#i hate hate HATE being looked at like a piece of meat it’s so disgusting

[ponderingmoonlight]

Hashira reader smacking Zenitsu and sending him to her crush Iguro to teach him a lesson

original idea and inspiration by none other than queen @sitarawrites and this post right here

Pairing: Obanai x fem!hashira! reader

Word Count: 1,1k

Warnings: Zenitsu being a creep and getting payback for it

„Please, you have to give me a chance!“

„Zenitsu, I think that’s enough-„

„You have to be the prettiest girl I’ve ever seen! Let’s marry as long as we’re still alive!”

“Why can’t you just leave me alone, you creep?”

“I’m so so sorry for his behavior-“

“What’s going on here?”, you interrupt the little chit chat in front of you sharply.

You sign to yourself. Just like you expected, another wave of losers that just arrived. 2 girls, a few of those basic guys and…

You furrow your eyebrows, a wave of nauseous disgust getting a hold of you the second you see him. That blonde haired guy who looks at you as if you’re a piece of meat.

“Oh, who are-“

Without even allowing him so finish his sentence, you grab his blonde hair with one hand while smacking him flat-palmed with the other.

“Just let me make a few things clear before we’re even starting”, you hiss, mindlessly dropping his crying figure to the ground.

“If you didn’t catch it already, I’m a hashira and you are here to train under me. But I’m not like Mitsuri or my former master Himejima-sama. We won’t pray around here, we won’t laugh. But most important of all, don’t you dare to piss me off by disregarding me in some sort of way. Got it, Blondie?”

“I think he understood, (y/n)-san!”, the red-haired boy next to him shouts immediately while throwing his unconscious body over his shoulder.

“I know you’re still listening. If I catch you hitting on a corps member like that one more time, I’ll burry you under rocks before sending you over to Igoro-san”, you bark at the boy who again, screams out in sheer fright.

Apparently, his horrible behavior towards females isn’t the only annoying thing about that guy named Zenitsu. If it wasn’t for Kamado, he’d hide inside his room the whole day while crying his eyes out.

“I promise he acts different when he’s unconscious!”

“Do I have to slap him again, then?”

“YOU CAN’T DO THAT!”

Urgh. If it wasn’t for that crow sent by Ubayishiki-sama himself, you would have drowned that boy in the river nearby immediately. And that nice little interactions with a certain someone.

“If he doesn’t treat you right, send him my way. I’ll make sure he’ll never cry again.”

“Nice try Iguro-san. But Ubayishiki-sama forbid me to hurt him and I’m sure the same goes for you, unfortunately.”

“Is he still looking at you all the time? Then it might be worth it.”

“Don’t worry, he doesn’t. But if I catch him crying around like a baby one last time, I’ll send him to you personally.”

“I’ll take that as a promise, then.”

You smile to yourself while reading those well-written lines. Igoru-san…truth is, you definitely kept an eye open for him these past months. Out of all the hashira, he’s the only one you’re really keen to talk to.

“Ahhh, it’s so cold!”

“Zentisu, calm down. Don’t you remember what (y/n)-san told you about-“

“I NEED TO GET OUT OF HERE! THIS IS LIVING HELL! THAT WOMAN IS THE DEVIL HERSELF! I CAN’T DO THIS ANYMORE TANJIRO!”

“Please calm down-“

“I’M SURE THE GIRLS AT THE BUTTERFLY ESTATE MISS ME, I’LL JUST RETURN TO AOI AND THE GIRLS-“

“You’re not going anywhere, you fool. I’m having enough of your bullshit”, you interrupt his pity party along with a harsh bow into his stomach that surely makes him see stars.

“I’m sending you to Iguro myself.”

Another well-placed hit, a passed out Zenitsu before you even get the chance to hit him.

“Please, allow me to go with you, (y/n)-san. I don’t think Zenitsu will survive the training of the serpent hashira on his own”, a gently voice speaks out next to you.

Urgh. You hate to even consider Tanjiro’s words. But there’s nothing you’re able to teach him anyway. No matter how much you hate to admit it, but that Kamado boy definitely is something special.

“Fine”, you grumble.

“But only because I want to get rid of you.”

“That’s totally fine! Thank you for teaching me hand to hand combat anyway!”

“Yeah, whatever. Just carry that prick and follow me.”

Your heart beats a little faster with every step you come nearer to the serpent hashira’s estate. How is he doing? Is he excited to see you, what will he say? You haven’t seen each other since the last hashira meeting, didn’t have the chance to speak properly since forever as it seems.

But now is your chance. When it means seeing Iguro-san, that douchebag did have a purpose after all.

“Did you take out the trash, (y/n)?”

Your breath gets stuck in your throat. You didn’t even sense him until he stands in front of you, both eyes set on you with his arms crossed in front of his chest.

“I can’t take that whining baby anymore. Make sure to treat him right”, you explain briefly.

“Oh, and I took Kamado with me.”

“Tanjiro Kamado”, Iguro-san hisses, his eyes shooting pure venom Tanjiro’s way.

“Bring that useless boy inside and get some rest yourself, Kamado”, you instruct the boy next to you who springs into action immediately.

“He’s doing pretty well”, you mumble more to yourself than actually talking to Iguro-san.

“Doing pretty well?”

Faster than you’re able to react, you find yourself breathlessly pinned against a nearby tree with his eyes almost piercing trough you.

“I mean…yeah”, you breathe out.

“But I actually came here because I missed you”, you add with unusual low voice.

Is that blush creeping up your cheeks? The serpent hashira almost doesn’t believe his ears. You, missing him? He never thought you’d actually like him, that feelings like missing someone like him could actually exist. But you hold his gaze with reddened cheeks. And you’re here, between his arms.

“I…”

He kind find the words. In fact, it seems like his mind and body aren’t able to function normally anymore.

“I need to go”, he presses out.

“But Iguro-san, I-“

He’s gone as fast as he came, leaving yourself leaning against the tree like an idiot.

What was that?

-bonus-

“I’ll let you suffer for making (y/n) uncomfortable. Did you flirt with her?”

“W-what? Me? I’d never d-do that!”

“I’ll kill you-“

“Please don’t kill him Iguro-san!”

“I’ll kill you as well. You made eyes at (y/n)-san.”

“We’re so screwed”, Zenitsu hisses through gritted teeth.

Tags: @chilichopsticks @hellkaiserinphoenix  @ynackerman9499 @keepghostly @beatrexworld

@froufrousnowman @hidazinie @tomiokathedepresso  @poketrainer2270 @chaoticwinnercupcake

@lees-chaotic-brain @wordskeeper @polarbvnny @sugu-love @ryva @baku2345

@komelrebi-san @kentocalls (your fic will be next) @barbuse @sunshine7queen @lavenderdrxp

@yaninnaacu @hopefulbelievertimemachine

[thegnomelord]

Sorry for blowing up your inbox, but you've really got my creative juices flowing. So I want to expand on 2 ideas.

No. 1

Shrike Harpy Reader w/ oblivious Graves (bc from my knowledge, he's usually a vampire or regular guy) or Ghost (bc he was human before)

In which Shrike reader is getting progressively more obvious with their advances bc Ghost/Graves don't understand. The particular idea I had was where they think it's some kind of threat or prank. So reader is getting more obvious, and they think that the threat/prank is getting more intense.

That would be hilarious! Obviously, they will either find out or be told about the advances eventually. But the idea that you are courting them and they miss the mark entirely is so funny to me. Especially if their teammates laugh and refuse to tell them the obvious truth.

No. 2

Going off of the spider's sexual dimorphism + a different version of monster au. Pairing spider hybrid reader w/ octopus (cthulhu?) König (if you do reqs for him), where spider reader looks at him and is like:

So you're telling me there's an eight-legged hybrid, approximately five times my size, that could snap my spine like a toothpick, just beyond enemy lines.... Do you need someone to volunteer for a solo recon mission any time soon?

Oh no! My recon mission turned into a hostage situation, how unfortunate. But while I'm here, I should interrogate him... yeah, interrogating is exactly what I'll be doing with this giant tied up man rn....

👑 anon

No, no, anon I'm always so happy reading all the stuff you guys send me! I know next to nothing about Konig except the stuff I've read about him that turns him into a really perverted disgusting degenerate and while I'm not comfortable writing that, I hope one of my mutes picks it up bc it is super cool! I got a dancing with Ghost ask I really wanna do so Graves it is lol

CW:SWF-ish turns suggestive at the end, Graves being oblivious

Graves hates being the butt of the joke.

For the last couple of months he's been getting 'gifts' in the form of chunks of meat stabbed through various knives. It had started a knife being stabbed through burgers and steaks(typical American food), which he couldn't eat, but slowly progressed to rarer and rarer pieces of meat until he wound up finding just raw and bloody chunks of meat; a leg of some large animal turned into a pincushion, a still beating heart stabbed through with a knife, livers shish kebabed on a bayoneted blade. . .

And he'd find them everywhere, in the communal fridge, in his office, in his room. And while he didn't mind the free meal, he was a little unnerved. He knew it was you doing it because he had screened the minds of all his shadow's, but he didn't know why you were doing it.

He can see the way his shadows smirk at you when he finds another bloody organ skewered on your favorited knife in the fridge, your feathers puffing up and a not so quiet chirp escaping your lips when he sneaks the meat away to feast on.

You also become more touchy with him when you notice him accepting your gifts, though he has no idea of it. He trusts you, which is why you're allowed to sneak up on him, your wings spreading out to wrap around him like a cloak as you chirp a "Hello commander."

It makes him jump out of his skin, and though he chastises you about it, it's never as harsh as he could make it, his shadows giving him a knowing look that he can't reciprocate.

That's the worst part. None of his shadows will tell him anything.

He doesn't know much about your species of harpy except for the generalized knowledge of extreme speed and craftiness, so he can't figure out if this is some kind of joke, or threat, or you just seeing him as part of the flock? Or maybe it means nothing? He's especially confused when you grow bolder and one day he walks into his office to see a Bison leg sitting on his desk, once again skewered. Where did you even get the bloody bison? Hell knows but certainly not him.

Eventually a shadow grows annoyed by your constant bloody gifts in the fridge and with a very annoyed huff drops a harpy encyclopedia on his desk.

