giving tighnari and alhaitham first names and cyno and kaveh last names.)

tighnari ❀

(renamed abdullah al-tighnari; tighnari was made his surname because that was the case for the real guy he was based on)

i went into this thinking "how can i make this design more appealing to me while still retaining what the original design meant?". since tighnari is one of my favorites in the game overall, i put a lot of pressure on myself to make a decent design.

a lot of tighnari's design inspiration comes from moroccan (specifically amazigh) culture, which i kept in my mind through most of the drawing. this inspiration shows in his bead necklace (i forget the name), his belt, and his earring, which i remade to mirror the shape of moroccan headpieces.

gave him some muscles because there's no way a guy with his job wouldn't have them. also a bottom-heavy fat distribution for self-indulgent purposes.

the design has less layers and lighter/flowier clothes because of tighnari's canon sensitivity to heat. if you're living in the rainforest (a famously humid biome), you probably wouldn't be wearing what canon tighnari does, heat sensitivity or not.

gave him some traits that are popular headcanons, such as the flower thigh tattoo, the sharp teeth, the scars, the claw-like nails (with the middle and ring nails filed down for No Reason), and the lichtenberg figure. also gave him tan skin and wavy hair because i Cannot deal with canon nari looking like that.

sturdy shoes! archery gloves! his vision on his belt! quality of life features that an actual forest ranger would have!

i will admit that the slit pants, the shorts, and the tights were all for self-indulgence reasons, but i think they go together well with the rest of the outfit too.

a braid in his hair for cynari marriage purposes. (i hc that in sumeru, marriages are consummated by braiding each other's hair)

kaveh ❂

(renamed kaveh laghmani; surname is of iranian origin, but i forgot the meaning)

another real quick note: if i change a character's pronouns in their rewrite, i'll be using those pronouns in their notes. here, kaveh goes by he/she pronouns (she just like me fr).

his canon design is actually my favorite of the sumeru boys, so this redesign was more of a simplification while still keeping the original color scheme and such.

from my research, kaveh's mainly inspired by persian/iranian culture. this is what i had in mind with her shirt and her jacket... shawl... thing. idk what to call it.

kept him a skinny twink; imo, her being a twink in canon fits pretty well.

emphasized the bird of paradise motif with the thing on her side looking like feathers. you will see this again with alhaitham.

made him brunet for more cohesion with the color palette, also because i don't like the whole blonde-fading-to-brown situation he has going on in his canon design.

flowers!!! also giving him a pretty headpiece bc this guy is flashy. also also keeping the feather, it's cunty and fun.

i wanted to make kaveh obviously gnc/genderqueer without going into full-on feminine outfit territory. you can tell she's not quite cis but it's not super in your face yk?

made his vision one of his earrings like yae miko because i forgot to give it a proper place in my concept drawings lmao

quality of life feature: actual artist gloves that aren't cut off. seriously, them being fingerless in the canon design completely negates the point of artist gloves.

removed his braids because of the aforementioned marriage headcanon.

alhaitham ⚘

(renamed amir al-haytham; i wanted to give him the most basic name possible, though i fought with myself a lot on whether to write it as al-haitham or al-haytham)

my god i despise his canon design. it's so... not him. my goal with a redesign was just to give him an outfit that made sense for his character because jesus his canon design is an atrocity.

alhaitham is mainly inspired by either saudi arabian or general west asian culture (like what's constant and such). i was mainly inspired by casual saudi arabian menswear when i was designing him.

hot take but i don't like alhaitham being buff in canon. i made him chubby/fat in my redesign mainly for self-indulgent reasons, but also because it makes more sense to me. also gave him facial hair because yes

kept his color scheme mostly the same, along with the eye motif. emphasized the eagle motif slightly with the feather hip piece (see: kaveh's redesign).

gave him a headscarf (not a hijab or anything like that, just a regular headscarf) because he felt like the type, plus i got the design idea for it and went "well i can't not include it now".

wanted to give him the vibes of an npc who was forced to be a main character

no he isn't wearing his vision anywhere, he doesn't carry it around in my rewrite.

quality of life features: more sensible, looser clothes that are easier to live in- really the whole design is meant to be a quality of life improvement first and foremost

cyno ⚡︎

(renamed cyno al-sahrawi; surname meaning is "of the sahara" or more generally, "of the desert")

like kaveh, i'm gonna be using he/they pronouns for cyno here because that's what i put in my rewrite.

in my opinion, cyno's design is relatively solid, but with a few glaring flaws that kinda ruin everything for me. i'll bring them up as these notes go on.

they're very obviously inspired by ancient egyptian culture, specifically anubis. like, it's very blatant. with my redesign, i wanted to keep those inspirations in mind while making the outfit less stereotypical and make more sense.

why does this man, who's said to fight a lot, not wear a shirt? why are you letting the place where most of your vital organs reside breathe freely? also, why does this guy not have scars?

simplified a bunch of patterns, especially below the belt and with his headpiece. also made their helmet(?) a darker, more saturated purple to attract your eyes' attention to it.

gave him eye of horus makeup for a little cultural nod

the black piece in the back was made to look like a tail to further the jackal thing.

curly hair that resembles lightning bolts <3

the shoes were inspired by traditional egyptian footwear, because if this guy is out in the desert all the time, i'm not letting him go without some kind of foot protection.

quality of life features: a bit of armor on his arm (partially for aesthetic purposes), less flowy bits on his helmet and hips to prevent distraction or getting caught on things, the aforementioned shoes

added braids for cynari purposes, because i'm me.

hope you enjoyed reading this! please keep in mind that this is all off the top of my head and doesn't even go into color theory, how the designs mirror each other, and other smaller things like that. i might make a part 2 someday going into those things, but who knows with my memory lmao

reblogs are heavily appreciated!

