#including one person actually telling me i triggered them

[azriona]

Not a Fairy Tale Kiss, Chapter 75

Pairing: Bucky Barnes/Avenger!OFC (2nd person POV)

This Chapter word count: 2.9k ~ Total Story count: 160k ~ This is the last chapter; the epilogue will be posted on Friday.

Summary: When you and Bucky are both accidentally hit with sex pollen while on a mission, you're determined to keep your relationship status at friendship, even if you’d like it to be more. Even if you think he feels the same. Even if you accidentally end up pregnant. Even if it kills you.

(Spoiler Alert: it might actually kill you. Good luck with that.)

Trigger warnings include discussion of abortion, failed pregnancies, deaths of both mom & baby--not the MC! Full warnings on AO3. Here is your guaranteed happy ending. Please see AO3 for full A/N and tags.

Chapter Summary: In which there is... a baby. (I did promise.)

“Darlin’,” says Bucky for what must be the thousandth time, “protest all you want. It’s apparently happening.” “Nope. I refuse. Steve. Tell them I refuse!” “What are you refusing?” Steve frowns as he approaches. “What happened? Did you get hurt?” “She’s fine,” says Helen. “She’s just in labor.” Everybody instantly goes quiet. “Lies!” you yell. “I am not in labor, I refuse, this is Breakdown-Picks or whatever—” “Braxton-Hicks, and no it isn’t,” says Helen grimly, adjusting the monitor on your stomach and setting up the IV. “I’m giving you tocolytics, they should slow everything down, if not stop the contractions entirely.” “Why do we even have those in here?” you demand. “No one on the Quinjet is allowed to be pregnant, have you not heard Steve’s grumbling?” “Maggie was hella cranky when she was in labor,” says Scott. You point at him. “Go. Away.”

That kid's gonna be born grounded if it doesn't start listening soon. Find out what happens on AO3.

Don't want to read on AO3? Don't worry, I gotcha. Or I will.

Once I'm done posting NAFTK on AO3, I will start cross-posting the chapters here. (Just the epilogue left.) I'd do it now but trying to track multiple postings will make my head explode. Simultaneous cross-posting of future x Reader and NAFTK stories will be the rule. Let me know if you have questions or concerns; my main goal is to make reading easy, accessible, and not spam the tag. Chapters will use the tag #not a fairy tale kiss verse, or send me an ask/DM and I can tag you when I start!

[spacetrashpile]

for further context. i’m playing my latest run of inquisition right now, but i actually started it a little about a month ago when i was home for easter weekend. this run is my, among other things, 100% run where i try to get literally everything so i never have to do it again. this means a lot of my time in this run is spent doing a ton of running around and picking up fetch quests.

when i had last left off on this file, i had just recently arrived at skyhold and recruited all my companions, and i’d also just kickstarted my romance with blackwall. i decided that before i moved on to the main quest lines, i wanted to get some work done in the exalted plains and emprise du lion and pick up a few personal quests. so i did just that! i collected a ton of stuff in both places and did things that i knew would up my approval with people, such as my judgements and their personal fetch quests. except i was encountering a problem.

after about two days of gameplay adding up to about 10-15 hours of running around and collecting stuff, i had picked up and done basically every personal quest i could (since i still had quite a few that were locked behind the main quests). except for dorian’s. i was very confused by this, because his personal quest is usually very easy to get, especially if you side with the mages (which i did). i had done everything i could think of to up my approval with him at this point (including one less venatori) but nothing was happening, and i couldn’t actually sus out what my approval with him WAS because he’s the only companion who’s greetings don’t reflect that.

so, i decided to look it up and see if i was missing anything to trigger it. and i was! apparently, in order to trigger last resort of good men, you have to trigger the conversation about felix’s death for some reason. however, in order to do that, all you need is 35+ approval. which i definitely had. i actually did MATH based on all the approval that i knew i’d gotten with him and i was at like 80 approval. what the fuck was happening.

so i looked at the bugs section for the quest on the wiki, and saw that there used to be a bug wherein if you raised dorian’s approval too high too quickly, the cutscene would never trigger and you’d be locked out. uh oh! but keyword there is used to, this was patched out and i have the goty edition so i definitely have that patch. so what the hell is the problem.

this is the point where my friend starts looking things up for me, and eventually they find someone with the same problem as me, and find a person who helped them answer the question.

apparently. for some fucking reason. if you judge alexius before talking to dorian about felix, he will never talk to you about felix. which means you can never trigger his personal quest. ever.

i did the math on this, if i wanted to go back to before i had judged alexius (one of the first things i’d done upon booting up this file) i’d need to undo about 10-15 hours of work where i had near 100%-ed the exalted plains and completely 100%-ed a number of other areas. i would be losing so much progress. so i weighed my options, and i decided fuck it, i’m not doing that.

however, i’m really mad about this. for obvious reasons. i have no idea how this is gonna effect my file, since i can’t figure out on the wiki what of his stuff is dependent on completing the quest, outside of his dialogue in trespasser. currently i’ve been desperately running around w/ him and bull in my party at all times to see if i can trigger that romance anyways but i’ve had no luck, however i can’t tell if this is because i didn’t do dorian’s personal quest or if it’s locked behind me progressing further in the game or if i’ve just gotten supremely unlucky or what. i’m hoping that i just need to finish act 2 or something. i’m praying. but yeah that’s how my new file has been going.

hey does anyone wanna hear about the new and innovative way (re: so bad that my friends were in shock about how i fumbled the bag so hard) that i figured out how to play dragon age: origins in the year of our lord 2025, over 15 years after its release?

[endwersed]

13 fics to me that is crazy. Can I say I truly enjoyed Striking Out. I really don't understand the hate you got for it. Understand not liking what a character is doing but in the end its truly just a story that the author is creating don't read if you don't like. It's tagged angst with a happy ending. There is going to be parts that make you feel sad or mad but it will get better. Sorry I just really loved what you have written for the story.

It's crazy to me too, anon 😁

Thank you, that's very sweet of you to say - and I do agree with you, when I read a story tagged with angst, I'm expecting angst! Over time, I've come to think that maybe some people took the actions of the characters in that story a little too personally, and that's why the reaction was as... intense as it was.

Either way, as much as I have gotten some negative and demotivating comments on that fic, I have also had some truly lovely ones that have been a joy to read - stuff a lot like this 💖

[kikithefox231]

KIKI I LOVE YOU!!! AND I AM SO PROUD OF YOU FOR KEEPING GOING AND FOR BEING HERE!!! YOU ARE SO AMAZING AND INSPIRING I HOPE YOU KNOW 💖💝💞💝 Holds your hands and gives you little flowers like this -> 🌼🌼🌻🌺🌺🌹🏵️💐🪻🌻 Mental health issues are rough and I am rooting for you the whole way

WAAAAAAAGHHHH????? YOURE SO INCREDIBLY SWEET THANK U SO SO MUCH!!!!! SO SORRY FOR NOT REPLYING TO YOUR MESSAGES YET BUT JUST KNOW THAT I LOVE EVERY SINGLE ONE AND IT MEANS SM TO ME!!!!!!! <333333

THANK YOU!!!!!!! Keeping the flowers safe in a lil vase forever 🥺🥺🥺🥺🥺🥺 WAAAGH!!!!

Man, yesterday my mental health just completely snapped like a twig out of nowhere and oof o(-( dam of all my issues and problems just came rushing out!!! Yuh oh!!!!! O_O;

So so grateful that I’ve been able to reach out to others for support and that my medication helped me even allow that to be an option (body and brain doesn’t automatically reject any idea of getting external help??? INSANE‼️‼️)

Just taking things easy for now and making sure my head stays above water as I get through this!! It’s definitely rough but I know I genuinely want to get out of this bad situation and for things to change, even if only by a little bit. And I’m starting to genuinely believe that I deserve better and to be treated better!!! And that I deserve to treat myself better, because I do genuinely love existing and being a person on this earth. <333 I think I’m still a long way from getting to a point of being able to truly say that I love myself or can even tolerate myself but I’m choosing to let myself exist more, take up more space, talk more, etc because maybe the reason why I can’t stand myself is because I’ve never let myself truly exist without sanding myself into the most palatable and agreeable version of me

So!!! If I let myself live as a real person, maybe I can finally see and understand the full and real me and then start to really love myself <3

ANYWAYS!!! THANK U FOR COMING TO MY TED TALK!!!!!! And thank you for sending this ask so I can use it as an excuse to journal and write down my self reflection stuff that’s been rotating in my brain for the last several hours LOL

THANK YOU FOR THE LOVE AND FLOWERS AND EVERYTHING!!!!!!!! 💖💖💖💖 MEANS SO SO MUCH TO ME!!!!!!!!!! 🥺🥺🥺🥺 HOPE YOUVE BEEN DOING WELL TOO!!!!!!! 💖💖💖💖💖💖

[darkficsyouneveraskedfor]

Seeing Stars 1

Warnings: non/dubcon and other dark elements. My username actually says you never asked for any of this.

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

Character: Steve Rogers, Bucky Barnes

Summary: You struggle to be star struck by the world's most famous super soldiers. (grumpy!short!reader)

Note: Guess this is happening.

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

The lights, the noise, the crowd, it's all a bit much. You move out of the way of another Red, or, Black Widow cosplayer only to nearly bump into a rather short but broad Thor. At least, you think you have those right. You don't know. Bonita is more into this stuff. You're more here for moral support, or more realistically, to carry her bags.

Didn't she tell you she was trying to cut down her spending? You've already tallied up more than you'd spend on groceries on a single poster and a bobblehead hero. Which one was that? The one with the metal arm…

You jostle against Bonita to keep from brushing against a stranger. You're not much for human contact as it is, but you'd rather it be here than that guy in the Spiderboy outfit doing twirls. You can respect the passion but it's all over the top. Someone's going to get hurt.

"Alright, signature time!" Bonita claps her hands and leads you over to a long queue behind a velvet cord. A man in black asks for her VIP pass. She shows it and you see the not so subtle total on the receipt; $500! That's robbery. These Stark Industries-issued heroes don't need all that.

You keep your grumbles to yourself and cross your arms to follow her. The man stops you too. You reel back and give him a glower.

"Relax, I'm carrying milady's things," you raise the bag and bobblehead. "I'm not interested in having a class photo."

"Please, sir, she's not really into any of this," Bonita adds with a cute smile. He considers her and drops his shoulders. He waves you through.

You shuffle along with the line of bodies. You lean to the side as you try to see the front. It zigzags back and forth. You're going to be here forever.

"Why couldn't Mo come with again?" You drone.