He'll need to get them a gift basket after this; he spends the next few hours just reading about all kinds of harpies, ears progressively getting hotter as the book delves deep into every aspect of the harpies, each sub-race's specific courting and matting habit and making him feel like he's reading porn.

Then he finds a chapter about your type of harpy, eyes growing wide like dinnerplates as he reads about your quirks. He doesn't know whether to go search for a cross or tissues. He reads more and more, turning pages upon pages, his eyes scorching every anatomical picture into his brain and making him think of what you're packing, his pants growing tight as the minutes tick down.

Just his luck that you'd decided the moment when his face is the hottest to walk into his office without knocking, another skewered offering on a plate in your hands.

"Christ!" He yelps, slamming the book shut and looking at you like you're his parent and caught him looking at a playboy magazine.

You puff up in surprise, your wings spreading out a bit before flattening back to your back, a soothing chirp leaving your lips. It used to mean nothing to him, now he knows what it means, his cock getting a bit harder in his pants.

"You alright commander?" You ask, walking closer, the talons of your feet clicking against the ground.

"Yes, yep, perfectly fine." He grunts, desperately hoping his vampiric state will suppress the heat in his face, but to no avail. "You-" His eyes settle on the plate in your hands, his body practically conditioned to salivate when he sees a familiar knife sticking out of the food.

"I?" You ask, then you note the book on his desk, your head tilting in confusion. "Graves?"

He swallows, eyes darting from the food to you, and he doesn't know which one he's starved for more. "You've been wooing me like a dolly huh?" He asks.

"Yeah." You're unsure of what else to say, in your head, had he not wanted your advances he would have never taken your offerings. Then you realize. "Don't tell me you just noticed." You deadpan.

Graves gives that awkward chuckle you've grown to love, and you decide you need to be bolder. You place the plate on his desk and lean over it, a coo rumbling in your chest— deeper, rougher, seductive.

"How about I show you what I want?"

[underneath-your-lies]

Can you please degrade me...

I've been edging to your posts all day and I need someone to tell me it's good for me to watch porn and edge.

Pleasssseeee 🥰

P. S can you suggest me some really dirty misogynistic porn that I have to watch no matter what it is ? 💕

love you ❤

You pathetic slut.

What kind of cheap desperate skank crawls all the way to the feet of a Misogynistic, brutal, cruel Man like Me and begs Him not for attention, but for abuse?

A worthless dumpster whore.

A born piece of rape meat.

A hopeless abuse slut.

An inferior set of holes that was only ever meant to suffer and please its Superior and hope to serve His cock if it humiliates itself enough to deserve it one day.

In short, a bitch that knows its place.

You're gushing, aren't you? At Me exposing what only reverberates in the intimate darkness of your mind every day, as you rub in your room while consuming more and more depraved content.

I'd make you beg Me, and pay Me, to let you drag your bare disgusting cunt on the floor to grind it and entertain Me, and I wouldn't even spare a look at your pathetic sight. It would only make you grind and whimper harder. Your inferiority is hardwired into your brain, that's why it feels good to be humiliated and degraded by a Man.

You kinda hate it, it kinda makes you scared sometimes, but it arouses you even more because of it.

It just feels good to be put in your place, to be reminded that you're just holes. You're begging Me to drag you by your hair and expose you to everyone, to free you from the pressure of the pretences and expectations. You want to be forcefully owned and claimed, since your hesitant confused mind is not made to make rational decisions.

So yes, you filthy exhibitionist bitch in heat, porn and edging aren't just good for you and for other females, they're a vital necessity at this point. If you've squirmed at My words and got dizzy from actually imagining them, you already are unfit for proper society, just like any other cunt. It's just that you're more of a good girl than some who are still in denial.

Atta girl, good job.

So slap that disgusting pussy ten times for Me, and keep edging. Keep being a mindless, obedient, desperate horny piece of fuck flesh. Keep training yourself to be a good ownable fucktoy. Keep learning to serve cock.

And remember: stupid sluts don't deserve to cum.

P.S.: I do watch porn sometimes but I've been more of a smut guy lately. I don't have any specific porn recommendations off the top of My head right now, since I'm busy, but I do remember some good videos.

[mullermilkshake]

Housekeeping.

It's time to housekeep Mr Shindo's penthouse.

Ainosuke Shindo (Adam) x Fem!reader DEAD DOVE DO NOT EAT,Dubious consent/ non-con,Inappropriate comments,sex for money, Restraints,Gagged,Vaginal fingering,Edging,Orgasm denial

<<< For more Adam content, click this link to go back to the Masterlist! >>>

You looked at your roster for today and your stomach dropped.

Ainosuke Shindo was scrawled on the bottom by your name in terrible handwriting most definitely belonging to your housekeeping supervisor. 

Despite the complaints and regular talks about your refusal to service Mr Shindo’s penthouse in the hotel, she still put you in there because of his requests. He always requested you and you wracked your brain countless times as to why he would want you. It wasn’t like you had been there long, he was actually one of your first clients you cleaned for much to your dismay.

Usually requests weren’t taken seriously, usually they sent who was available, but with as much money as Mr Shindo had, well it talked and your supervisor sang like a bird. The first time you cleaned was the first time you made a complaint about him, a wandering gaze, inappropriate comment under his breath, you hated it because you were never truly on your own in that penthouse.

And because the square footage was so large, it took you all day to clean. A place so luxurious and pristine with fashion and crystal light fixtures and chandeliers, made it so much more lonely than you wanted to admit to yourself.

“Hey...” You called your supervisor who was in the coffee room, chatting away like she didn't give a shit, because she didn’t. “Hey.”

She didn’t turn or acknowledge you, in fact she turned her back to you. “Hey.” You approached her now. 

“What?” The girl she spoke with left, glaring at you with such judgement.

“Why are you putting me up in the penthouse again, how many times have we had this conversation?” You folded your arms as a cue but she never took it. 

“He’s requested you, what more can I do?”

She had every power to delegate her staff as that was her job, but never bothered to do it, she was up the manager's asshole and didn’t even try to hide it. Mr Shindo threw money at everything and it worked until he met you, he had your supervisor under his thumb but not you. 

“I don’t know, look after and back up your staff, he’s a creep and you keep putting me in positions that allow him to treat me like a piece of meat.” 

Always made you cleaned the lowest parts of the penthouse just so you would bend over, you were sure he was just sitting there to look up your skirt. There was an air about him like he wanted to devour you right there in the bathroom when you rearranged the bottles and wiped down the counters. 

“He’s not that bad, why are you always being like this? Just clean and go.”

You held back so much a scoff that pressed at your lips to escape and laugh in her face. Not that bad? “You go to the penthouse and clean for him then if you like him so much.”

“I’m busy, look, go and do it today and I’ll speak to the manager and we’ll tell him you left the hotel or something, okay? Get off my back about it.” It only put a band aid on the gaping slit throat of a situation, she didn't wait for a response, just chased the girl she had conversed with and carried on talking about whatever shit was on television. 

There wasn’t any point sometimes.

And of all the days too to pick the caddy with a wonky wheel that screeched down the hall to the elevator. Today was going to be horrid, so you’d clean as quickly as you could, that was your promise to yourself and then start to look for a different job with someone who actually cared.

Someone who didn’t allow perverts to glare at you and make disgusting remarks.

Each second went by as a lifetime heading up to the top floor, the walls of the elevator sunk in like a prison, pushing and crushing your head to the point it hurt, a claustrophobic reminder of where you were going. You hoped his assistant was there to answer the door, Mr Shindo seemed to behave a little when he was around, just a few looks and lingering touches instead of full blown sentences acknowledging you sexually. 

But he wasn't there, not today. Your heart dropped when the door opened like you missed a step on the stairs which led you to fall but catch yourself to remain professional. He stood there impassive towards the hallway, unbothered and showy to gaslight you like always.

He was snippy today, a great start to a shitty morning. “I was beginning to wonder if you were actually going to show.” 

“My apologies sir, t-there was a confusion with the roster, I wanted to confirm that-”

“That I requested you?”

“Y-yes sir.”

“I have meetings, so be quick and quiet about it.” He was ordering you to just get on with it? 

This should have made you jump for joy, to speed run the entire bathroom with utmost precision and get out for an early finish. But you weren’t, your stomach sank and only told you that something was off. Your gut never lied and would often flare up in situations like this, it hadn’t steered you wrong yet. 

“Of course sir.” 

You could tell that the wheels of the caddy was pissing him off already, being proactive was a necessity of a housekeeper. “I’ll keep the caddy in the hallway so as not to disturb you with the noise.” 

Mr Shindo didn’t even respond to you and he was already making his way back to the rectangular sliding doors of his makeshift study that contained two other voices. “My apologies for the disturbance, my housekeeper was-” 

The doors closed and you were thrusted into absolute science. Delicate yet heavy silence showered from the ceiling, you even enjoyed your own footsteps echoing inside the bathroom, the spray of your bottle and gentle hiss of cascading water from the shower head.

All of the glass in the bathroom and mirrored surfaces glistened like crystal by the time you were finished, which must have been your record according to your watch. No sign from Mr Shindo doubled that feel-good feeling too, no disturbances or eyes watching you, finally comfortable enough to get on all fours and scrub the grout between the marble tiles.

Cleaning the kitchen was always a breeze, broom, sweep, wipe surfaces, mop and spray. Silence and quiet, only muffled voices from the study every now and then but not enough to disturb your rhythm. You were set on finishing early before Mr Shindo ever had a chance to leave the confines for his study. 

That jinxed it all for you. Just when you were bent over looking under the coffee table to make sure it was clear and sweep away any debris too. You didn’t even hear him approach you.

“Look at you.” He practically sang his words and chuckled when you hit your head. “It looks like I came in at the right time.”  

If I stay still, can he still see me? Of course he would, you were an idiot to think you would have gotten away from him for an entire day. 

“Are you ignoring me? Is it because of how I spoke to you when you arrived?” His tone returned to playfulness, like it usually was. “I apologise, I’ve been incredibly stressed lately, stuffy meetings rot my brain.”

You pulled back to see him perched on the arm of the sofa behind you, one leg crossed over the other leaned in a casual way as though to appear relatable. Though as a politician himself, Ainoske Shindo had plenty of cards up his sleeves to appear so, even though you didn’t believe it for a second.