[dnpbeats]

the merch person speculating about them at all is crazy no less to a fan blog what?! also when you want uhhhh please tell us more about the anti phan blog bc it sounds like a nightmare and also something of another time, we need your oral history

I KNOW RIGHT 😭😭 also ok stuff abt the anti blog under the cut in case ppl don’t wanna see drama from 2016! (which is so fair)

lmao so if you wanna read the post I made when i left the blog you can see that here. i still agree with what i said about how i didn’t like how the blog was run/how it treated shippers and stuff so i rly have nothing more to say on that

but one thing i didn’t realize at the time that i do now is that it was BATSHIT that I was the one saying the blog was disrespectful when I was 14 years old and everyone else running the blog was an adult (19+). but more so, why were grown adults friends with me a minor?? this wasn’t like ‘oh we’re tumblr mutuals’ i mean like we were talking in group chats and DMs. the main other person who ran the blog was my best friend at the time, she called me her best friend, we would make jokes about being married and shit. she had my phone number, knew my last name, knew where I lived. just stuff an adult has no business doing with a 13yo on the internet. and basically (like I kinda said in the post) anytime I tried to express an opinion that wasn’t “phan shippers are awful people” i was told that I was wrong/they did deserve it. And as a 13/14yo being told that by adults i went along with it and honestly it’s a miracle that I had the awareness to say it wasn’t right and to remove myself from that situation. (also on top of that i thought ppl shouldn’t be digging into their personal lives bc i thought they were together, whereas for the rest of them didn’t like shipping bc they thought d&p were straight 😭😭😭 but I kept that opinion under lock and key bc i knew they’d all go after me 😭)

that’s the gist of it but there’s also other stuff like us and some other ppl (almost all adults!! which again wth!) had a group chat and they all talked mad shit about me even though I was IN the chat. like there was a person who lived in the same city as me who said that if she ever saw me irl she’d punch me, not as a joke she was 100% serious 😭😭 and my so called best friend did nothing to stop it even though she was the admin of the chat 😭 and then yeah like I said in the post I linked I got kicked off the blog twice, once for saying I didn’t like dapgo and the second time for (you guessed it!) calling them out for cyber bullying a minor (not me someone else lol)

so yeah 💀 that’s why i took an almost 7 year break from the phandom 💘

[the-duchess-of-domination]

TW for ED/ARFID talk

I'm severely emetophobic (to the point of ARFID) yet I love tummies so much? The noises, the smooth skin, how it changes shape depending on how full it is, the fact that we need them to keep us alive! Everything! But only online. I'm such a sucker for upset tummy fluff yet if someone said their stomach hurt in real life I would probably cry on spot and hold my breath around them forever. I think part of the love for tummies (or I guess you could say kink but it's not that sexual for me) is because I wish I could do it IRL. I wish I could comfort people and rub their tummies when they don't feel well. So instead I go to tumblr where I can do it no problem. I know this is rambling, but I hope someone relates

-lurker anon

TW: OCD, Emetophobia

hi anon!! thank you for sharing!! im sure a lot of us (including me!!) can relate!

i’ll share a little bit about myself! everything with me started as a child, and there are a lot of overlapping layers. i knew from an early age (literally by 5 years old) that it was exciting to me when cute boys had stomach aches (usually from being fed too much, throwing up wasn’t really on my radar quite yet but it makes sense because it comes with the territory). most of the pieces of media i can remember leaving an impact on me usually cut away or just insinuated that a male character was nauseous or too full by showing their face turn green or having them duck off screen. nothing was ever particularly graphic. this also led to a fixation on stomachs in general, especially the stomachs of bigger guys.

though i never admitted this fascination to anyone (and nobody ever shamed me), i felt weird because i knew other people didn’t share this fixation, so i kept it to myself and tried to enjoy it in private (this usually took the form of writing stories or seeking out media that possibly had sick boys in it. i was a real sleuth). i was a bit obsessive with it, but overall most of the harm was internal rather than external because i was convinced that to enjoy watching men’s pain and discomfort must have meant i was evil or that something was seriously with me.

the thing with Obsessive Compulsive Disorder is that when you explain your compulsions and thoughts out loud they sound silly because you know they aren’t true, but you can’t help but think them. as a child my thoughts told me that to become sick was an admittance of weakness (which, obviously is SO not true lmao) and that expressing vulnerability was a man’s job. i developed crippling emetophobia that has persisted into my adulthood. the idea with vomiting and its lack of control was absolutely horrifying to me.

a man being sick? there is nothing sexier.

but me?

i began to have panic attacks through middle and high school. this later led to contamination OCD, always being terrified of being sick, and again, worrying and having thoughts about why i found it so attractive when boys admitted they were nauseous (that i must be corrupt, a bad person, crazy, etc).

sometimes i think our brains help us cope with trauma and fear by throwing us a bone every now and again. my fear of losing control manifests in fantasies where i hold all the power. i use my fetishes to strengthen the relationship i have with myself: that im not evil, or wrong, or corrupt, or out of control, or crazy. im just a girl who does things a little differently, and control in my fetish life helps me feel more comfortable dealing with my emetophobia in real life.

anyway, that was a long tangent, but i hope this resonates with the people!! 😭 we just love tummies man. i too love the little sounds they make and what those little sounds mean, the look of them, the way they sit on people’s hips, the fact that they can bloat bigger or get smaller, that we anthropomorphize them by saying they get “upset,” the chest and nipples right above them—i could write a manifesto i SWEAR.

-the duchess 👑🦢