"Because he's a butthead," she whines. "Couldn't even pay me back for getting the tickets on pre-sale so he can miss out!"

"I didn't pay either," you mutter.

"Yes, but you're more fun. My brother's spoiled. He deserves it."

You nod and move with her as the queue shifts again. It's easy for her to come out and spend all this money. She still lives at home. You're not judging her but she also doesn't seem ashamed of it either. As happy as you'd been when you got out on your own, you sometimes wonder what it'd be like to have people to fall back on.

"It's going to be so cool. I got a photo with both of them! EEEEE!" Her squeal has you touching your earlobes.

"Both of them," you nod dully.

"Captain America and the Winter Soldier," she exclaims and claps her hands. "Do you think they'll like my outfit?"

You look her up and down. She wears a star-spangled corset and a red and white striped skirt. She's like an excitable flag. You shrug. "It's cute, but you must be cold in here," you peer up at the high-ceilings and the fans swirling the air around.

"Nope! Too excited," she assures you.

"Cool."

You might not be into any of this but you try to be a supportive friend. Bonita's a bit flighty but she's not a bad person. Really, you admire how into things she gets. You have your things but she's about as interested in those as you are in super soldiers.

She chatters on about the photo. Do you think they'll sign it too? Oh, she needs to put it right above her desk. Obviously, it's going to be her phone background. You nod and peer around vaguely.

She thrives in place likes these. Bright, loud, and chaotic. You'll take something warm to drink and a book. She'll join you if you throw in some face masks and the like.

It's more than hour before you're in sight of the front table. Your feet hurt from standing mostly in one spot. You stretch your neck one-way than the other as you near the head of the line. You stand right by the stanchion where the cord opens.

Someone emerges from behind the curtain and you have to quickly step out the bouncing soldier's way. Is it considered stolen valour or an homage? As you move, your elbow hits someone else and you spin to face the unexpected figure.

"Oh," the man catches your elbow as you look up at him. Dark beard, dark hair past his chin, wide shoulders, and straight posture. His blue eyes seem familiar. "Sorry, miss. I'm just trying to get back to my station."

You sidle closer to Bonita as she gasps. The man brushes his fingertips down your sleeve as he passes and heads for the table. He stops to speak with the person handing out merch then proceeds behind the curtain where the flashes have been steadily flickering behind.

"Gosh, can you believe that?"

"Believe what?" You stare after him.

"That was him. Bucky Barnes. The Winter Soldier," she exclaims. You blink at her and she scoffs.

"God, you're so lame. I can't believe you had no idea."

"I dunno," you pop your shoulders up and down. "Not my thing but that's cool."

"Oop!" She hops on her toes as the person at the table calls for the next in line, "that's me."

"Have fun," you say as you move aside with her haul.

She skips up to the table and shows her phone again. She takes the SWAG they offer her as they explain the next step and point behind the curtain. As she disappears behind it, you hear her squeal. You wonder if super soldiers have super hearing. That must've hurt.

You sway as you wait. Your name cuts through the air as you space out staring at a banner and you look over as Bonita waves from behind the curtain. You hesitantly cross the floor, expecting to be stopped.

"They want you to join!" She says.

"What?" You stop a foot away from her head as it appears to float between the curtains.

"Sure. They said why not? Since you waited in line."

"Oh, no that's… fine. I'll stay out here."

"Come on," she huffs and grabs your wrist, dragging you through. "Here she is!"

You step through and scan the space. There's the photographer patiently waiting behind the camera. Across from the lens, two large men stand with smiles that you can tell are all for show. This is a paid appearance for them.

"Hey, how about it?" The blond asks and beckons you over.

"I guess if you want me too, Bonnie," you say to your friend without acknowledge the man you know to be Captain America.

She brings you over with her and stands you between her and the brown-haired sidekick. Bucky steps closer and you wince as his hand goes to your lower back. You suppose it's normal given that you're getting photos but you want nothing more than to growl at him.

"Alright, everyone set?" The photographer looks at the camera and adjusts the lens. "Smile."

The flash goes as you refuse to follow orders. You're not much on smiling. You stand there like a mannequin as your vision speckles from the light.

"Oh, Steve, um, will you pick me up for the next one?" Bonita asks. You cringe and step away from Bucky's hand. He looms close as you squirm.

"Sure," Steve accepts breezily. He lifts her with no effort at all as you give a skeptical look.

"How about you?" Bucky touches your arm again and you draw away reflexively.

"No thanks," you curl your shoulders inward as you try to shrink down. "I'm good."

"Alright," the photographer says, "everyone together."

"Um, I think I'm going to step out, actually--"

Too late. Bucky puts his arm over your shoulders and crowds you as Bonita poses in Steve's arms. Your eyes round in horror and the camera blinds you again. She's really going to owe you for this one.

[yanderes-galore]

I know the request is close but I want leave it here in case I miss when request is open again.

Could you make Reader being best friends with Pure Vanilla and White Lily in Blueberry Academy? After they graduated and grows up. Reader accidentally create 3 newborn cookie when she was playing around with ingredients and cookie cutter (All of them are Pure Vanilla, White Lily and Reader kids)

They was panicking because they thought they make a mistake but their friends don’t mind since they secretly have feeling toward them and are happily excited to raise kids together (Pure Vanilla and White Lily are together but want them join with them, and also White Lily is infertile— I know they’re cookie but I want add that in because how often she want create cookie but alway fail to have one)

Well, you sent this in the week a period was active, so I'll count it. Bit of an odd concept for me due to lore but I'll give it a shot??? Sorry it's not well put together, I was working with the plot I had and it's a bit... holey. Did GN reader as I didn't end up using pronouns.

Yandere! Pure Vanilla + White Lily having kids with Darling

Pairing: Romantic - Sharing/Poly

Possible Trigger Warnings: Gender-Neutral Darling, Obsession, Manipulation, Cookie experimentation (?), Polygamy, Overprotective behavior, Coercion into a relationship and marriage, Possessive behavior, Pure Vanilla x White Lily, Dubious relationship.

So, here's the ideas I'm getting from this....

During Blueberry Academy, you were all studying different types of magic and other knowledge.

You probably fell into a similar curiosity as White Lily... You wanted to understand Cookie creation.

Except instead of hunting down the Witches like White Lily... You wanted to know if you could create Cookies using magic. (I have no clue how Cookie reproduction works, but it happens???)

For this AU, let's say Pure Vanilla and White Lily got together in Blueberry Academy.

You were close friends with the two of them... seemingly closer than you thought according to their feelings.

For you, it made sense they were together.

You knew Pure Vanilla would do anything to support White Lily, including follow her personal research.

You, similar to White Lily, had a certain ambition.

One that your friends seemed to feed into.

To understand Cookie creation, you asked your peers to give you some of their ingredients, not expecting it to cause anything.

You simply wanted to see how what they're made of makes... them.

You had even managed to get your hands on some of the forbidden Life Powder that the Witches supposedly used.

Your research took years to complete... but by the time you were fully grown and an adult...

You had managed how to make Cookies from your magical studies.

Safe to say... you didn't think you'd manage it without having the power of a Legendary Cookie...

Yet by the end of it, you're left with three newly baked Cookies...

Made from the ingredients of you and your friends.

By the time you make the new Cookies, your friends are probably already heroes with Soul Jams.

You panic, not expecting your work to actually... work.

You realize you must tell them what you've done... worried about the consequences.

It takes you a while to contact them, your friends no doubt busy with hero work and relationship goals....

However, when you mention that you've figured out how to create life... new Cookies... by accident due to your experiments...

You quickly get a letter from Pure Vanilla, excitedly asking to meet you and the newly baked cookies.

You see, White Lily and Pure Vanilla have been unable to make Cookies of their own.

It's not really fertility issues... it's more like they both didn't want to do such a thing yet.

Why? Well...

Both of them were missing you, their dear friend and shared crush, despite their current relationship.

The two could probably have children, yet White Lily was usually busy with research and Pure Vanilla was running his kingdom.

The two have struggled to confess to you for a long time.

Yet, when you write to them and say you have three newly baked cookies...

Pure Vanilla gives you an airship to pick you up and take you to the Vanilla Kingdom.

(Okay, the lore lead up is a bit messy, I know... yet I'm pretty sure in lore, what you ended up doing is just how Cookies reproduce without Witches in lore? Ignoring that....)

What essentially happens is due to your experiment... The couple then tries to convince you to join them.

They feel it's time to make you their third... to confess... especially if you have children together.

They're both still the same kind friends you studied with long ago.

They greet you gingerly when you arrive in the Vanilla Kingdom, a kingdom in the sky....

White Lily had decided to stay with Pure Vanilla in this AU, not yet parting to go find the Witches.

In a carriage you carry the three new Cookies, swirled with ingredients from you three.

You say apologies, saying you were just curious to experiment on Life Powder you found...

Yet they... aren't mad?

The fact they aren't upset is probably the concerning part.

White Lily is eagerly looking over your artificially made Cookies, quietly wondering if the Witches had done something similar with their magical oven....

Pure Vanilla explains her curiosity to you, saying the two hadn't had the time to have kids... plus...

It was about time they told you something.

The confession they give you catches you off guard.

They call you sweet, how they'd love to raise these new Cookies with you by their side....

Essentially, you get coerced into being a parent because you got a bit too curious on how Cookies make other Cookies... and you have obsessive friends.

I can see them both being manipulative, telling you they're your Cookies too.

You probably go along with it as... well... their argument makes sense...?

Plus... Your friends love you, right?

No, not friends... they're your partners now aren't they?

Due to being Souljam bearers... I can see them being protective.

They're heroes... and now they're heroes who are parents alongside you.

I can see them being good parents... Yet the issue is the fact you're being dragged into being the third parent.

You do find yourself adoring the three Cookies... perhaps because you used your own dough for them.

It's also pleasant to see your two 'partners' so happy.

They seem to have wanted children... and you.

When you conclude your stay at the Vanilla Kingdom, you try to tell them you're leaving.

You'll allow them to have the new cookies... and just go back to your research.

Yet... they don't let you go.

Pure Vanilla says he's already prepared a bed for you... White Lily says you can research with her....

They're adamant on you not leaving.

You wouldn't leave the kids, would you?

So... due to your curiosity... you end up being roped into a relationship and probably even eventual marriage.

While these two are kind and gentle, even good parents...

They both are quite manipulative, using marriage and your created children to lock you as theirs.

It may not totally be bad for you...

After all, you do love them somewhat, right?

Maybe this won't be so bad.

What you did, to them, is a miracle!

Now they can be parents...

Along with keeping you by their side as theirs.