Looking at him now, you knew exactly what mask he was using to try and shift your focus, to confuse you like he did others that stupidly voted for him. You would never vote for him and the faster he was out of this hotel the better.

“I’m not ignoring you sir… I just wish to complete my tasks as to let you have your space for the guests in your study.”

“How considerate… Don’t get up.” You stopped mid way, one foot planted on the ground whilst the other just balanced there, not really doing anything to support you.

Get up and just leave. That’s what you should have done in hindsight, but hindsight did nothing when faced with a man as repulsive as Ainosuke Shindo.

He sat down on the sofa, legs pushed either side to take up as much space as possible. “Come and sit with me.” 

This man would cost you your job, all it took as money and a few words. What if he stopped you from securing a job full stop? Was he worth listening to, or would you have rather taken the risk and tell him exactly what you thought of him? 

You didn’t make one move or take a breath. “Come on, you always do as you're told, what changed?”

Moving as slow as you could, you sat and perched yourself on the very end of the sofa cushion, as far away as you could. “We can't have a conversation if you're that far away now can we?”

An inch maybe, that’s all you moved, but it wasn’t enough because Mr Shindo moved towards you, much closer than he should have. “There, that’s better right?” 

He was not worth this job or any other job for that matter. As you went to stand, Mr Shindo took a hold of your wrist to the point it hurt. “You’re incredibly beautiful, why would you turn away from me?” 

The most terrifying part that made you tremble was that he remained calm completely. “Mr Shindo… Please let me go.”

“I’m not holding you hostage,” He laughed. “But I do want you to do something for me before you leave. Can you do that for me?”

He’s going to ask me to vacuum. That’s what you told yourself, a housekeeping task that was a necessity and leave, never to come back to this place.

“One thing… and I have to carry on with my duties. I can’t be late today-“

“I have very little time and I want to make the most out of it. I’ll even pay you, how does that sound?”

Payment? Shit. You knew what he was going to ask and it was a no, flat out no, you’d throw in his face with a slap and you’d quit before your supervisor had a chance to fire you. 

“Let go of my arm, I have tasks to get on with-“

“How does fifty thousand Yen sound?” He didn’t let go of you but loosened his tight fist a little.

That much was your month's rent, he almost had you. Almost. You pulled back and shook your head, “No thank you.”

“One hundred and Twenty Thousand then.” 

You paused briefly and tried to hide your hesitation, Mr Shindo caught on immediately. “Ah, that much. Can we agree? We don’t have time to sit around.” 

Still so calm and you were a bag of nerves. You nodded and instantly regretted it as he pulled you close over his lap. 

“Mr Shindo-“

“Be quiet. Don’t forget there are two high ranking officials in my study, they could come out at any moment.” 

He had you pinned between his arm and lap, you tried to get up and pull away, but he didn’t budge. “I’ve changed my mind, I can’t do this let me up.” 

“Now, now darling.” His voice changed and it was almost musical, whimsical like it wasn’t actually him there. “You agreed, didn’t anyone tell you that a deal is a deal?”

He was so quick, lifted your skirt up and panties to the side to make you squirm. “Please Mr Shindo let go of me-“ 

His cock, it was hard. Pressing against you so casually against your stomach. “Look at that, all this time you’ve wriggled your ass in front of my eyes, so tantalising and cruel that I couldn’t even touch you. You don’t know how long I’ve wanted to fuck you and make you scream.” 

Scream? There were two men across the way behind one door that would hear and assume Mr Shindo was attacking a goat if he did that. They would definitely come to investigate. You struggled again but he held you, his fingers moving and kneading the fat of your exposed ass cheek. 

Smack! You yelped and he spanked you again. “I told you to be quiet, don’t force my hand to make you be quiet. I can be very persuasive.” 

He was spanking you over his lap like a child and was scolding you for being loud? You’d had yelped again and had enough of this bullshit, money be damned and go straight to hell in the pit Mr Shindo belonged. 

“You agreed, so don’t you dare move. You can't even be quiet either?” His tone was sharp and his grasp on you dug in so much it hurt. 

Your ass was in the air with legs hanging down to pull, Mr Shindo moved and pulled at fabric, the high pitch whip of it whizzed past your ear and straight into your mouth. Dry material against your teeth and took every ounce of moisture. 

“That’s better, I’d hate for you to draw attention when you’re like this.” His fingers moved down between your legs. “And you’re already wet too, you really do listen, don’t you?”

You couldn’t even move now, he’d locked you in good, his free hand rubbing you and taking the wetness you didn’t even know was there. And then his finger entered you, slipping in as easily as it could, straight in whilst he cooed at you.

“If you’re this tight around my finger, I can only imagine what you’d be like whilst my cock was buried inside you. I reckon you’d make me come way too quickly, better stretch you out.” 

No warning, another finger, two and he moved them apart, wriggled them inside you to stretch you for a third finger. He didn’t wait, nor did he hesitate to push and pull, fucking you with his hand as you lay there unable to do a thing about it. 

It made you disgusting, filthy and degraded. It’s for the money. The money that would help with the rent, to help with your parents and put food on your table when hours got cut short and money wasn’t enough to survive. 

For survival.  

For survival.

He was fucking you, fingering your pussy like he owned it, positioning you in a way that made your stomach tickle, pull away from you in a way you recognised. He was going to try and make you come, you knew it. 

A flick and rub of his finger every so often, grazing your clit and going deeper with a curl of his fingers. You were going to come if he kept it up. 

“You’re clenching. What a little whore you are bending over for me… and your ass is to die for.” Pulling out he spanked you again, sounding more wet against your skin. 

“I wonder if I can get four fingers in, then you’ll be able to take all of me.” Four fingers went in, pulling you closer to orgasm. 

Settling your breathing didn’t work, no exercise could calm you and it only brought you closer to the end you didn’t want to experience. Heavier and heavier it got, closer to the edge, suspended over him like a crude porn video. 

“Ah.” He chuckled. “You’re close aren’t you? Wouldn’t it be cruel if I were to stop right now and leave you as a mess? Anyone could walk in right now and see you in such a mess.” 

You wanted to get it over with and take the money and go, you could even quit on the spot and live off of the money for a month or so without issue. That would be a dream. 

You nodded and willed yourself to finish as he sped up pumping his hand in and out of you, so close, so close the stars were already building behind your closed eyes, so close you were about to-

He pulled his hand away. “I think I’ll stop there, after all I’ve paid for you to take care of me. Not the other way around.” 

So close you could taste it. 

The realisation set in that this wasn’t what he wanted from you. He cheated you. “What? Did you think I would look after you? You are the staff, you take care of me.” 

You didn't look his way, you couldn’t. He leant into you, mouth so close to your ear. “See? Anyone can be bought.”

His laugh was too sickly sweet for your liking and he’d just fucked you over. “Now, I’m either coming in your mouth or your pussy, you decide.” 

Didn’t seem much of a choice.

DISCLAIMER - Crossposted from my AO3 - I do not own any of the characters or anything from the anime. This is a work of fan fiction and is absolutely not representative of the views or intentions of the original creator(s).

Also please don’t post any of my work without permission thank you!

[wannaeatramyeon]

Gun Park x Goo Kim: Nabe

Sorta 479 spoilers but not really. I couldn't resist. Fluffy.

"What's that?"

Goo pokes around the pot with some stray chopsticks, glasses steaming up from the heat.

Gun plucks the offending utensils from the blonde's fingers. "Yosenabe," and snaps it in half.

"Which is?"

"Nabe. A type of stew."

"Whatever, looks and smells like shit,"

"That's fine because you're not having any,"

Goo’s head whips around, eyes narrowing in annoyance, "What! You miser!"

Trying to focus on preparing the ingredients, arranging the greens and meat and seafood, Gun attempts to tune out his partner's voice.

"After all I do for you! You tight ass!"

It's not working. His voice is particularly aggravating tonight. Sense of personal space especially lacking.

"You're not even going to share? You selfish dick! I can't believe-"

Gun grits his teeth and spits out "Fine."

"You fuck-" A pause. A blink. "Fine?"

"Fine you can have some."

.

.

Resting his chin on Gun's shoulder, Goo inspects the chopping board. The ingredients look good, fresh. Blade slightly blunt, knife skills obviously nowhere near as good as himself, but it'll do.

Almost-

"Why aren't you cutting the shiitake all pretty?"

Goo feels the shoulder tensing.

"You know, like when people cut a star into it."

“...”

"But I suppose you can barely hold a knife."

"..."

"Can you make the carrots flower shaped?"

"..."

"That's probably too advanced for you."

Goo swipes at a piece and Gun laments not cutting off his fingers in time. "This one is so much bigger!" It's not. "You can't even cut them to equal size-"

"Get the fuck out of my kitchen."

.

.

Goo chews on a prawn. It's delicious. Tender and succulent and he tells Gun it's not bad. Passable. It'll do for his refined palate.

Receives a huff of amusement in response as Gun tucks into his own serving.

The nabe does wonders to warm them both on this cold night. Peaceful, companionable silence only broken by occasional bowls being refilled, noodles being slurped, hums of appreciation.

Goo wonders if maybe he himself is a cliche, and the way to his heart really is through his stomach.

Munching on a flower shaped carrot and picking his way around the pretty mushrooms with a star carved into it, he finds a flush on his cheeks and a warmth in his chest that has nothing to do with the food and everything to do with the man that sits opposite.

"You're not going to eat those?" Gun frowns. After that bastard specifically made a fuss over them too.

Staring at the shiitake in disgust, Goo can't bear to stomach them even if they do look more appetising tonight.

Pretending to gag, "Ew no, I hate mushrooms!"

[velvetvexations]

Not really related to the whole trans-med discussion you have right now, but this ordeal reminded me of something that happened a few years ago, and I wanted to talk to someone about it.

When I was around 16-17 I had an art account on a different social media platform and drew and posted mainly transmasc art. Mostly got the normal harassment trans artist typically get from transphobes that I could easily ignore, and some trans-meds here and there. But there is apparently also a group of trans people that believes "trans-med" means "any trans person who medically transitions/supports medical transition" or something and that depicting medically transitioning trans people is somehow "forcing them to medically transition" (<something I have actually been accused of over my art by multiple people. Mostly adult trans people. Really confusing. How can anyone be that insecure over their identity that they feel threatened by a piece of art? I mean. Just don’t look at it if it pisses you off that much??)

The reason I had to deactivate the account and leave social media for a while was when I made an artwork of a trans man with phalloplasty. As predicted, even more transphobes started attacking me, but I could ignore that, and I expected that. Because transphobes are predictable. Worse and much harder to ignore were the trans people who then started flooding my account and harassing me over "being a trans-med" simply because I made ONE artwork that included a phalloplasty dick.

Because apparently, the only reason people would ever want to get a phalloplasty is because they’re trans-med and believe that to be a "real man" they need a penis. Because why else would one get such an "ugly" and "disgusting" surgery? (fully ignoring that 99% of my artwork didn’t include bottom surgery, or no visible genitalia at all; not that that should change anything. Even if I drew only phallo (or meta) dick art, that doesn’t justify harassing me?)

I was accused of lying about my age, that I was a grown man trying to manipulate young trans boys into "mutilation" by making them want to "sew a rotten meat tube to their vulvas" (what a disgusting way to refer to phallo…); by trans people and transphobes alike. In the exact same phrasing. The only difference was that transphobes called them "little girls" and also talked about mastectomies in the same way, while trans people called them "young trans boys" and had mostly no problem with top-surgery. And the trans people didn’t even recognise that what they were doing was just spewing straight-up transphobic rhetoric.

Some people even sent me stuff like "congrats, you’re just a cis man now. Get out of trans spaces" or "there’s nothing special about you because you have a dick. Leave real trans people alone" because of the assumption that I had bottom surgery. Even if I did, that would still be wrong. Reducing transness to genitals is extremely fucked up. Trans men with phalloplasties aren’t any "less trans" than trans men without bottom surgery? What logic is that even?

All that while at the same time actual trans-meds were harassing me for drawing a trans man with visible breasts.

Its just... How can people go so far against trans-meds that they end up just as transphobic as they are, just hating on a different group of trans people? Or targeting a different group of trans people, rather, because they also hated me as a non-transitioning trans man solely because I… support people’s right to choose medical transition, and to not medically transition?

It’s been a while since that happened. Still confuses me a lot.

I'm very, very sorry you went through that, anon. <3

[sparklingmineraltequila]

American Wasteland

Note: I don't think Rust is a big fan of getting head cause I think that it's much more aligned to Marty's character. However, I think it fits all too well with Crash era Rust so this is me trying to reconcile the two. I also don't think my Philosophy teacher would be too overjoyed knowing I'm using what she taught me to write foreplay but at least it stuck.

Warnings: 18+, violence, drugs, alcohol, reference to sex work, implied past abuse, rough sex both past and present

There are a lot of ways that you can get fucked up by a liquor bottle. Rust knows this. But mainly, there are two ways. The first is the classic act of getting drunk out of your mind: the type of drunk that can only end in violence. Rust doesn't always need to gulp down a bottle of Jameson, straight and hard, to feel the acrid burn of repulsion and vomit in his stomach. Sometimes, the slow sipping of a 12 pack of Bud or Lone Star is preferred on days where he's more lucid, has more of that sickening desire to punish himself with Sofia's face and blood and gurgling cough. Tearing that beer can and slicing at his skin might be a more effective, visceral act of punishment, but it's too quick. No, he brought her into this meat grinder of a world, he should feel that same machinery gnashing away at his being before he is allowed to slide into the stagnation that the piss warm beer allows him. Then, you have the far more crude way to fuck someone up; the jagged edge of smashed glass will do that just fine. Quick, cuts easy into the supple flesh of the cheek and makes a hell of a show. As he glances over the bottles of whiskey, Cassandra lets out a low whistle,

'Johnnie Walker Blue Label. This was the shit my dad used to blow rent on. You'd think for such a piece of shit loser, the man would've had cheaper taste,' and Rust can see a faint lacquer in her eyes, the impenetrable kind making her relive those scenes of her slurring daddy with a heavy set jaw and even heavier hands, the musk of her own fetid sweat mixed with talcum powder on her t-shirt in a pathetic, 8 year old's attempt to get the smell out, the hum of a refrigerator while a little girl cries at the kitchen table cause she doesn't get to feel safe around daddy. Hard to reconcile that image with the 20 year old in a white cotton sundress that ends too soon and is cut too low; the blueish lighting giving her skin a cool sheen. Cassandra puts the bottle back and walks over to where Rust is slotting his usual Jameson under his arm as he picks up a second bottle. From his crouching position, he can see the delicate purple hue on her thighs, arranged in the pattern of his fingerprints. A sickening sense of pride settles itself next to the self-disgust in Rust's gut at the marks and the satisfaction with which Cassandra is looking at them.

'Roughed you up pretty good, huh?' Rust says, gruffly. Cassandra glances over a delicate shoulder from where she's inspecting the Bourbon shelf,

'They hurt.'

'Bullshit, baby. You think I didn't see you were tracin' 'em in the truck, on the way here.'

'Doesn't mean they don't hurt.'

'True,' Rust stands to his full height, 'but d'you know what it does mean?'

'What?' she turns to face him.

He walks over to her, giving her cheek a couple, little pats his fingers, 'That you liked it.' Cassandra gives a derisive scoff but not one that can hide that glint in her eye: relief. Not just that Rust has indulged her infatuation, fucking her into the mattress until she forgot how to say 'Crash', but the protection that those bruises afford; the bruises of a young girl turned woman, bruises who's shade of blue show that the man who gave them is a tough son of a bitch.

'I hate it when you do that,' Cassandra states, somewhat petulantly.

'Do what? Point out that you can't do one over me?'

'No,' she says, narrowing her eyes, 'When you slap me around like that. I feel dumb.'

'That ain't slappin' around, trust me. And you ain't dumb, that's for sure, Cass,' Rust huffs, looping the plastic casing of a Lone Star six-pack through his fingers, 'But you shouldn't look to me to affirm that for you.'

'I don't need you to affirm shit for me.'

'Good, cause I ain't got the fuckin' time or will for that, too. Pick up your head, Cassandra. Stop fuckin' poutin',' Rust's tone is sharp. Cassandra rolls her eyes but she struts behind him, following him to the cashier. As Rust waits in line behind some trucker, Cassandra scuffs her boots against the floor, pulling her gum taught over her tongue until to snaps.

'You snap your gum,' Rust states. Cassandra looks up at him from where she was analysing the snake skin on the point of her boot,

'Huh?'

'You don't blow bubbles, you snap your gum.'

'I ain't gonna give the men 'round here the whole school girl routine. Fuck that,' she scowls. The corner of Rust's mouth twitches slightly at her sharpness; that guile about her never fails to dump buckets of ice cold water over his perception. His smart, smart girl, knowing that a quick, hard fix of money isn't shit next to the promise of survival that grit can give. Leave the milk boxes and cotton socks to the little girls, you're a woman now. It takes a certain intelligence to be sexy, to bear the soft, supple skin of ass, tits and thigh in a delicate veil of lace, and to still keep the wolves at an arm's length. Give them the scent of your blood, hot and throbbing, let them believe that the practiced gasps and rolling neck are just for them, but don't let them tear your skin. The wolves are ravenous in this wasteland, they get a taste for blood and they will gut you from the inside out.

Rust pays, ignoring the cashier's mild look of disapproval or envy at how Cassandra comes to stand next to him. She watches as the bottles get bagged up and Rust turns to leave. She gestures to him as they walk out, her boots clacking on the baked asphalt like one of those old, clunking clocks,

'Let me carry one.'

Rust barely spares her a glance, 'You're underaged. Shouldn't be drinking.' That almost makes her laugh,

'You're fucking kidding, right? I'm a stripper. You remember that, Crash?'

'You're also in college. Need to stay sharp, baby.'

'It's a Friday,' her tone dry, 'Plus, you're always offering me beers.'

'No,' Rust corrects, 'You take my beers and I let you get away with it.'

Cassandra rolls her eyes as they climb into their respective sides of his truck and Rust would be lying if he didn't feel the twist in his stomach at the practiced ease of the act, the facility of their place in the other's space. Rust starts the ignition,

'Stop rollin' those eyes at me.'

'Fuck off, Crash,' she retorts, only slightly annoyed and Rust just hums,

'You're real fuckin' cocky for someone who's in my hands about how many times they get to come, tonight.'

Cassandra almost opens her mouth before clamping it shut, making a big show out of rolling down the window. Smart move, baby, Rust thinks. A sentiment that holds up, after he bends her over the sink, bunching her dress over her hips; gripping her hair, forcing her to look at herself in the mirror as she takes him deep and hard. What Cassandra doesn't know is that the mirror is almost more for Rust's reflection than it is for hers. Forcing himself to look into his own glacial blue eyes, this way he can't indulge in the complete bliss of Cassandra's wet, tightness. No, if he's going to allow himself this then he's going to be fucking straight about it: he's a coked up, undercover narco currently using some vulnerable 20 year old girl who has no clue who he actually is. Rust wishes that the reason he's fucking her so hard, scraping his nails on her scalp, is that he hates her, sees her like one of the hookers that the Iron Crusaders systematically violate; it would make this shit a lot easier. But he doesn't and it's not. Rust is past indulging delusions for the sake of comfort. It was Nietzsche's idea, if he can remember correctly: embrace the pure fucking horror of eternal return, this ontological prison we're all stuck in, and you might finally find some enlightenment amongst the squalor.

'Put your leg up. Let me see those bruises,' he grits out, hand clamping onto her thigh in an attempt to lift to up.

'No-fuck-I won't be able to hold it up,' Cassandra stammers out, knuckles white as a scar on the ceramic rim of the sink out of exertion of holding herself in place when Rust shoves her forward with a particularly brutal thrust of his hips.

'Tsk, wrong answer, baby,' Rust says, shoving her leg up and bending it at the knee so that it rests in the sink bowl. The new position opens her up, not only showing the patterns of bruising on her inner thighs but the glistening wetness of her seam as he pushes into her again. The mixture of the two is a lurid depiction of what sex is around here; its inextricable connection to violence. Like meat and salt. The drop of thin, clear arousal now running down Cassandra's leg, the cracked scabs on his knuckles from a bar fight, the clunking rumble of the AC boxes outside the trailer: blood, sex and heat. Rust reaches a hand down and gathers the drop of wetness on his fingers, he brings it to his mouth and tastes it. Cassandra looks like she wants to cry as he catches her eye in the mirror.