[mostlysignssomeportents]

Against transparency

I'm on a 20+ city book tour for my new novel PICKS AND SHOVELS. Catch me at NEW ZEALAND'S UNITY BOOKS in AUCKLAND on May 2, and in WELLINGTON on May 3. More tour dates (Pittsburgh, PDX, London, Manchester) here.

Walk down any street in California for more than a couple minutes and you will come upon a sign warning you that a product or just an area "contains chemicals known to the state of California to cause cancer."

These warnings are posted to comply with Prop 65, a 1986 law that requires firms to notify you if they're exposing you to cancer risk. The hope was that a legal requirement to warn people about potential carcinogens would lead to a reduction in the use of carcinogens in commonly used products. But the joke's on us: since nearly everything has chemicals that trigger Prop 65 warnings, the warnings become a kind of background hiss. I've lived in California five times now, and I've never once seen a shred of evidence that a Prop 65 warning deters anyone from buying, consuming, using, or approaching anything. I mean, Disneyland is plastered in these warnings.

The idea behind Prop 65 was to "inform consumers" so they could "vote with their wallets." But "is this carcinogenic?" isn't a simple question. Many chemicals are carcinogenic if they come into contact with bare skin, or mucus membranes, but not if they are – for example – underfoot, in contact with the soles of your shoes. Other chemicals are dangerous when they're fresh and offgassing, but become safe once all the volatiles and aromatics have boiled off of them.

Prop 65 is often presented as a story of overregulation, but I think it's a matter of underregulation. Rather than simply telling you that there's a potential carcinogen nearby and leaving you to figure out whether you've exceeded your risk threshold, a useful regulatory framework would require firms to use their products in ways that minimize cancer risk. For example, if a product ships with a chemical that is potentially carcinogenic for a couple weeks after it is manufactured, then the law could require the manufacturer to air out the product for 14 days before shipping it to the wholesaler.

"Caveat emptor" has its place – say, at a yard-sale, or when buying lemonade from a kid raising money for a school trip – but routine shopping shouldn't be a life-or-death matter than you can only survive if you are willing and able to review extensive, peer-reviewed, paywalled toxicology literature. When a product poses a serious threat to our health, it should either be prohibited, or have its use proscribed, so that a reasonable, prudent person doing normal things doesn't have to worry that they've missed a potentially lethal gotcha.

In other words, transparency is nice, but it's not enough.

Think of the "privacy policies" you're asked to click through a thousand times a day. No one reads these. No one has ever read these. For the first six months that Twitter was in business, its privacy policy was full of mentions to Flickr, because that's where they ganked the policy from, and they missed a bunch of search/replace operations. That's funny – but far funnier is that no one at Twitter read the privacy policy, because if they had, they would have noticed this.

You know what would be better than a privacy policy? A privacy law. The last time Congress passed a consumer privacy law was in 1988, when they banned video store clerks from disclosing which VHS cassettes you took home. The fact is that virtually any privacy violation, no matter how ghastly or harmful to you, is legal, provided that you are "notified" through a privacy policy.

Which is why privacy policies are actually privacy invasion policies. No one reads these things because we all know we disagree with every word in them, including "and" and "the." They all boil down to, "By being stupid enough to use this service, you agree that I'm allowed to come to your house, punch your grandmother, wear your underwear, make long distance calls, and eat all the food in your fridge."

And like Prop 65 warnings, these privacy policies are everywhere, and – like Prop 65 warnings – they have proven useless. Companies don't craft better privacy policies because so long as everyone has a terrible bullshit privacy policy, there's no reason to.

My blog, pluralistic.net has two privacy policies. One sits across the top of every page:

Privacy policy: we don't collect or retain any data at all ever period.

The other one appears in the sidebar:

By reading this website, you agree, on behalf of your employer, to release me from all obligations and waivers arising from any and all NON-NEGOTIATED agreements, licenses, terms-of-service, shrinkwrap, clickwrap, browsewrap, confidentiality, non-disclosure, non-compete and acceptable use policies ("BOGUS AGREEMENTS") that I have entered into with your employer, its partners, licensors, agents and assigns, in perpetuity, without prejudice to my ongoing rights and privileges. You further represent that you have the authority to release me from any BOGUS AGREEMENTS on behalf of your employer.

The second one is a joke, obviously (it sits above a sidebar element that proclaims "Optimized for Netscape Navigator."). But what's most funny is that when I used to run it at the bottom of all my emails, I totally freaked out a bunch of reps from Big Tech companies on a standards committee that was trying to standardizes abusive, controlling browser technology and cram it down two billion peoples' throats. These guys kvetched endlessly that it was unfair for me to simply declare that they'd agreed that they would do a bunch of stuff for me on behalf of their bosses.

My first response was, of course, "Lighten up, Francis." But the more I thought about it, the more I realized that these guys actually believed that showering someone in endless volleys of fine print actually created legal contracts and consent, and that I might someday sue their employers because I had cleverly released myself from their BOGUS AGREEMENTS.

Of course, that would be very stupid. I can't just wave a piece of paper in your face, shout "YOU AGREED" and steal your bike. But substitute "bike" for "private data" and that's exactly the system we have with privacy policies. Rather than providing notice of odious and unconscionable behavior and hoping that "market forces" sort it out, we should just update privacy law so that doing certain things with your private data is illegal, without your ongoing, continuous, revocable consent.

Obviously, this would come as a severe shock to the tech economy, which is totally structured around commercial surveillance. But the fact that an extremely harmful practice is also extremely widespread is not a reason to keep on doing it – it's a reason to stop. There was a time when we let companies sell radium suppositories, and then, one day, we just banned companies from telling you to put nuclear waste up your asshole:

https://pluralistic.net/2024/09/19/just-stop-putting-that-up-your-ass/#harm-reduction

We didn't fall back on the "freedom to contract" or "bodily autonomy." Sure, what you do with your body is your own business, but that doesn't imply that quacks should have free rein to trick you into using their murderous products.

And just as there are legitimate, therapeutic uses of radioisotopes (I'm having a PT scan on Monday!), there are legitimate reasons to share your private data. We don't need to resort to outright bans – we can just regulate things. For example, in 2022 Stanford Law's Mark Lemley proposed an absolutely ingenious answer to abusive Terms of Service:

https://pluralistic.net/2022/08/10/be-reasonable/#i-would-prefer-not-to

Lemley proposes constructing a set of "default rules" for routine agreements, made up of the "explicit and implicit" rules of contracts, including common law, the Uniform Commercial Code, and the Restatement of Contracts. Any time you're presented with a license agreement, you can turn it down in favor of the "default rules" that everyone knows and understands. Anyone who accepts a EULA instead must truly be consenting to a special set of rules. If you want your EULA to get chosen over the default rules, you need to make it short, clear and reasonable.

If we're gonna replace "caveat emptor" with rules that let you go about your business without reading 10,000,000 words of bullshit legalese every time you leave your house (or pick up your phone), we need smart policymakers to create those rules.

Since 2010, America has had an agency that was charged with creating and policing those rules, so you could do normal stuff without worrying that you were accidentally signing your life away. That agency is called the the Consumer Finance Protection Bureau, and though it did good work for its first decade of existence, it wasn't until the Biden era, when Rohit Chopra took over the agency, that it came into its own.

Under Chopra, the CFPB became a powerhouse, going after one scam after another, racking up a series of impressive wins:

https://pluralistic.net/2024/06/10/getting-things-done/#deliverism

The CFPB didn't just react, either. They staffed up with smart technologists and created innovative, smart, effective initiatives to keep you from getting ripped off:

https://pluralistic.net/2024/11/01/bankshot/#personal-financial-data-rights

Under Chopra, the CFPB was in the news all the time, as they scored victory after victory. These days, the CFPB is in the news again, but for much uglier reasons. For billionaire scammers like Elon Musk, CFPB is the most hated of all the federal agencies. Musk's Doge has been trying to "delete the CFPB" since they arrived on the scene, but their hatred has made them so frenzied that they keep screwing up and losing in court. They just lost again:

https://prospect.org/justice/2025-04-18-federal-judge-halts-cfpb-purge-again/

Trumpland is full of the people on the other side of those EULAs, the people who think that if they can trick you out of your money, "that makes me smart":

https://pluralistic.net/2024/12/04/its-not-a-lie/#its-a-premature-truth

If Musk can trick you into buying a Tesla after lying about full self driving, that doesn't make him a scammer, "that makes him smart." If Trump can stiff his contractors, that doesn't make him a crook, "that makes him smart."

It's not a coincidence that these guys went after the CFPB. It's no mystery why they've gone after every watchdog that keeps you from getting scammed, poisoned or maimed, from the FDA to the EPA to the NLRB. They are the kind of people who say, "So long as it was in the fine print, and so long I could foist that fine-print on you, that's a fair deal." For them, caveat emptor is a Latin phrase that means, "Surprise, you're dead."

It's bad enough when companies do this to us, be they Big Tech, health insurers or airlines. But when the government takes these grifters' side over yours – when grifters take over the government – hold onto your wallets:

https://www.citationneeded.news/trump-crypto-empire/

If you'd like an essay-formatted version of this post to read or share, here's a link to it on pluralistic.net, my surveillance-free, ad-free, tracker-free blog:

https://pluralistic.net/2025/04/19/gotcha/#known-to-the-state-of-california-to-cause-cancer

Image: Cryteria (modified) https://commons.wikimedia.org/wiki/File:HAL9000.svg

CC BY 3.0 https://creativecommons.org/licenses/by/3.0/deed.en

[dollgxtz]

My first and only statement on all the accusations

Hello, I’m sure most of you are aware of the accusations about me and some of the stories I posted on my account. This post is not only an apology post, but an accountability post that details everything that happened from beginning to end. Everything will be here, so I will not be making more posts about this unless it’s to direct to this one.

Adding a tw now for suicide baiting, death threats and mentions of razors. So sorry but it must be included.

First I just wanted to say, no I wasn’t avoiding any of this. When this all started I was still in the middle of finals week, and I don’t live on tumblr 24/7. I had to focus on my finals to ensure I can get my degree and graduate. That was my number one priority. If anyone was blocked or comments were restricted during that time, it was my mostly my irl friend ensuring I wasn’t consumed by tumblr and could focus on my finals. I was already under a lot of stress and she offered to take over until I was finished with finals.

I was also getting death threats (people telling me to skin myself I alive and to jump). So she was ensuring that when I returned to my own blog, I would not see such triggering content. I have a history with suicide attempts and this was necessary for my mental health. The appropriate people were unblocked and remain unblocked to this day.

I always intended to make a statement, I just prioritized my real life first. It also took time to craft the post you are seeing now. I wanted it to be authentic, no misinformation, and well written.