'What's that face for, baby? Ain't never had a man taste you before?' Rust's voice thick from exertion and desire, her tartness covering his tongue.

'That's a really fucking intimate thing to do,' she says and poor baby sounds like she might either sob or come.

'No, it ain't, Rust lands a heavy slap on the bruises, as if to reprimand her for the implication, 'It's how a man fucks a woman.'

'So, I'm a woman to you now?'

'I don't fuck little girls, so yeah,' Rust says, his hand in her hair coming down to grip her throat. That's the one small mercy of innocence, Rust thinks, it can only be corrupted once. He yanks her head up by the chin,

'Look at yourself real good, Cass. This what you want? Some doped up biker with a load on, fucking you, leaving you all roughed up-Look at me, Cassandra,' he snarls, his tone harsh to conceal the begging behind it,

'Yes! Fuck, yes I do!,' she cries out, her adamance mixed with the first tremors of her impending orgasm. Rust lets out a growl, something deep and atavistic, as he yanks up her knee to bend her leg around his hips, now obscenely deep. Cassandra is now halfway slumped against the skin, the cold metal of the tap pressing into her sternum. This shit is good, too good, like the cool bliss of the moment the heroin hits your bloodstream and everything feels fucking pure. He pulls out as her feels her begin to pulsate around him and she cries out. Good, Rust thinks, wanting to punish her for being so goddamn complacent, Get used to crying if you want to fuck around with this shit, baby. He manhandles her to her knees as the muscle in his jaw twitches at what he's about to say to her,

'You want it that bad? Show me,' Rust deadpans, hand twisting into the dark mass of Cassandra's hair. She looks up at him and has the fucking audacity to arch her eyebrow at him before she takes him into her mouth, gagging slightly. Rust has never really seen the appeal of getting head, once he moved past the initial adolescent fascination. It makes him feel out of control, undisciplined, subject to his body's pure evolutionary need to procreate. It's one of the most self-serving, vapid states you can be in, mouth wide open, dumbstruck by ecstasy, unable to form of coherent thought except to mindlessly shove yourself further into the other person who probably isn't enjoying it anywhere near as much as you. Yeah, that's what Rust hates about the whole act, the mindlessness of it. But, fuck, his body isn't even his anymore, belonging to some fucking DEA's office to dope up and regurgitate whatever information they need to peddle their case further, without ever getting their hands dirty or doing some real fucking work. So, he may as well abandon himself to the weakness of his innate biological need.

Cassandra tries to give herself some respite by licking a long stripe up his length but Rust is having none of it: he presses her down so that her nose flattens against his pubic bone making her gag again and harder, shoulders convulsing too.

'Come on, baby,' Rust croons cruelly, using his spare hand to light a cigarette, 'Thought you said you could take it.' Cassandra briefly takes her hand off of the back of his thigh to give him the middle finger, quickly reinstating it as Rust presses as hand to the back of her skull and thrusts harder,

'Keep that shit up and I'll make you gag on your own finger, next.'

A few more chokes and constrictions of Cassandra's throat, and Rust is coming hot and heavy down it. He doesn't let her catch her breath,

'Get up,' he says, fastening his belt with his cigarette still hanging from his mouth. Cassandra just slumps against the bathroom floor, held up half by a trembling arm and half by leaning against Rust's leg. She glances up, hearing the clink of his belt,

'You're getting dressed?' a slight desperation to her voice.

'No points for deduction, Cass.'

'No, no, wait-,' she says, clambering up, or at least trying to, on shaky legs, 'Crash, Crash, I didn't come. Please-'

'What did I tell you about you bein' grown? Grown women fix their own messes,' Rust says, face and tone stoic as he casts to the slick that has dripped down from the apex of Cassandra's thighs onto the floor just under her, her smeared lip gloss, her nipples hard and visible through the thin cotton of her dress. He gives her hair a harsh ruffle before walking out the bathroom. As he grabs the Jameson bottles and beer, he stops in front of the trailer's door calling out behind him,

'Get to work, Cassandra.'

[queenofcats17]

Another snippet from the roleswap au.

This is what I think would happen instead of the prison pit.

================================================

85 days.

They had been trapped here for 85 days.

85 days since they’d been caught by the King and thrown into this cage. And it was a cage. John was sure of it. Arthur had described the room to him when they’d woken up in this place, noting how beautiful and opulent their surroundings were. Everything was golden and sparkling, he’d said. Like something out of a decadent fever dream. Shimmering golden drapes, gilded paintings of impossible landscapes, a sparkling crystal chandelier, white marble floors so polished they could almost serve as a mirror.

But despite the apparent opulence, the room was inhospitable.

The pillows and mattress on the four-poster bed were so hard that it didn’t feel any different than sleeping on the floor. The blankets offered no protection from the bitter cold that seemed to permeate every part of the room, no matter how many John tried to bury himself under at night. The chairs, which Arthur had described as looking plush and upholstered with what appeared to be a dark golden velvet, were similarly uncomfortable. The velvet grated against John’s skin like sandpaper, and what was meant to be inviting and plush instead felt like sitting on lumps of concrete. The books on the bookshelves Arthur had told him about where only for decoration, unable to be removed from their shelf.

The room felt as though it were meant solely for display, the creator never considering what might happen if someone was forced to live in it. Which seemed about right for everything that John knew about the King in Yellow.

At least the clothing he’d been provided was comfortable. Or, less uncomfortable than other aspects of this place. It felt more like a costume than clothing meant to be lived in, but John would take what he could get. Even if the clothes were still in that garish shade of yellow. According to Arthur, they had been provided with a fine golden suit, in the style of the turn of the century. Arthur had said John looked rather handsome, his dark skin standing out beautifully against the golden cloth. John tried very hard to ignore the way his heart skipped a beat upon hearing that.

He awoke to the sound of a plate being placed on the floor. He wondered what it would be this time. The King did seem to be genuinely trying to feed him well, but the kind of food in Caracosa didn’t seem terribly well suited to a human palate.

“You should eat,” Arthur said. “We need to keep our strength up.”

“I don’t want to eat his food,” John grumbled, drawing the blanket tighter around himself. It still did nothing to make him feel any less cold.

“You need to keep your strength up,” Arthur repeated. “We need to be strong if we’re going to escape.”

John knew he was right. He hated that Arthur was right. He didn’t want to accept the King’s charity, but if they were going to escape, he couldn’t be weak or malnourished.

Groaning, he extricated himself from the bed, following Arthur’s instruction to pick up the tray holding the food.

“He seems to have attempted some form of steak tartar,” Arthur said. “I won’t try to guess what the meat actually is.”

“Probably wise,” John muttered, picking up the silverware. It felt unnaturally cold in his hands. With a great deal of hesitation, he skewered a piece of meat on his fork and brought it to his mouth. It tasted… wrong, somehow. There was a taste to it that was like nothing John had ever tasted before, a strange acrid tang to the meat. Not necessarily bad, just… wrong. John wondered if another person might find this disgusting. He hated that he wasn’t disgusted. That he almost… liked it.

“How is today’s meal?” Arthur asked.

“The same as ever,” John replied.

“Strange?”

“Strange.”

Arthur hummed in thought. “I’d love to try it at least once. You have me rather curious.”

“I’d let you eat it for me if I could.”

Not that John wanted to give up more parts of himself.

But the thought was nice.

Even nicer was the mental image of sharing a dinner with Arthur, the two of them seated at a table lit by dim candlelight. John had no idea what Arthur actually looked like, but a vague image appeared in his mind of a neat yet careworn man in a clean suit with a warm smile and kind eyes.

John’s stomach clenched. Wishful thinking. He shouldn’t be dreaming of things the King could use against him.

“Are you alright?” Arthur asked.

“Fine,” John said curtly, taking another bite of meat. “Is there water?”

“Yes, in a crystal chalice.”

John wrinkled his nose at the ostentatious nature of the receptacle, but picked it up to take a sip anyway. The water, as usual, had a metallic tang to it. John had almost grown used to it, much to his dismay. He needed to get out of here before he could grow more accustomed to the strangeness.

Before it all began to feel like home.

[lassofics]

Twisting the Knife

Word count: 1k

Timeline: Season 3

Warnings: None

Summary: Jamie sulks about Zava at a team celebration, and Roy is less than helpful about it.

Notes: This fic was created and is being published as a part of #Whumpuary2025 !!

Team victory celebrations used to be fun. Everyone laughing, drinking, sometimes even singing karaoke — which Jamie’s been told he’s good at — not that he would remember; he’s never done it sober.

Today is supposed to be fun, too. They’re all at Sam’s restaurant, eating delicious Nigerian food, having drinks, laughing like idiots.

But Jamie can’t even fucking enjoy it. He hadn’t scored a single goal; he hadn’t even assisted. He’d basically run around the pitch like a fucking headless chicken while fucking Zava stole the thunder.

Zava. Fucking prick bastard. Jamie can’t remember hating anyone as much as he hates Zava. And no one else sees through his bullshit. No one else seems to care about Zava hogging the ball. No one else bats an eye when Zava tries to take control of everything like the fucking control freak attention whore he is.

Jamie angrily stabs a piece of meat with his fork, scowling. It’s a good thing he’s at a table by himself. He’d be killing the mood with the lads for sure. He probably looks fucking pathetic, sitting in this corner sulking all by himself, but he doesn’t give a shit. It’s better than being at that long table with all the lads, talking and laughing and probably gushing over fucking Zava.

Dani had noticed Jamie was sitting alone and had tried to physically drag him to the lad’s table, insisting there was plenty of room. Jamie had torn his arm away and quite sharply said he wasn’t in the mood to celebrate. Dani had let it go pretty quickly after being snapped at. Jamie would feel guilty if he wasn’t so fucking annoyed.

The worst part? Zava isn’t even fucking here — which should be a good thing, but right now, it only serves to anger Jamie even more. Zava clearly thinks he’s too good to celebrate with the lads — too good to come to Sam’s restaurant that he’s worked so hard to get up and running.

God, Jamie wants to fucking strangle the bastard. He stabs another piece of meat with his fork, then shoves it into his mouth, chewing furiously.

He’s so resentful that he doesn’t even look up when Roy slides into the chair next to him.

“The fuck do you want, granddad?” Jamie grumbles — then realizes he sounds an awful lot like Roy right now. The thought only annoys him more.

Roy, leaning against the wall, studies Jamie for a few seconds in silence before he speaks, his tone calm but nonchalant. “You sitting here frowning when we’re on a winning streak…” He shakes his head. “Not a good look, Tartt.”

Jamie scoffs and stabs another piece of meat with his fork. He’s absolutely not going to sit here and take Roy’s bullshit.

“You frowned your whole career,” he shoots back, his tone sharp and accusatory.

“That’s different,” Roy argues, sounding gruff. “I never smiled.”

“That’s not fucking different,” Jamie grumbles under his breath, then shoves the piece of meat into his mouth again. It’s fucking delicious. If only he could actually enjoy it.

Unfortunately, just then, a loud cheer comes from the lad’s table, and Jamie’s gaze is drawn upwards. Immediately, he scowls, as if he’s physically in pain. His fists clench.

“Zava!” Dani exclaims, loudly enough for almost the whole restaurant to hear. Jumping out of his seat, Dani runs up and throws his arms around the fucking long-legged bastard.

Jamie wrinkles his nose in disgust, as if he’s just walked into a room with rotting fish. That’s yet another thing that pisses him off: Dani obviously likes Zava more than he likes Jamie. But Jamie was here first!

It’s fucking maddening, the way Zava had strolled into the locker room and somehow captivated everyone, like he’d put a fucking spell on them. Jamie’s eyes burn with barely-contained fury.

“There he is,” he spits out under his breath, not wanting to actually draw attention to himself but needing (desperately) to get his thoughts out somehow. “God’s gift to those who have everything.”

Roy, sitting next to Jamie, just hums and sips from his beer. After a moment, he casually says, “Best player on the team.”

This stings. A wave of hurt washes over Jamie, but he’s too angry to be hurt right now, so he just clenches his jaw and turns to face Roy again, narrowing his eyes. “Fuck you.”

Roy, unfazed and unsurprised by Jamie’s response, just shrugs. “He is.” He leans his elbow on the table and glances over at Jamie. “You used to be the best. Now, you’re not. It happens.”

Roy’s bluntness is expected. But that doesn’t make it hurt any less. Hearing from his idol — his fucking friend — that Zava’s better than him, that Jamie’s not the best anymore, that they don’t need Jamie anymore — fills Jamie with an indescribable mix of negative emotions.

Roy’s so fucking casual about it, too. As if he doesn’t give a shit how his words will affect Jamie. For the millionth time that day, a sudden wave of anger washes over him as he realizes that the only reason Roy came to sit with him in the first place was to criticize him for sulking. He didn’t even bother to ask why.

He doesn’t care, Jamie realizes. And as he looks out over the table, where Zava now sits in the middle, everyone practically worshipping him, giving him all the attention… Jamie finally gets the picture.

That used to be him. And now, he’s been replaced. No one gives a shit about him anymore.

The mental spiral of his thoughts is overwhelming — suffocating — and suddenly, Jamie’s fight or flight kicks in. He stands up from the table in an instant. He can’t stay here for another minute — not with the lads, not with Roy, and definitely not with fucking Zava.

“Fuck you,” Jamie finally snaps at Roy again, though his anger is tainted with something else. He slings his bag over his shoulder and storms off, ignoring the way Roy’s expression changes just slightly, as if he’s going to call after him.

But he doesn’t. Of course he doesn’t. Jamie clenches his fists as he walks out, keeping his gaze steeled straight ahead, pretending he doesn’t see some of the lads glance his way. They don’t really care. If they did, they’d come after him. But of course they won’t, because fucking Zava’s there. And that means Jamie doesn’t matter.

[greenbirdtrash]

venting again.

[TW: SA MENTION, GROOMING, OVERALL DISCUSSION OF 18+ TOPICS]

Things are...not going exactly okay this evening. I'm being thrown back and spiralling a lot again, and it's not something i usually talk about, especially here.

I haven't even realised until now how much a certain thing can affect my entire life or haunt me for years after it happened. For years i tried to shove it so deep as i could, hoping i will eventually forget about it and pretend to live a life. A normal life.

But it keeps haunting me, and now, as an adult, i suddenly found myself in so many snares closing up at once and i realised they just...always been here. Kinda. I never got out of them since it happened. I got used to them, ignored them, but they're still here, tugging at my skin and hair. They didn't go anywhere. They never did.

I really just want to scratch at my walls and howl for it to leave me alone.

I did nothing to deserve that. I never wanted that to happen and didn't even think it could happen to me. Community that took me in never was a safe space for a minor. And it's still not. I didn't had any friends or other examples of how human communication and building healthy connections should work in a normal spaces, i only got one view on the situation in my most important years of socialization and it broke me to pieces. I still don't really know what i am or...what i want.

It took them years of gaslighting and clever manipulations to make me believe i wasn't good for anything, really. That i wasn't valuable as a person, that i don't look attractive comparing to what i now know as unhealthy and unrealistic beauty standards, that none of my feelings matter. As one of them used to say, "A woman without a partner in this fandom is like a piece of steak everyone else wants to sink their teeth in". And the irony is.. At some point after all the stuff they said i did believe i was that piece of meat. It never felt right or anything, i didn't enjoy any of that, and yet i couldn't leave that company or put my feelings into words.

It took them years to break me into a complete repulsion to intimacy and sex-related things. Whatever was happening, i just accepted it as something that had to be done. That i just need to lay down and pretend like I'm having fun for a bit and then everything will be alright again, because that's what i learned to do to fit in. It was just another routine i had to adapt.

It wasn't alright. It never was, honestly.

At some point, i mastered all my courage to leave and seek professional help. It was nothing like i imagined it to be. My life didn't actually shatter, but it sure felt like it. It was a long way of recovery and getting therapy, a proper diagnosis, getting to meet and trust new people again, trying to get rid of all the harmful things, all the self-hatred that was put in my head. At some point, I've met new wonderful people and even found a loved one, and this way i learned that actual friendships and relationships are just... something completely else. I felt like i was robbed of that, yet i continued to work on fixing myself. The thing is, it's not exactly a linear process, as you probably know. And as i worked on some things, i kinda ignored and forgot other parts of my experience, thinking it would somehow heal on its own and pretending it would be okay the next time I'll have to face it because it'll be under my control and with someone i trust. After all, this whole time i was leaning more to the thought that I belong somewhere on the asexual spectrum, and i still think i do, but i never actually thought about how trauma can affect certain aspects.

Surprise! Years of grooming and the SA made me hate myself so much i got used to denying myself basic pleasure and the fun i could've had with exploring the things i like. And whenever i try to indulge or participate in something, it usually hits me with guilt and disgust to myself like a fucking truck afterwards. Who could've thought. /sarc

Who knows, maybe my gender identity was also affected by that, and now it is what it is. At least i feel comfortable with my current gender situation...well, most of the times.

I just...i don't really know where to go from that. I always projected some deep feelings onto my personal art and it did help me with acceptance of most things suggestive, kinky or sexual, i did talk with some of my closest friends about sexuality and different experiences, but i don't feel like i could talk with my current therapist about it. I just..i kinda envy all the positive, open-minded and sex-favourable people I've met (also the people I've befriended on here, ever since i joined you i've noticed how the ghost fandom in general is very supportive, open and accepting to all kind of things, kinks and people, i never felt so comfortable in a fandom before and it did affect me in a good way, i think, at least it made me explore and project my own feelings about certain things a bit), i really want to have what they have, i want to have my own fun and do things i like without that trauma haunting me and making me hate myself for being...uhh..human? Is that what it is, now?

I just feel like I've caught myself in a loop.

[kiku07]

MORE HWWHP ANGST!

!!!Major spoilers!!!

Thomas walks through the streets in what feels like forever, twisting and turning through different paths. The sun shined down on him, and burned his eyes. It was hot. The heat was sweltering, and brought him back to the deserts he used to fight in. It hurt to think about. He needed to get his meds. He couldn’t keep on feeling this way, even if he deserved it. He hated himself for being selfish, so much of an evil human being that he’d try and escape what was coming to him. His eyes darted around desperately, searching for ̶A̶n̶d̶r̶e̶a̶s̶ Flameguy.

He directs his gaze to the ground, not knowing what else to do. Were people looking at him? Did people know how horrible he was just by looking at him? He wanted to cry, but he couldn’t. He didn’t know why. Did he feel bad, or was he just so disgusting he wouldn’t cry from guilt for what he did? Maybe he didn’t deserve to cry. Someone like him didn’t deserve that release.

He was conflicted, and felt like he was being ripped apart by his thoughts and feelings. What was he supposed to feel? Maybe it didn’t matter. He’d still be a horrible person anyways. Still someone who used his friend's death for his own benefit.

After walking for a long time, he sees flameguy, hanging up a missing poster. Thomas felt a bit better, thinking he’d get some sort of relief. Though, it’s soon broken by Flameguy telling him to ‘stop doing this shit to himself.’ Did he think it was that easy?

Thomas, after trying, and failing to convince the other man to give him his meds, walks away in defeat… He had to have his stash somewhere, right? He wanted- no needed it. It was impossible to function without it. He felt like he was going insane. The throbbing in his head was getting worse and worse over time. Everything was crashing down. He had to find his medicine, and fast.

The metallic taste of blood, and the disgusting texture of flesh echoes through his head, again and again. He could almost taste it, and he hated that. The slow and painful crunching of bones, the feeling of blood on his hands. The sound of his fellow soldiers hitting the ground, their bodies no longer containing a soul, but now rather a piece of meat that had no life to it. Why was the world so awful? Why was it so cruel?

‘Soren was so kind, he didn’t deserve to die, I did. I should’ve died.’