So, as far as plagiarism goes, yes I did plagiarize specifically 3 of zombiekillerbiceps stories. I can’t actually remember the names of them and the author has removed their account from the site. But on my end specifically “Getting Closer”, “Edge of Control” and “Thrills” were not my own writing. Before they deleted their account I had already reached out via dm and apologized. We came to an understanding. I do not know why they deleted their account but they essentially said in DMs they accepted my apology and wanted to put this behind us but they were very hurt that I had copied them.

Edit: I found the post they made calling me out and will attach it.

As far as His Watchful Eye goes, the only plagiarism that took place was specifically the first chapter of it and only the first chapter. The first chapter of Something Permanent and His Watchful Eye are very similar. The remaining 13 chapters are my own writing and ideas. I have already reached out to @explorevenus and apologized. She has responded and made her own statement regarding it if you want to go and read it.

The only reason it was in anon is because this account (dollgxtz) is my side blog. I couldn’t figure out how to send a non anonymous message without exposing my main blog, so anon was the best thing. I didn’t want people sending death threats too that one too. I should’ve put my username in the anon, but it was already very late for me and I hadn’t slept in about 26 hours. I just wasn’t thinking very clearly and for that Venus I am also very sorry.

@manika-whims (the person that first wrote about all this) will remain blocked and some of her followers because I do suspect it was that group of people telling me to die. Manika wrote a very long post as she was upset that I “mischaracterized” Xavier in His Watchful Eye, called me a bitch and a loser because of a fictional man in a fictional story, and I will not entertain such immaturity. Full stop.

One of the anons that sent the suicide bait also called me a bitch and a waste of space. It was just too similar.

I also got this one. It’s too graphic to show the entirety of it.

I apologize for the plagiarism. But I will never apologize for writing characters the way I do or for writing dark content. It’s just not that serious. After she posted that I started getting these death threats and more.

You had every right to call me out for plagiarism Manika, but I stand my decision to keep you blocked. It had nothing to do with plagiarism accusations or me hiding from them, but I do believe you egged on your audience to come attack me over a fictional story and for that reason you will never be unblocked. I’ve attached screenshots below of the entire exchange. This is not to deflect from my own actions. This is simply to explain why she is blocked. She will say it’s because I was trying to hide from this but that is not true. I am just very sure the death threats came from her or her audience. This isn’t to say that she absolutely did but just in case, for my own mental health and safety I had to have them blocked.

Now that that’s discussed, I would like to address my readers and any future readers of mine. The plagiarized stories “Getting Closer” “Thrills” and “Edge of Control”. have been deleted and will remain deleted. Those of you asking for copies, please do not. They are not my writing nor my own works. Any remaining single work story on my blog is my own work and 100 percent my own ideas. My masterlist has been updated to reflect this as well.

When I first made my blog and posted those stories, I was a very insecure writer. I did not think I was truly capable of writing or making a good story. I did those things out of insecurity and not feeling good enough. But as time went on, I began to create my own stories and realize that I can write if I put my mind to it. These are not excuses, only explanations. Nothing excuses my behavior.

If you want to defend me, that is your own choice. I ask that you do not though in terms of plagiarism because I ultimately did plagiarize and that is 100 percent wrong of me to do. But in terms of AI usage accusations, these are not true. I have never and never will use AI to write.

I have spent countless hours writing chapters for His Watchful Eye, pulled all nighters, and even lost sleep making this story. I have timestamps in google docs that show me editing and writing my own story. I didn’t even know AI had advanced to the point that you can write fully blown novels. But make no mistake, Ai checkers are not reliable. I had an incident in my first year of college where a paper I wrote got flagged for 77 percent ai generated content. That paper was written 100 percent by me over countless hours and still got flagged. It was a very scary time in my life and for that reason alone I will never use AI.

If you want to unfollow me, please do so. If you want to block me, please do so. I would never hold that against anyone and am not mad at anyone for doing so. Just don’t come in my anon box telling me to jump, don’t message me rude or disgusting messages telling me to die. I am a human, I am a real person behind the screen. What I did was wrong but you are no better telling someone to kill themselves. Please just block me.

All in all thanks for reading. If you unfollow, thanks for being here. If you don’t, thanks for being here. If you want to be removed from any taglists, please just message me. You will not be blocked. Just removed from any future taglists! I have vowed to only post 100 percent of my own content from here on out, so if you stay I can promise you will only be reading my own work.

I am no longer the insecure writer that I once was, I now know my abilities and am confident enough to make my own stories. I have a 240,000 word fic out right now, I genuinely am still shocked I have done that. Writing has become a joy for me and I will not stop now. I should’ve never been afraid to make mistakes or be bad at it. I’m sorry to the people I hurt, my readers, and anyone reading this in the future. I am still growing and learning from my mistakes, and this has been the biggest lesson I will never forget.

Plagiarism is wrong and hurts authors. If you are reading this and have done so as well, please rethink your decisions and take them down, just as I have done.

I love interacting with you all, when you send me asks and messages about HWE or any of my original single fics. It is amazing getting to explain stuff or gush with you guys over the things that I have truly written. I truly love being an author and want my future as one to be honest and communicative.

The comments on this will be monitored, but not restricted. Voicing your thoughts is okay as long as they are respectful and not a direct threat to me or anyone’s life. Questions are okay as well and I will answer to the best of my ability. Please no:

insulting me or any of the people mentioned in this post (manika, venus, zombie, etc)

death threats or suicide baiting anyone

I want this to be a mature and honest discussion, and that can’t happen if I allow such comments. Despite what has been said about or to me, I do not want to replicate any insults/drama on my own blog. You can voice your displeasure or opinions without name calling.

Same goes for any messages or anon box messages you all may send to anyone involved here. We are all real people with feelings. Keep that in mind please before you message anyone.

We all make mistakes. Without mistakes, we cannot grow as people. It’s what we do after we make those mistakes that truly attest to our character. And this is what I’ve chosen to do. Lay it all out for my readers and the rest of the LADS fandom to see, apologize to the people I hurt and only write my own stories from here on out. Thank you to the readers and friends who approached me with kindness and encouraged me to keep writing authentically. And thank you all for reading, I wish all of you the best in life 🤍

-Umi ૮꒰ ˶• ༝ •˶꒱ა ♡

Edit: The first chapter of His Watchful Eye had been rewritten shortly after this statement was released. It now reflects my own writing. That was the only chapter that had ever been plagiarized. All other chapters reflect my own writing and ideas, now including chapter one.

Just putting this here to clear up accusations in the reblogs. I never claimed that either author was okay with me plagiarizing off them…I simply apologized and linked to Venus’s original statement. I stated Zombie accepted my apology, but was never okay with the plagiarism. Venus never accepted my apology, and that’s okay. I even told her I understood and that I didn’t expect her to. I’ve never expected anyone to be okay with what I did. I did everything I could to remedy the situation and that was it.

I apologized, deleted the stories, made a statement and reworked what I needed to. Everyone’s feelings on this are still 100 percent valid, and it’s totally okay to still be mad at me for this. I never expect Venus or Zombie to ever truly forgive me. However, let’s not spread misinformation. Reblogs are off from this point on to prevent the spread of misinformation. If you want to further discuss, you’re welcome to make your own posts. Thank you. ☺️

[durrtydawg]

Stalemates

(Sam Drake x F!Reader smut)

'Talking it out' often makes for appropriate conflict resolution. But where's the fun in that?

Masterlist

In which they switch it up like nintendo-oh 🎶 . 12k words of switchy, yucky, hate sex. 3rd person, no y/n, grammatical errors (ooo scary) likely

CW for mildly dubious consent and two bitches being mean to each other. For detailed tags take a peek at ao3! Could only bring myself to write this while ovulating which is why it took so long </3. Enjoy!

.・。.・゜✭・.・✫・゜・。..・。.・゜✭・.・✫・゜・。..・。.・゜✭

Sam doesn’t know what smells worse. The stale carpet, the acrid, yellowing wallpaper, or her fucking attitude.

His hand lingers on the doorknob for a beat, eyes scanning the motel room with feigned indifference. He bites the bullet and steps in, dropping his duffel onto the bed, preparing himself for an ear-full.

“Wait,” she says sharply, her voice cutting through the repetitive clicking of the faulty ceiling fan. He cracks his neck in preparation for another bitch fit.

She’s still standing by the door, her breath still heavy from the adrenaline of the last few hours. She's had enough. She wants a plan, a strategy. But every damn thing is on the fly when he’s around. Mortality included.

“What the hell is this?”

“What?” he replies, all casual like they hadn’t just escaped certain death and walked straight into… this.

“What do you mean, what? This place is a dump.”

A beat of silence. Then, “Yeah. I see that.”

She rounds on him. “You see that? That’s all you’ve got to say? There's one damn bed-”

“What do you want me to do, princess? Build a second one?” He practically spits the nickname.

She slams the door shut, throwing her bag to the floor. "Far be it from me to want a bit of space after you tried to kill me off."

He groans. "Don't start-"

"Don't start?" Her incredulous laugh escapes before she can stop it. "I almost got impaled back there because you couldn’t be bothered to share your genius plan - oh hold on. No - that’s right. There wasn’t one.”

“There was a plan,” he counters, turning from her to pat his pockets for his box of cigarettes he’d somehow managed to salvage from a trap he’d accidentally triggered hours earlier. “You just didn't follow it.”

All right, so she'd fallen with the box, stuck clinging to the edge of a spike-filled pit. So what? He pulled her out. She's fine.

“Because you didn’t tell me!”

“It was implied,” he says, the smirk tugging at his lips enough to make her see red.

"What else was implied was the fact that you don't ever think about anyone but yourself."

“Really? You think I dragged your ass out of that hole because I wanted a goddamn medal?”

Get a grip.

"Oh, fuck off, Sam." She exhales sharply, hands braced on her knees as she plops down onto the end of the bed.

Her chest still heaves from the rush of it all - dodging death, being forcibly confined to his bullshit, this shitty room. Feels like a boot on her chest.

She forces herself to breathe and enjoy the momentary silence.

Clink.

Her head snaps up. Of course. HA! Of course.

Tck-tck.

“Oh, for fuck’s sake,” she snaps, seething again. “You’re actually lighting up in here? Can't even be bothered to open a damn window?”

He doesn’t even look at her, his lighter sparking to life. “Relax,” he mutters, cigarette between his lips. “Look how yellow the walls are. You’ll survive.”

Her fists curl at her sides as the sharp tang of smoke curls into the air. "Unbelievable." She marches over to the window, wrestling with the latch. "You couldn’t wait two minutes?”