That thought ringed loudly, and he paused in his tracks. Why didn’t he die? Soren should be alive, not him. Why didn’t he save him? There had to be some sort of way to. Thomas sinks deeper into the endless pit of despair, feeling like he was being burned alive mentally. He had to find his meds, he needed to. He couldn’t keep feeling this way. He knew it was selfish, but he couldn’t help it. He didn’t want to feel this way anymore, and there was no other way to do that.

All of these questions ring through his mind, and he soon makes it home. He closed the door behind himself, and sighs. Now… where was that stash? He had to find it.

Thomas looks around for what feels like hours, checking every corner, every drawer. Soon, he finds it inside one of the cabinets. Why didn't he check there? He sighs, unscrewing the cap, and dumping some of the pills into his hands.He pops the pills into his mouth, and is used to the chemical taste of them on his tongue, and how they rattle slightly when they go down his throat. He screws the cap back down, hearing the click that signifies it's screwed back on. Thomas sets it back into the cabinet, and closes the small door.

Thomas walks over to his couch, sitting down on the cushions. He leans back, staring up at the ceiling, and thinking to himself. What would he do now? Things raced through his mind, though it soon enough got muddled by the drug in his system. His mind felt like it was moving fast and slow at the same time, and his senses were endowed with pure bliss. His vision gets distorted, and he sees the world so happily now!

[scottishcat1988]

I've realised can't fix stupid who can't accept that other people have different opinions than themselves. I think is a childish thing to do other bloggers' pages to harass them by sending an Anonymous to post about someone, who you don't balls speaking to that person put your name out there! But I know we know, you were weirdo people who would gaslight and twist people's words to make them sound like they were crazy!

I want to put my foot down to speak up about your stupid idea of a person (my friend) in your reality to see that person hate J2 by your thinking person hates Jared and you are jealous of Jensen. Because he getting all attention.. Like looking weirdo freak did give attention to my friend's posts by reading it.

Last check my friend is a fan of Jensen and Jared, I have still opinions with my friends too to know their feelings about Heller and Jensen toxics fans are horrible and shallow people who hate Jared for your guys are belief fucking lying assholes like Misha who making bullshit stories up for knowing "not true!" Jared doesn't get hated on and get death threats for the stupid ship it doesn't exist! You gross and disgusting people you are the only reason why you are fans of Jensen as a piece of meat for your feed sick disgusting sexual fantasies about Jensen. By the way, Jensen told your guys that he sees Cas as a friend and brother, and Dean Winchester is a straight man why is too difficult for your guts don't understand from your village idiot brain to realize straight men can be friends with other men, the same to women too. Let you know, I don't give a shit about getting hated on for supporting my friend who is fighting a good battle by always speaking the truth.

If don't like seeing people like my friend are calling your toxic unhealthy behaviour out and if don't like people like me are supporting that person. Well, y'all kiss our ass and fuck off!

Have a nice weekend. Keep wasting your life by tweeting or posting about a man who doesn't love you back, he doesn't have the knowledge you are existing. Kept living your breaking dream alive, butt-hurt loser bitches!✌🏻

P.S. I won't say sorry for being a fangirl for loving @Odayssincejensenwasobjectified’s works. Yeah, I see that person as my friend, because we both have the same opinions. That person is so awesome!❤️

[bonbonshideout]

EyelessJack headcanons

Behavior:

♤ When he feels a certain e.ption, some of the tar from his eyesockets begin to leak and ooze out of his mask.

♡He hates his appearance, wearing his mask to hide it, he hates how he no longer had eyes, how his skin is just... gray.

◇ He wears his mask 24/7, even when comfortable, he fears taking it off will disgust or scare the person.

♧Though possessed, he still has his human consciousness, occasionally appearing when killing/hunting. He has many regrets in his life that led to his now appearance & lifestyle.

♤.If angry, tar will ooze from the holes from his mask, and he will be silent. He's usually very verbal, but when it comes to anger, he doesn't know how to properly express himself.

♡ 0fc, he loves his kidneys, he can eat other meats and animal organs as well. However, he does prefer human kidneys as they give him a sense of being full for longer.

◇ Like a Satry, he can play the flute/horn. He doesn't play much but uses it as a last resort to hypnotize the person and kilthem in a secluded area.

Appearance:

His body type is that of a satyr, half human and having the lower half of a goat, his ears also that of a goat (though Chernabog is depicted as a gargoyal-like being I feel he would look more like Baphomet). He can wear human clothes. his iconic black sweater being his usual piece, he can wear pants and shoes; usually baggy pants to hide his legs, his shoes being filled with something so his hooves don't slip out. He usually walks with a limp, but the shoes cause his limp to ve much more noticeable. Always wearing his mask, he has his hood pulled over his head as a way to hide his ears as well, his disguise and mask being the only things that give him some human normalcy in his life. As I,mentioned, I see him as a satyr, however, unlike a satry, he doesn'thave horns; if they do grow, even a Iitle stud, he scratches away at them, leaving his head bloody as well as his fingers, when they are a decent size he breaks them, after enough times they just stopped growing.

[cerberus253]

After seeing the post about drago having a sibling that is part shark or orca

When i readed about the orca part, i couldn't help but imagine like, drago and the other demon sorcerers just looking at some dolphins just cause of having nothing to do

But then just see the sibling orca massacre all the dolphins in the area and drown they (since dolphins have a hole to breath in their head and have air when underwater) simply out of boredom and toss they in the air like a ball, kinda of toying before killing they.

To when get questionated, the sibling just shrugs and says "what? I was bored, and honestly, dolphins aren't as fun to torture like seals.. that's their name i think? Wait- oh yeah, it is seal.

(And if you want, how do you think each demon sorccerers and drago would react to that? Since yeah, i can imagine the orca sibling being like that, but worst and more cruel with humans.)

Dolphins. Bai Tza hates dolphins. Their innocent looks, their beady eyes, their annoying noises, and their intelligence and actions too similar to Man itself. She wants them gone, extinct even! None of her siblings would help because it sounds more like a "Her problem," so she thought maybe Drago's weird, disgusting half-orca sibling could do it, seeing as how vicious they are and how desperate they want to belong. Despite their freakish existence, maybe they could be useful.

Bai Tza gives them the task, along with an army of Demonic Sharks to aid in their genocide against those dubious water beasts. The Half-Orca sibling was elated to help, since dolphins bullied them as a child. The Delphinida War has begun.

Shendu

He saw the entire ordeal stupid and a waste of resources, but watching his subjects cower watching the once blue waters of the ocean turn blood red, reminding them of his family's influence is EVERYWHERE and there is no chance of escaping their reign. The Half-Orca was unprofessionally playing with their victims, which also made Shendu laugh.

Po Kong

Although upset at first about scaring all the fish away, the Half-Orca said to her to try a piece of dolphin. Funny, ever since Po Kong took a liking to eating human meat, she barely thought about trying anything new outside of her culture's meals. Apparently, it tastes like beef liver with an aftertaste of fish. Po Kong demanded that half of the child's spoils be brought to her as a deal to not make a fuss about this intrusion with her sister.

Xiao Fung

Well, Xiao Fung was definitely not expecting his sister to go this far, but she has always had an icy heart. This even definitely scared off any seafarers looking for trade, but it was amusing to see the gruesome playfulness of the lot, watching the dolphins get flipped in the air and the sharks going into a feeding frenzy once they hit the water again. Definitely more amusing than the gladiatorial battles of late.

Tchang Zu

So much bloodshed, it could make a stoic warrior like himself shed a proud tear! However, the fighting was so unstructured and barbaric; there was absolutely no warrior skill performed, only bestial violence. I guess this is what you get with an untrained half-demon, just another disappointment!

Tso Lan

Like his brothers, Tso Lan just thought this was absurd, even for his sister, but she was always a violent queen when someone pushed her far enough. It doesn't really affect him, and he doesn't care about Earth's organic life, so he has no hard opinion on it, just a little confused. Was she getting bored from tormenting seafarers? Who knows, and he doesn't care to ask.

Dai Gui

Yes. Good. Those weird fish (Dai Gui would think they're fish) are being slaughtered. They are too cute and graceful for his kingdom of anchored earth. They mock him and his existence and he wanted them gone for a very long time. Maybe the Half-Orca would be willing to share some flesh of these fallen dancers?

Hsi Wu

What the fuck is wrong with her? I mean, yeah, she's the most cruel one in the family, but a genocide against some mildly annoying animals? These dolphins must have crossed her one too many times! Hsi Wu also enjoys the screams of pain, but those dolphin screams started to get annoying rather fast. Well, at least there will be more fish for his subjects to catch.

Bai Tza

Incredible! They did such an excellent job at eradicating those dreadful traitors! She tried recruiting these creatures multiple times in the past, but they always sassed her and swam away. How dare they disrespect their master! Their Queen of the Sea! Well, if they won't join her, then they are against her! Although it is near impossible to kill every last dolphin in existence, she made sure if anyone had a lead on a dolphin that was missed, she would reward them decently if their lead was true. The Half-Orca would be rewarded by allowing them to hunt the thing down.

Drago

Listen, Drago wants to be noticed and respected by his relatives, but this was...petty? Like, yeah, they're annoying, but going so far as to kill them all off? Although respectable, the action felt more of a child's than a centuries old Demon Sorceress. The Ice Crew was disgusted to the point of puking, and Drago called them babies for it, but after a while even he was getting sick of it. Thank goodness his Half-sibling was on a Mission and too busy to bother him, or else he would probably get unexpectedly slapped by fishy dolphin meat. One too many heavy-ass seals were thrown at him, nearly breaking his back half the time.

[ruinmegently]

pull me under — felix / wash

context: Wash ends up getting taken with the New Republic group. Some time has passed.

Wrote this for my partner and wanted to share. 🍯

--

He's a monster, right? Like, ain't nothin normal goin on up in that head'a his. Or, maybe a few things. Cause Felix can function — he can pretend to be a person and not a thing wearing a skin suit — but that doesn't mean it's easy, or that the rage that makes up more of his being than muscle or sinew is any simpler to control.

He's mad at everything. The whole fuckin world. Let it rot. It would've let him. Eye for an eye, after all.

But most especially he's mad at Agent fuckin Washington.

The guy's gonna ruin everything with his swimmy gross baby blues and disgusting smile. Felix could handle it, really, he's had his fair share of pretty faces to fuck around with.