He exhales deliberately, the smoke drifting lazily between them. “Two minutes, ten minutes - doesn’t really make a difference. You’re gonna bitch about it either way.”

Her jaw clenches, “God, you’re… infuriating.”

“Gotta unwind somehow.” His drawl is lazy, but his eyes are sharp - he’s waiting for her to crack. “Unless you’ve got a better idea.”

Her stomach twists. It’s the way he looks at her, like he’s waiting for her to lose it. She huffs, giving up on the stiff window latch, turning back to him with a scowl.

She doesn’t like it. She hates it.

He takes another drag, exhaling slowly, watching her through the clag of smoke. “Tell you what,” he drawls, shifting his weight, standing upright as opposed to leaning against the chest of drawers with a few missing handles, “Why don’t you take a swing at me, huh? Let it all out.”

He beckons her with two fingers, the cigarette still pinched between them, his grin deepening as he watches her stiffen. “C’mon, sweetheart,” he murmurs, his tone dripping with mockery. “You’re dyin’ to give me a good fuckin’ smack. I can see it.”

Her nails dig into her palms, biting into her skin as her pulse pounds in her ears. She pictures her fist connecting with his jaw, that stupid smirk wiped clean off his face as she pins him down. It would feel so good.

He takes another step forward. “All that energy,” he murmurs, his voice lower now, almost provocative. “What’re you gonna do with it?”

Fine. Definitely provocative.

She swallows hard, her voice tight. “You’re disgusting.”

Sam watches her, his lips curling as she darts a glance between him and the cigarette. He leans back against the wall, a picture of nonchalance, silently revelling in the way her composure seems to crack, his arrogance only bolstered by her obvious distaste.

Without a second thought, she yanks it out of his mouth, shoving it between her own lips in one fluid motion.

“Really?” he growls, reaching for it, but she steps back, holding it just out of reach with a glare.

“What’s the problem, huh?” she taunts, the cigarette dangling between her fingers. “Can’t go five minutes without something in your mouth? Guess that explains why you’re so full of shit.”

“Ha. Classy.” He scoffs.

 “You are the most crass, irresponsible - no, insufferable - asshole I’ve ever met.” She can feel his eyes on her, and she takes her sweet time before looking back up at him, taking a drag, before huffing it out purposely up towards his face.

He waves a hand in front of him, coughing once. “Real fuckin' cute. Give it back.”

“Give it back,” she mocks, her voice purposely lowered in a crude impersonation of him. “No, no, hold on a sec. I wanna be like you for a moment.” she says, her voice tight with anger, the smoke rolling from her mouth with every word. She raises her chin up to face him. "Can’t be that hard, right? Just gotta act like an arrogant prick."

She ignores the burning ash against her fingers as she scrapes her hair back from her forehead - a gesture that makes him roll his eyes. She leans against the wall in a stance that's just as affected and smug as he is.

“Hmm. Yeah, this - this is nice.”

He chuckles thinly, his arms folding tight across his chest. “Well, I’m glad someone’s entertained.”

“Entertained?” She leans into the word, dragging it out as she takes a drag from the cigarette, blowing the smoke in his direction with a casual flick of her wrist. “Oh, sweetheart, I’m more than entertained.” She snaps her fingers, flicking ash. “I’m inspired! I mean, you’ve got a hell of a system going. The quips. The brawn. The charisma - God, it’s practically oozing out of your every pore, right?”

His grin freezes in place, tight at the edges, but she’s not done. Not even close.

“Hi, I'm Sam. I like to fuck my way out of every tight spot I get myself into, then proceed to leave everyone else behind to clean up the mess.” She steps forward, her eyes gleaming as she watches his jaw tick. “It’s genius, really. Self-destructive, sure, but hey, you’re nothing if not consistent.”

His smirk twitches, then falters. “You done?”

She ignores the warning in his voice, taking another slow step toward him. “Have you ever thought about teaching a class? Writing one of those 'for dummies' books? ‘How to Charm Your Way Through Life Without a Shred of Accountability.’ Could be a bestseller. You’d make a killing.”

“Alright,” he mutters, voice clipped. “That’s enough.”

“Enough?” Her head tilts, her eyes wide. “Come on, Sam, don’t tell me you can’t handle a little constructive criticism.”

He stays quiet, his grin gone now, his jaw tightening as his eyes follow her every move. She doesn’t stop. She loves this. Loves seeing him like this.

His eyes narrow, but he doesn’t say a word. The muscles in his jaw tighten, and though his expression remains composed, she can feel the anger simmering beneath the surface. It thrills her. She doesn't want to examine it too closely - the rush - but she can't deny the flicker of satisfaction in knowing she’s gotten under his skin. Better than that smug, righteous babe-magnet haughty bullshit he insists on projecting ninety-nine percent of the time.

“You’re just trying to distract yourself, aren’t you? The scams, the smirks, the sex - oof, let's not forget that. It’s all noise. A shitty cover-up for what you actually are.”

The tension in his jaw, the way his eyes darken, the little scrunch at the bridge of his nose; it's real - a side of him he tries too hard to hide behind that dumb, cool exterior. Boy, does it add fuel to the fire. A rogue spark bouncing onto kindling. She knows she’s pushing him. But hey, they're stuck together for the foreseeable, so what's really the worst he could do?

“And what’s that?” he finally bites out, his voice sharp and low, but she doesn’t flinch.

Her lips curve into a cruel smile, and she gestures to him with the cigarette, her tone cutting. “A sycophantic hedonist with a nicotine addiction, trying - and failing - to claw your way out of your brother’s shadow.”

Then, he laughs, teeth bared in a parody of a grin. No trace of humour. It’s dangerous now. She licks her lips.

“You wanna say that again?”

“Sure.” She takes another step forward, close enough now to feel the heat rolling off him. “I think you’re lame. A shadow-dwelling grifter who’s just pissed he’ll never. Be. Good enough.”

Before she can blink, his hand shoots out, rough fingers clamping around her chin. The suddenness of it sends a shock-wave through her, and she stumbles a little. “And I think that you," He yanks her face up toward his, his grip just shy of bruising, "Are a frigid little control freak who wouldn’t know fun if it bit her in the ass.” he shoots back. The cigarette flies onto the floor, smoke trails smouldering between them, until his boot grinds it into the carpet without even looking.

Her breath stutters, but it’s not fear that does it. She smirks, even as her pulse races. “Hit a nerve, did I?”

Then he shoves her, hard, and her back hits the wall with a thud, his thumb digging in just beneath her cheekbone.

“Listen, you sanctimonious bitch,” His eyes are sharp, narrowed, the fury in them burning hot. “I’d have loved nothin’ more than to have left you to rot in that pit - hell, I’d certainly have much less of a goddamn headache right now if you’d’ve fallen ass-first onto one of those spikes.” Her head jolts in his grip as he punctuates each word, “But luckily for you, I’ve got a job to do. So here you are.”

She doesn’t shrink. Doesn’t falter. Instead, she pushes, craving the intensity. Ha. Frigid. “And wouldn’t that have been dull.”

Stupid fucking men and their need to assert physical dominance. It’s boring.

Her lips curve, deliberately, the ghost of a smile curling at the edges. Not sweet. Not kind - never kind with him. Instead, mocking. Dangerous. 

Her chin tips up, her lips parting ever so slightly as she pushes against his grip, her breath warm and steady as it grazes his mouth. Close, but not close enough. She doesn’t blink, doesn’t look away.

Go on, her silence says. Do something.

Sam’s jaw is ticking. He wants her to flinch, to crack, to give him something - anything - but all she gives him is a tilt of her head, her neck arching just a fraction to shift the angle.

He’s holding on by a thread. She knows it. His jaw clenches, and his pulse hammers as she lets her fingertips drift across his stomach. Teasing, toying, until she hooks them around the buckle of his belt, tugging him closer.

“Do you get off on this?” She speaks quietly, her chin moving against the palm of his hand. The question catches him off guard, making his frown deepen. Because a part of him does. “Using your height and your muscles and cute little frown to intimidate girls young enough to be your daughter?”

Disgust flashes in his eyes. But beneath it, intrigue? Desire? Some gross spark that twists him up inside. He’s disgusted with himself for feeling it, for letting her get to him like this. But the hard truth, as betrayed by the semi he can’t fully hide, is that part of him is undeniably drawn in.

She sucks in a breath through her teeth. “Oh… I think you do.”

His breath falters - barely perceptible, but she catches it. Of course she does. Her eyes catch the flicker of hesitation in his, narrowing as his anger wavers. Shifts. Into something else entirely. It takes a monumental amount of effort to stop herself from laughing in his face.

Her lashes lower, eyes dropping just below his belt for a heartbeat before dragging back up. Slow. Calculated. Intimate, to the point where she’s almost taking herself seriously. She’s not backing down - no, she’s playing with him now. She tugs at the leather, a deft pull that has the belt sliding free of its buckle, then presses her palm against him - light, barely there - but enough for him to feel it.

She feels his fingers loosen their grip on her jaw, just slightly. It’s so subtle, he thinks he’s gotten away with it... and he would’ve, if he hadn’t audibly swallowed and given himself away mere seconds after. Her mouth twitches. The strings are falling into her hands.

“Look at you,” she taunts, her voice a purr now, filled with mock encouragement. “You've got it all under control, haven't you?” She lets her hand move over him again, slower this time, the pressure just enough to make him grind involuntarily against her touch. His breath comes faster, harder, and she feels his body tense against hers.

His grip on her face tightens as he stares at her with scorn - it's starting to hurt, now - she's almost certain his thumb's going to leave a bruise just beneath her cheekbone - but she doesn’t flinch. She doesn’t give him what he wants. She holds him there, her fingers still teasing him through denim.

Her lips are hovering just shy of his, still. The space left between them is so veil-thin it’s barely there. She won’t close it, though. She wants to let him feel her there - let him ache for it. Allow the tension to fester, coiling tighter and tighter with every second that ticks by. His pulse kicks - hard.

Sam doesn’t realise he’s leaning in until it’s too late. His rage, his whole resolve, all of it crumbling under the weight of her strategic silence. His fingers tighten their grip again as he feels his frown falter, thinking it’ll hold up the bravado.

She pops the button through its hole, pushing the zip down with her thumb, "Do you want me to touch you, Sam?" she whispers, stroking along the length of him, light and teasing, drawing a sharp intake of breath from his throat. His body reacts before his mind can catch up, his hips pressing into her touch, desperate for more. "To treat you like the big, strong man that you are?"

Her deepening smirk tells him he’s fucked it all up. It’s slow and sly and her eyes are sparkling with a satisfaction that’s almost unbearable.

He can’t think straight.

“Fuck you,” he growls through gritted teeth, but there’s no strength behind it. It’s not a threat - it’s a plea. Even he knows it's lazy.

She laughs, soft and mocking, her hand still stroking him through his boxers, the feeling of him hardening against her hand is captivating.

She leans in, too, grinning against his faltering grip, letting her lips graze against his in a way that goads him so hard that the power trip alone sends heat coursing through her. He remains still, aside from the loosening grip of his hand once more. He’s trapped.

Her eyelashes flutter as she pulls back mere millimetres, eyes intentionally dropping to his lips again before flicking back up, head tilting. Making sure he sees her display of self-indulgent curiosity. He doesn’t know she’s just tossing the bait into the water.

His fingers twitch at her cheeks, grip loosening just as his body instinctively leans closer, reeled in by her. His hand starts to slide, his palm brushing the curve of her hip as if testing the boundary of how far he can take this.

Her lips part, and for a split second, he thinks she might actually let him. That she’s given in, that this isn’t just some cruel game she’s playing at his expense.

She thinks he's a moron.

So she finally yanks on the rod out of the water.

She stills her hand, and whispers against him: “I’ll take the floor.”

Before he can react, her palm presses against his chest in one swift, decisive shove, forcing him back. The movement isn’t violent - she doesn’t need it to be.

By the time he’s recovered his footing, she’s already long gone. The smirk she tosses over her shoulder is pure satisfaction, her steps casual and unhurried, as though she hasn’t just torn him apart and left the pieces scattered across the shitty old carpet.

It takes him a moment to realise she’s actually walking away. His chest rises and falls heavily, the faint scent of her still clinging to the air around him, all warm skin and sweat and something faintly sweet. Infuriating.

The humiliation crashes over him in waves, his pulse pounding. His body burns with frustration, with the bitter taste of defeat. He feels like a fool - a complete fucking idiot.

He had her caged, in his grip, and still, she slipped through his fingers, leaving him humiliated, rock-fucking-hard, and wholly unsatisfied.

He watches her approach the window, his hands curling into fists as the truth sinks in: she never lost control. Not for a second.

He's not about to let that stand.

His tongue drags over his teeth as he exhales sharply, rolling his shoulders back while she struggles against the window lock.

Poor thing. She usually knows how to press the right buttons.

The sound of her irritated huffs provokes him. She’s giving him space - space to stew, to think. Maybe she knows it. Maybe she planned it. The thought only pisses him off more.

“You’re good at this.” He murmurs, letting his voice dip low, zipping his jeans back up, “The games. Smirks. Little looks. Actin' like a fuckin' skank ‘cause you think it makes you untouchable.”

Her fingers still, gripping the latch tightly. She doesn’t turn. She hums contemplatively.

“Untouchable? No.” Her voice is steady. “Smarter than you, though? Sure.”

He can’t help but laugh. “You think you’re smarter than me?”

“No, Sam, I know I’m smarter than you.” She doesn’t bother glancing his way, but her smile - the kind that cuts and soothes all at once - tells him she’s enjoying this. “You huff and puff around, throwing tantrums, like you’re God’s gift to brawn,”

His self-control is hanging by a thread. He knows he should let her have the last word and leave it at that. Walk away. Take a fucking shower and sleep it all off, but he can’t. 

“Brute force doesn’t equate to intelligence. Pushing me against a wall, blah blah, fucking blah. What next? Gonna toss me out the window because I bruised your ego?”

It's a nice thought. He'll give her that.

His presence is a shadow swallowing hers, a heat at her back that she feels before she even registers the sound of his boots crossing the room. She stiffens, her knuckles whitening on the latch as his arm brushes hers.

Before she can snap, his hand replaces hers on the latch, effortlessly forcing it open with one sharp motion. The cool air floods in, trading places with the stale smell of smoke, but she barely notices it. She’s too focused on him - on his arm brushing against hers, the way he leans in slightly closer than he needs to.

His hand is on her hip.

No more beating around the bush - He rams her forwards with a thunk, her palms bracing against the windowsill as his chest pins her in place.

She sighs, performative insouciance, despite her racing heartbeat. “What are you doing?” she manages, her voice sharp despite the subtle wavering to it. He catches it and he bites back his grin.

“Opening the window. Putting my brute force to good use. Can’t have you straining yourself, can I?”

Her teeth grit together. She doesn’t push him away, though.

The hand at her hip digs in, while the other drifts upward, curling around her throat. Firm. Controlling. She stiffens, chastened anger flickering hot and wild in her chest, but her body doesn’t move. It can’t move.

What the fuck is he doing?

“Tell me to get off’a you.”

His chin rests against the top of her head, a display of dominance so casual it makes her blood boil.

“What the fuck are you playing at, Samuel?”

His lips quirk in a dangerous smirk, his confidence snapping into place now that he has her at his mercy. “Making sure you get the last word, sweetheart. Isn’t that what you always want?”

“You’re such an-” she starts, but he cuts her off with a low laugh, speaking through the top of her head so his voice reverberates through her skull.

“What? An asshole?” His voice cuts her off, gravelly and edged with something teasing. “Crass? Reckless? Got any new ones, or are we recyclin’ tonight?”

She blinks, her mind struggling to catch up.

“C’mon,” He chuckles again, “Tell me to get off.” His grip tightens, just enough to keep her in place but not enough to hurt.

Her heart is thundering now - a crack in the armour she’s so desperately trying to keep intact. What’s worse is the heat from moments ago continues coiling low in her stomach. She hates it. Hates that her body betrays her rationale, hates the smugness in his reflection. That's what she tries to tell herself, at least… though, the reality is more that she hates how much she's anticipating his next steps.

“You’re insane.” she mutters, though her voice lacks its usual bite.

“Insane,” he parrots, his lips brushing the shell of her ear, “Insufferable. The list goes on.”

Her lips part, a retort on the tip of her tongue, but it refuses to come out. She’s frozen, her pride locking her in place even as her body betrays her.

She feels his grip shift, the hand at her hip sliding lower, brushing the top of her thigh, coming round further. The deliberate motion pulls a defiant grunt from her throat, her body betraying her mind’s fury. 

“Listen,” His fingertips rub circles into her thigh.

Light, slow.

“I might be all those things,”

Inwards.

Upwards.

“But, I’m not a monster. So…” Her eyes dart downward, caught between the shame of her own hesitation and the maddening awareness of his every movement. He’s quick to correct that, fingers tightening around her throat just enough to force her head upright again. “Uh-uh,” he chides. “Eyes up, huh? Don’t go gettin’ all shy on me now.”

She almost bites out another snarky comment but all semblance of wit flies out of her head as his thumb swipes between her legs along the seam of her shorts.

Shit, shit, shit.

Her thighs tighten together instinctively, mindlessly trapping his hand there, which only makes him laugh into her ear, squeezing the sides of her throat a little tighter. He's such a delinquent, relishing in her hushed breathlessness and all the soft sounds she's trying to keep behind her teeth.

“Last chance.”

She’s livid. Because she thought she fucking had him.

Say something, She thinks. No - don’t. That’s what he wants. Don’t give him the satisfaction. Ah, shit.

Her mind scrambles for control. She can’t tell Sam to stop. To do as she’s told. He’d just love that, wouldn’t he? He’d win. Never let her live it down. But she shouldn’t let him keep going, either - because, then, he's still winning, and worse, she’s letting him.

Panic swells in her lungs, her insides churning.

“All you men,” She starts, pausing to compose herself once she realises how breathless she sounds, “are exactly the same. So desperate for things you can’t have. Pathetic, really.”

Not her best attempt at tugging back the reins. But at least she didn't call him a skank.

His breath skates along her neck when he snorts at her, and she swears she’ll scream if he doesn’t stop - if he doesn’t move - if he doesn’t-

“All the same, huh?” The condescending prick speaks into her temple, hips pushing firm against her so she knows she's got no choice but to reap what she's sewn. “Wonder if that rule applies to uptight little smart-asses like you?” His hand trails back up from between her thighs to her waist, fingers pulling the material of her shorts away from her stomach, smoothing over warm skin as she tries to control her breathing. “In my experience, they're wet in an instant - fuckin' freaks behind closed doors.”

Her embarrassment is flaring white-hot now. He's giving as good as he got.

Her pulse quickens, and she forces herself to glare at him, jaw tight, nails gritting against the glass to keep her hands from trembling. She refuses to give him the satisfaction of a reaction other than that.

Which is a huge mistake.

“Jesus Chr-” He giggles, rubbing against her underwear with an abruptness that has her biting back a mewl. “You’re actually wet, aren’t you?”

“Choke, you piece of shit.”

That makes him snort.

“Choke? What, like this?”

His fingers flex harder against the sides of her throat, applying just enough pressure with each hand to make her body arch involuntarily against him. It knocks her for six, eyes widening as a palm clambers its way from the window pane up to the hand squeezed around her neck.

He hums low in his throat, a sound of mock consideration as her nails scratch at him.

“That's what you want? To see how far I’ll go? Never pegged you for a whore.”

Her teeth grit, rage bubbling as he sneers his way through his sentence. The push and pull of him pressing damp fabric against her isn't helping matters.

Everything’s too much.

The weight of him pressing her down. His hand at her throat. The fucking self-satisfaction on his face as he pinches her clit through her underwear and makes her buck into him.

She wants to snap. To move. To do something. But her thoughts are slipping and it’s all more intoxicating than it has any right to be.

He thinks he’s in control. He’s so damn sure of it, so drunk on his own smug confidence. She can feel it radiating off him.

Her lashes lower. She lets her lips part slightly, and her body slacken against the window. A deliberate show of defeat. A histrionic surrender. His grip eases just a fraction, and she feels the subtle shift of power.

Her breath shudders, her chest heaving in what she knows he’ll mistake for resignation. He leans in closer, his body flush against hers, bulge pressing into her ass adding insult to injury as she tries to maintain concentration.

She's reluctant to admit to herself how galvanising it all is. The weight of him. The heat rushing through her as his fingers stroke and tease. The unbearable closeness-

Nope - no, this can't continue. Not like this, at least. Let him have what he wants. But it'll be on her terms.

He doesn’t expect her to fight back. He’s too caught up in his performance, too sure of his control. The stupid fuck.

She lets him savour it - hell, she lets herself savour it for one, two, three seconds.

Then she strikes.

Her hand shoots up, grabbing his wrist. Hard. She doesn’t pull away. She pushes, twisting his grip just enough to loosen the choke-hold on her throat. Clarity floods her brain, and her elbow drives back - sharp, fast, ruthless. It connects with his ribs, and the sound of his grunt sends a wild rush through her.

He stumbles, grip faltering.