But the niceness? The way Wash makes him feel seen?

Fuck off with that, man.

"Hey," Wash says, nudging Felix's shoulder with his own. They sit side by side on the edge of the dock, feet dangling above the underground lake. They could dive in. Sink into the pitch. Let the hungry unfamiliar fish pick them apart until they're nothing but bone, indistinguishable.

"Where are you?"

Felix shakes his head, glassy eyes focusing in. He squints at Wash.

"Right here, ya dumb fuck."

Those awful eyes watch him for a good long while. A hum builds in the other man's throat. Wash turns away with a half-smile. Stares down into the blips of bioluminescent tendrils swimming around in the lake.

"It's okay, you know. To wander off. Just come back and say 'hello' every now and then."

Their hands are so close. Rough and calloused, palms resting on the wooden dock. A pinky finger inches over and lays across Felix's own. Felix jolts his hand back like he's touched the hot burning eye of a stove. Wash doesn't say anything, doesn't move away. Just keeps looking into the depths of the lake, that idiot smile still warming one corner of his mouth.

Felix scowls down at his own hand, now lying palm-up in his lap. He wants to reach over and dig his nails into the squirming, squishy meat of Wash. Needs to see this guy bleeds the same kinda blood as everybody else. Just a worm. Just as insignificant as the people whose lives Felix has destroyed in the wake of his own madness.

The army really makes a man outta ya, huh?

He doesn't rip Wash apart. He should, and he knows this bone-deep. But he doesn't.

"Ya ever wonder why we're here?" he says instead, the words pouring out cause he's too full and drowning and Wash has poked enough holes to ease the pressure but maybe Felix has gotten used to it — to bursting at the seams, spilling out so quick reckless violent there's even less of himself left than the people he ends up washing away.

Wash snorts. Shakes his head. Felix feels compelled to clarify. A certain heat rises on the nape of his neck. His words run away with themselves, he's just the guy stuck watching them leave.

"Like, what the fuck's the point, right? People like us? We should'a died a long fuckin time ago. I mean, we're damaged goods all pieced together, just waitin for the repo man to come collect. Meanwhile John Doe down the street keels over due to a heart attack and leaves behind his husband of fifteen years and like two-and-a-half daughters. That ain't fair. Life's not fuckin fair. So why us? Why are we here?"

Panting (because of the tirade, and not because of the tight coil in his chest only cinching tighter, nope, fuck you), Felix turns wild eyes onto the guy sitting placidly beside him like Fi ain't some monster in the closet.

"Two and a ... half?"

Wash blinks at Felix.

Felix blinks at Wash.

"... that's what you took away from that?"

"I mean, how can you have half a daughter? Even if she's really short, she's still one whole person."

"I fucking hate you."

Wash grins like he's in a long running contest with a star to see who's more luminous.

Felix bares his teeth, the mask of crazy slipping through. It's too much, okay? He can only take so much of himself. He blew Locus off again about the mission. Second time in as many months. Big guy's getting suspicious. Not that there's anything to be suspicious of, just. It isn't like Felix to not jump the gun.

And fuck, he ain't even riding another gun. Because of course it's some demisexual romantic piece of shit he's developed this garbage fucking crush—

Wash reaches over again. The dumb idiot pinky curls around Felix's (when did he drop his hand, put it back there between them?) and this time Felix just stares at it. At this point of contact between them. At the second try despite Felix's earlier rejection, reaction.

At the sound of that same gentle hum building in the back of Wash's throat.

"C'mon big bad, you know why."

Felix looks away. Stares so deeply into the water he imagines he can see pale sightless eyes roaming in the deep.

"Because if I'm stronger than you, and if I'm faster than you, then I can kill you." Yeah. Simple, easy. He's here because he's better. Because he's a survivor, a murder—

"What?" Wash says with a laugh. He shakes his head, smile at odds with the perplexed look Felix gives him. "No no no."

The Freelancer scoots closer. His pinky finger squeezes gently. He stares forward while Felix digs a crazed (needful, desperate) glare into the side of his head.

"You're strong, yeah. And you're fast. And that's what helped you survive when all the odds were against you, sure."

Wash takes a deep breathe.

"But that's not why you're here, Felix."

The guy turns, then. Gives Fi a once-over that crawls beneath his pores and digs up all his secrets. The ones that really matter.

"You're here cause you're not done. Sure, maybe John Doe down the street has a family, but that's not the only important thing, you know? You're just as important. The life you haven't lived yet, matters. The story you haven't told yet, it means something."

Wash shrugs, kicking his heels into the water. Droplets splash up. He watches them attentively, seemingly lost in thought.

"Just because you don't know why doesn't mean there isn't a reason."

Felix pops.

He pulls their gently joined hands apart only to fist through Wash's short blonde hair.

Drags him in for a vicious kiss. One that proves how unholy Felix is. He groans dirtily into Wash's mouth, parted on a surprised gasp, and before the wild animal inside Fi drives him into quite literally biting out Wash's pretty wiggling tongue, Felix—

Jerks back and shoves Washington into the lake.

They guy drops like a rock, only, y'know, with a yelp and a whole lotta flailing.

Wash breaches the surface quickly and yells, "Fucking asshole!" but he's giggling too, and Felix can't help the broad, toothy smile plastered on his lips, or the way he snarls when Wash splashes water up onto him.

He dives in soon after, fully clothed, and wraps himself so tight around the other man they sink, and sink, and sink. But that's okay. Cause Wash is there to kick strong legs and pull them right back up.

After they reach the surface, Felix is still gasping for breath when Wash kisses him like maybe that's why they're here.

[lougreybooks]

INTERTWINED || Caroline Harvey

Chapitre 2 :

The sound of her heels echoed on the floor as she walked through the dull-walled hallway. The students present turned around as she passed, but she sincerely hoped they wouldn't approach her. All was lost when she noticed a boy staring at her from afar as she stopped next to her assigned locker. His intense gaze made her deeply uncomfortable despite the fact that he wasn't the first, nor the only one to have ever stared at her in that way.

Being a dancer and cheerleader on some occasions, she was often subjected to people's critical and judgmental gaze. Yet it was always something she had hated. And unfortunately for her, her wish didn't seem to be heard when she heard heavy stockings heading towards her.

"Hi beautiful, it doesn't seem like I've seen you here before." His charming voice made her want to throw up straight away and she had to stop herself from making a disgusted face. Men were disgusting, women were goddesses. This was her philosophy.

Oh well obviously except her best friend. He would never have the audacity to approach women as if they were a trophy or a piece of meat.

The boy's burning gaze brought her back to her hard reality, noticing that he was impatiently waiting for her to answer something. But she wasn't going to give him that pleasure.

"Not interested." She answers coldly before taking aside a girl passing by her before continuing on her way. The girl in question didn't seem surprised by this gesture and simply put her muscular arm around her shoulders, guiding her towards what seemed to be the director's office. Arriving in front, Jia turned to the stranger to thank her.

"Thanks for saving me ?" The girl smiles and offers her her hand.

"Ava, hockey team. You ?"

"Jia Solana, the new cheerleader for the basketball team." The hockey player's eyes widen, looking her up and down. Ava couldn't deny it, she was absolutely stunning with her long shiny black hair, her slim figure and her long immaculate legs.

"Oh yeah coach told us about a new arrival. Already surrounded by guys, success is faithful to you." Jia laughed nervously at the hockey player's joke, she wasn't wrong even though she preferred to forget this moment of her life.

"Well, I'm not really interested in them." She didn't want to spread her life because she didn't really know Ava but she also didn't want to seem too closed off. She never really had to try to be social at her old school, she was already part of a group and didn't really seek out other people. Now that was going to change because she didn't intend to stay alone in a city and a school that she didn't know.

"You prefer women ?" The hockey player seemed hesitant to ask this question but also full of hope for the answer she might get. The truth was, Jia Solana was totally her type of girl, and she was going to find out straight away whether she could take a chance or not.

"No, it's not like that, I have a boyfriend." She finally spits out the truth, making Ava grimace. So she definitely had no chance, too bad she was going to have to settle for a friendship. Jia almost wanted to laugh at her reaction, but not knowing how she would react she preferred to smile at her playfully.

"Sorry to disappoint you but I'm going to have to go to class." She finally tells her, cutting their conversation short as Ava offers to walk her to her classroom.

"This is the class that is marked on your schedule ?" The hockey player asks once she arrives in front of a gray door with the number 125. Looking down at the paper in her hand, she checked the room number and nodded to confirm that she had not made a mistake.

"Why ? You almost seem disappointed ?" She asks without thinking, quickly followed by a nervous laugh escaped Ava's lips. When she met her gaze, she thought she was going crazy, while she thought she saw jealousy there.

"You have class with Kk." Faced with Jia's confused look, she felt compelled to explain the reason for her apprehension. "She's also on the hockey team. She's nice, don't get me wrong. But let's just say she's pretty pushy. With a very flirtatious personality." Jia automatically felt her heart rate quicken after Ava's confession. She could be a very confident person, only not with everyone and she didn't know at all how she was going to react to "Kk". It didn't even sound like a real name, maybe a nickname.

"That's sounds good, right ?" It was clear she wasn't trying to convince Ava with that statement. She was really stressed about meeting this girl, who still seems to have a good heart. She had promised herself that she would never rely on the opinions of others when it came to forming an opinion of a person. Not even her own friends.

"If you say so." Ava simply said with a shrug.

The bell finally rang, forcing the hockey player to join her own class despite wanting more than anything to get to know Jia better. She entered her class, her head held high, observing the reaction of the other students already present. Most were just curious to see someone who had arrived in the middle of the year. But she felt the gaze of one person in particular. She had blonde hair tied in a low bun and a gaze that looked her up and down without embarrassment.

"Harvey could you stop staring at the new student and refocus on the exercises you have to do ?" The teacher's strict voice quickly cuts in as she offers Jia a warm smile. She must have noticed that she was uncomfortable. "You must be Jia, welcome to our school. I am Mrs. Becket, your psychology teacher for this year." Her voice wasn't the same as before, it was almost maternal as she held out a hand to her which she took without waiting.

Yet despite the hospitality from her teacher, she continued to feel "Harvey's" burning gaze on her body, which she never seemed to tire of.