She pivots, twisting out from beneath him in a blur of motion. Her hands shove against his chest, forceful, determined. He doesn’t stand a chance. His balance tips, his knees hitting the edge of the bed.

Sam falls flat on his back.

For a moment, he looks almost comical, sprawled across the bed in stunned silence, blinking up at her as though he can’t quite believe what just happened.

She takes a step forward, her breath still heavy, her heart pounding against her ribs as she looms over him.

And there it is again - that shift in power, slipping through his fingers and landing squarely in hers.

He knows it. She knows it. She’s straddling him before he even has time to process it fully, pinning his wrists hard against the mattress above his head, her knees clamped to the sides of his hips.

“Cute,” the sarcasm comes out low and gravelly. It's… well, it's hot. She digs her nails into his skin out of contempt for the both of them.

“Well,” she ignores him, leaning in close, her nose brushing his. “Congratulations.”

His brow quirks. “Yeah? For what?”

“For proving my point.”

She can feel the heat radiating from him, the steady rise and fall of his chest against hers. His skin is warm under her touch, and the way his muscles twitch beneath her grip sends an undeniable rush through her. Her nails dig into his wrists, and even she isn’t sure if it’s to keep him down or to rile him up any more.

There’s tension beneath his skin, the restrained strength of someone biding their time. He stays still. Watching. Waiting. Curious. His muscles flex in warning, but his eyes glint with that maddening mix of intrigue and amusement. Always testing her. Always waiting to see how far she’ll push.

"And what point is that?"

She's strong. He's watched her kill men twice her size. But still, he knows he could have her flipped onto her back in a fraction of a second if he pushed.

Her line of sight rakes down his face. He looks infuriatingly good pinned beneath her, and it grates at her self-control. His confidence seeps through the cracks of her power, unrelenting even now.

Her body remembers his touch, the bruising force of his hands, and it deceives her reasoning. She’s soaked. Her arousal seeps out to the tops of her thighs as she gives her hips an experimental roll against his.

She watches him swallow, jaw clenching slightly to fix his smirk in place. She leans in, lips grazing his ear as she grinds on him again.

“Men,” her lips drip venom, “are fucking pathetic.”

Her pulse races, hammering through her, but she pushes the doubt down, letting the smirk sharpen into cruelty. The ever-precarious balance continues to tip in her favour as she senses a touch of nervousness in his little huff of laughter.

“And you,” she whispers, forcing him to hone in on what she's saying, “might be the most pathetic of all of 'em.”

“Keep runnin’ your mouth. See where it gets you.”

Her head tilts, eyes flashing smug. “Right where I want to be, obviously.” A bold move to admit it, but they know each other too well to deny what's about to happen. Of course they do. To despise is to know.

Her hands move fast - just quickly enough for his arms to stay where she's had them. The hem of her shirt is over her head in a fluid motion. His eyes flicker, distracted for the briefest second.

“Focus, Samuel,” she snaps, her grip catching his chin, forcing his eyes back to her face. “Getting distracted already? You’ll never keep up like this.”

"What's there to keep up with, huh? A little dry humping? What are you - fifteen?"

His jaw clenches, but he forces out another frustration-tinged laugh. She can see through it, feel the way his body tenses beneath her. She shifts, pressing harder against him, and the subtle change in his expression tells her everything.

His control is slipping.

"What? Desperate to get your fingers into me? Pervert." She raises a brow, palms moving from his face and wrist to trace the tension in his forearms. His muscles twitch beneath her touch, a reminder that this could end the moment he decides to reclaim control.

She sits up, hands pressing flat against his stomach, tucking under his t-shirt and smoothing over hair and warm skin as her fingertips curl into the fabric. She speeds up when she sees him watching her hands work, until she yanks the shirt up and over his head.

She tosses it aside as his eyes narrow. For a moment, it looks like he might flip her over, shut her up, but she restrains him once more. His muscles flex beneath her grip, coiled tight and ready to spring, but she keeps him there, her nails biting into his skin as if daring him to break free. The uneven rhythm of their breaths fills the tiny space between them. The room is too small, too hot, and the tension is making it all the more damn suffocating.

Suffice to say, Sam's had enough of the purgatory.

When he finally moves, it's sudden - violent almost - a flash of motion she doesn’t anticipate. His head snaps forward, and his lips crash against hers with enough force to steal her breath. It’s hardly a kiss; more of an attack, all teeth and heat and fury. She gasps into it, shocked, her body stiffening for a split second before the wave of intensity drags her under.

Her grip on his wrists loosens as his mouth claims hers, teeth scraping against her bottom lip hard enough to sting. The faint taste of copper blooms on her tongue, but the pain only fuels her, sending a jolt of heat through her spine. Bastard.

She collapses into him, matching his ferocity, her hands abandoning his wrists to thread into his hair. She tugs hard, earning a low, guttural sound from deep in his throat that vibrates against her lips. Her nails scrape against his scalp, and she feels him shudder beneath her as one of her hands flies down, scrambling for the metal of his zip. Her nail catches - it snaps. She hisses.

His hands move fast as she's momentarily distracted, one wrapping around the back of her neck, the other gripping her hip. The total one-eighty in power is instantaneous, his body surging up against hers as he pushes back, refusing to let her hold the reins any longer.

She doesn’t fight it. She lets him guide her into the chaos of it. His lips move against hers with bruising intensity, his tongue sweeping past her teeth in a way that makes her snarl back at him. Her nails rake down his shoulders, over the expanse of his bare chest, leaving faint red lines behind - the broken, jagged edge of the one she'd caught seconds ago scratching against his nipple.

He hisses against her mouth, his grip tightening as he shifts his weight. Then, with a sharp twist and a surge of strength, he flips her onto her back.

The mattress creaks as she lands, her breath knocked from her lungs. His body presses down against hers, pinning her in place as his mouth moves to her jaw, then her throat, teeth nipping at the sensitive skin there.

Her hands are on him immediately, roaming over his back, her nails digging into the hard lines of muscle as she arches up against him. Her heart pounds in her chest, adrenaline tangling into a volatile and all-consuming high.

His lips find her pulse, and she swears under her breath, the sound caught somewhere between outrage and need. She bucks her hips up against him, desperate to feel more, to take back some semblance of control.

But he doesn’t let her. He hovers above her. She whines, and it's embarrassing.

"Christ - someone's in heat, huh?" His tone is entirely too nonchalant given what they're doing.

She has half a mind to tell him to go fuck himself, but as the words form in her brain, the sensation of his hand snaking back into her shorts, scooping her underwear aside to stroke a line through her arousal only causes her to shudder. His mouth twists into an even deeper smirk at the atypical shake in her throat, taking it upon himself to make said shake worse by single-handedly shunting the waistband of her shorts down to mid-thigh.

She grunts, grabbing his face, pulling him back down to meet her, and this time, it’s her tongue that presses forward, demanding, devouring.

Teeth smack teeth and he mutters something about how wet she is - that his 'theory's got legs' - she calls him an insufferable cunt. He laughs, tracing circles everywhere but where she most needs it.

She bites his bottom lip, returning the favour from earlier, neither of them able to decipher whose blood they're tasting at this point. It's hard enough to make him pull back, his breath ragged as his eyes lock onto hers.

His patience snaps.

“Fucking animal,” he growls, his grip tightening on her waist.

Before she can call him a hypocrite, she’s flipped face-down on the bed, her arms crushed beneath her chest, as he presses himself down against her back.

Her breath leaves her in a startled rush.

Oh, shit.

Her thighs press together instinctively, and she thrashes, but it’s useless - he’s stronger, and he’s got her pinned. Hard.

She snarls into the sheets, writhing beneath him, but he doesn’t budge. Instead, his arm slides under her, curling around her stomach, palm pressing firm against the soft plane of her lower abdomen before moving lower still.

Heat licks up her spine, colliding messily with her frustration as she stiffens.He enjoys this - holding her down, feeling her succumb.

“Jesus, don’t tell me you’re getting comfortable,” he murmurs, his voice all mock sympathy, breath hot against her ear. His fingers flex, tightening his hold. “That’d be embarrassing.”

She lets out a sharp, breathy laugh, twisted against the sheets, her cheek pressed hard against the mattress. “Oh, please, do keep talking.” she spits, writhing against his grip.

His lips twitch, but he doesn’t give her the satisfaction of a response. Instead, he curls two fingers inside her, her body arching involuntarily into him, a curse slipping from her lips before she can stop it.

He smirks, his free hand sliding up her back, snapping apart the clasp on her bra, before snaking back up just below her throat, leaving her no time to retort. His thumb presses lightly against her windpipe, a warning, as his fingers continue their infuriatingly pleasant pace. She swallows hard as he speaks into the shell of her ear.

"Growing a bit compliant there, doll. Makin' me think this has been on your mind for a while."

With a grunt, she jostles herself up hard, trying to throw him off, trying to wrestle back the last bit of power she can. But he doesn’t budge. If anything, he only presses into her harder, his fingers hooking up in a way that makes her vision blur at the edges and a soft gasp fly out of her mouth.

Her lips part, her breath ragged, eyes locking with his over her shoulder. "You think… th-this means anything?" she spits, but her voice trembles, a touch of desperation creeping in.

He leans in closer, teeth grazing her bottom lip again, but this time softer, taunting. "Not sure." he replies, amused. "Ask me again when I've got my cock in you." He snorts at his own asinine remark. Her nostrils flare.

“Pig.” she manages to grit out, voice hoarse, teeth clenched.

His lips brush her ear, and he chuckles. "Pig? I'm not the one squealin'."

His wrist picks up the pace, causing her face to screw up, expression tightening as his thumb finally nudges her clit - her body seizes; she contracts unwillingly around his fingers, but he pries her back open with a third.

She can’t stop the moan that tears from her throat, her eyes squeezing shut as he watches her start to unravel beneath him with a sadistic grin.

Her body jerks against him as much as it can, the sharp edge of pleasure overtaking the defiance she's clung onto for the past few minutes as she tries to free her arms. She bites her lip hard, refusing to give him the satisfaction of her falling apart beneath him.

That is until she feels his hand pull away from between her thighs with a humiliating squelch, and she tries with all her might to hold back a defeated whimper at the sudden loss of sensation.

She tries to turn her head, impatience tightening her muscles, but he’s got her locked in place, every shift of her body met with an unyielding press of his weight. She can’t see him, can only feel - the absence of his fingers a cruel tease, leaving her thrumming with frustration.

Then she hears him sigh - quiet, almost contemplative. Then the slow drag of him sliding against her, gliding through the pool of slick he’s already drawn out.

Her breath stutters, thighs twitching in trepidation as the warm head of his cock nudges at her clit, pressing into her just enough to make her agonise for more. It’s humiliating, the involuntary clench of muscle, the way her arousal drips down onto the sheets. She hates it. Hates him.

Hates even more that every nerve in her body is screaming for him to keep going.

His chest is flush against her back, the unbearable heat of him sinking into her skin, searing, suffocating, branding, almost, in ways she refuses to acknowledge. She won't be forgetting this feeling for a long time. Neither will he.

His breath skates along the shell of her ear - ragged, smug. He knows. Of course, he fucking knows.

His hips shift, and then - fuck.

The first thrust knocks the air straight out of her lungs. He doesn’t ease in, doesn’t give her a second to adjust - just drives into her in one inexorable push, filling her so deep her fingers claw uselessly at the sheets.

She chokes on the moan that tries to escape, biting down hard on her lip until blood oozes back onto her tongue. She refuses to give him the satisfaction.

“Holy sh-” he grits out, adjusting his grip, one hand firm on her hip, thumb digging into the dip of her spine. “Wasn't expecting such a tight fit - Jesus.” His words cut through the haze as his other hand re-tightens around her throat.

Her eyes screw shut, her pulse hammering away. He shouldn’t feel this good. Given his big fucking mouth, she'd always assumed he was trying to compensate for something. More fool her.

Sam pulls back slowly, the stretch sending unbearable anticipatory pleasure sparking through her veins. Then he slams back in with a grunt, punching a breathless gasp out of her. He holds himself there for a second, feeling her stretch and squeeze around him.

“This really all it takes to get you to shut that whiny little mouth a'yours?"

Her hands fist into the sheets, wishing the same could be said about him, as numbness sets into her arms from being stuck under her own weight for so long, her jaw clenching as he sets a brutal rhythm, every snap of his hips forcing her forward, shunting her deeper into the uncomfortable mattress.

Her body gives in so easily, molten heat spiralling away in her stomach. Ugh, she wants to spit something back at him, but she can’t. He’s fucking the breath right out of her, and all sense of the disgusting room around her is fading, slipping into nothing.

In her attempt to keep quiet, she must make a sound - broken, subservient - damn near wrecked, because he laughs against her sweat-damp skin, pressing her down harder, cock driving deeper, with the intention to bruise - he wants her to remember this.

She groans, long and lewd, her forehead pressing into the mattress, her body traitorously growing more pliant under him. The pleasure is unbearable, tangled with resentment, with rage, with the utmost desire to wipe that smug tone out of his voice.

His hand around her throat scoops her upwards, and she whines through gritted teeth as her back is forcibly arched and her breathing is restricted. Every breath is laboured, his grip unrelenting, pushing her into a tight space between ecstasy and… well, suffocation, probably. Her vision blurs slightly at the edges, but a dull prickling sensation creeps through her arms. Pins and needles.

She feels the slow return of blood flow, the sluggish tingling that signals her strength coming back. The feeling shoots through her hands, all the way to her fingertips. Soon… very soon, she’ll have enough control to move. To shove him off, regain the upper hand, and wipe that smug expression off his face. Or… Or she can let him keep going. Let him use her, drive her deeper into this haze of loathing-stunted pleasure.

“Y’know,” oh what the hell does he want now? “I could stop-"

“Don’t you fucking dare,” she snaps, her voice rough from the pressure on her throat. His laugh vibrates against her back - he calls her a whore again. A cheap insult, but infuriatingly taunting nonetheless.

“Ugh,” she rasps, struggling for air, her voice barely above a whisper. “You’re-”

He cuts her off with another brutal snap of his hips, his fingers tightening around her throat, making her clench her teeth around a particularly loud moan.

“What was that? Couldn’t hear you.”

Her arms twitch beneath her, the prickling sensation turning into something more solid. She can feel the strength returning, knows she can move if she really wants to. But does she want to?

“So fucking full of yourself,” she manages to spit out between gasps, but even as the words leave her lips, she’s not sure if she believes them. She’s close - too close to care about pride right now. Her hands flex against the sheets, feeling the last vestiges of numbness fade. She knows she has a choice to make.

He lets out a low, breathy chuckle, somewhere between a smug exhale than a giggle, his thumb brushing possessively along her jaw. “God, I can think of a great retort for that one,” he murmurs, his focus now on the ripple of her flesh as he buries himself into her again and again. “Bit on the nose, though, even f’me - ha, fuck.”

And then she notices he’s losing it. Rhythm’s all over the shop. Messy. Sloppy. He’s lucky he’s got such a maddeningly nice dick because he’s barely holding it together. And the grip? He’s not pulling her up to control her anymore - he’s using her to hold himself up. Leaning on her, pressing his weight down into her and her shaky arms that are just about holding her up. Idiot.

Ooh, he's close.

He shifts slightly, just enough to adjust his grip on her, and that’s when she moves.

She bucks once more. As hard as she can. A violent twist of her hips, using the last of her strength to wrench herself sideways, unbalancing him just enough to make him swear under his breath as he slips out of her.

She almost mourns the loss… but she certainly won’t waste it.

Her knee plants against the mattress, her body surging with a reckless, desperate twist. He tries to grab her, but she’s already moving, shoving her shoulder into his side, using her full weight to knock him off balance.

And then they’re falling.

They hit the floor hard, tangled, his hand shooting out to grab at her, but she’s already moving.

A scramble, her knee grinding into his ribs. A sharp shove. Teeth gritted. His growl’s met with a vicious laugh.

He reaches for her wrist. Stupid move.

She twists his arm instead. Slams his chest to the floor. Limbs tangled, messy, but she’s got him now. Breathless, glowing with sweat. Arousal. Victory.

“Finally,” she exhales, shaking the hair from her face as she plants her weight against him. “You alright down there, champ?”

He’s seething. Muscles coiled tight - and he’s still fucking hard despite it all. God, he’s pissed, and she's more than aware that she's got limited time to wrangle full control, so she’s already moving, already fumbling for the closest thing-

His belt.

Perfect.

Leather snaps free from his jeans with a crisp thhhhk, click-clack, and Sam’s eyes go wide, rage and panic flickering. He’s still throbbing, still right there on the edge, but everything’s slipping out of his hands. Stone to sand. All power gone. Kaput.

“Nah - no, no, no, no. We’re not doin’ this," His voice breaks, a low growl, a shot of panic. "We’re not-“

His laugh comes out stilted, but it quickly morphs into a guttural growl of frustration as he tries to throw her off. She digs in - knee to his shoulder blade, boot to the small of his back. It’s enough to pin him, pain sharp, getting the job done.

His hands press to the floor in a last-ditch effort to push up. “You arrogant, goddamn- Agh-”

Her hand’s in his hair. Brutal. His face gets shoved to the floor, cheek grinding against the rough, dirty surface.

“Shhh.” The slimy little bitch’s voice is low, condescendingly soothing - all a stark comparison to the way she yanks his arm round to his back. “Quit being so dramatic. You’re gonna get us noise complaints.”

He spits curses, body jerking beneath her, but it’s all in vain. Leather loops once, twice, three times. Tight somewhere between his wrists and his elbows. Just out of reach of his fingers. The buckle clinks. Coffin nailed shut.

By the time he stops thrashing, his breathing’s ragged, face half-planted on the floor, arms bound behind his back.

He’s trapped. Tense. Furious. Fuck this.

"Up you get, big boy." With a grunt of effort, she grabs the fabric of his trousers near the waist and braces herself, leaning back slightly to use her weight. It's not graceful, but it's effective. He resists, of course – a deliberate shift of his shoulders, a tensing of his limbs that makes it harder than it needs to be. She growls in frustration, her fingers digging into his flesh as she pulls. He shifts begrudgingly, his body fighting her for every inch as she hauls him upright.

Another shift, a last-ditch effort to resist, but finally - finally - he’s on his knees, breathing hard, eyes glued to the floor as he fruitlessly tries to tug apart his arms.

She looks down at him, noting the anger in his expression, as he looks over his shoulders to assess the binding situation he's in. Then, she glances at the rigid set of his cock sticking out of his jeans. A grin tugs at the corner of her mouth as she mulls something over, sore lip pulled between her teeth.

“Show me your tongue.”

His head snaps in her direction, eyes shifting up towards her, but he remains silent.

“You heard me.”

The corner of Sam’s mouth twitches.

“You’ve lost your mind,” he mutters, his brows furrowing as he looks up at her with that familiar blend of defiance and derision, swallowing at the sight of her nudity.

She cocks her head, the very picture of patient amusement, and sighs theatrically, as if his resistance is nothing more than a mild inconvenience. “Always the hard way with you, isn’t it?”

Her fingers find his jaw, the pads of them tracing the gentle edge of bone with mock delicacy, dragging down to his stubbled chin and around to the nape of his neck. Her touch is deceptively gentle, lulling him into a brief moment of unease.

He doesn’t like the way it feels. Softness isn’t her weapon of choice; she’s more prone to acting like the human equivalent of barbed wire, so this tenderness sets his nerves on edge. His eyes flicker, skittering over her face as she kneels to his level.

“Ah, shit-”

The words break from him as her fingers knot into his hair, the tenderness of her touch abruptly morphing into a sharp yank that forces his head back. His throat bobs as he swallows, the motion starkly exposed in the taut column of his neck.

Sam tries to shift under her grip, angling his head in an attempt to take control of the movement, but she tightens her hold, keeping him off balance. It’s a deliberate cruelty, that refusal to let him get comfortable.

“Open your mouth,” she demands, her voice dropping. “And show me your fucking tongue, Sam.”

His eyes squint against the sharp tug of her grip, discomfort twisting his features as his teeth clench in defiance. For a moment, it looks like he’s going to push back, to spit some insult at her that will surely make her pull harder. She almost wants him to - any excuse to relish in this a little more.

But then her thumbnail skims over the head of his cock, fingers squeezing him gently, coaxing out a pretty bead of precum as her other hand digs fiercely into his scalp, sending a sharp pulse of debauched pain down his spine, and he realises - reluctantly - that there’s no winning this battle.

His lips part slightly, the smallest gesture of compliance, allowing a soft shudder of a gasp to slip. Enough to earn a triumphant quirk of her brow, nonetheless. Her smile sharpens, and he hates it. But still, he swallows his pride and lets his tongue dart out briefly as she pumps her hand tight around his slick shaft.

“There he is,” she murmurs, her tone laced with condescending approval. His eyes shut in an attempt to remove himself from the situation - just to focus on the feeling of being jerked off, and she watches him with parted lips of her own.

She exhales slowly, her hand loosening in his hair just enough for him to relax a fraction; her thumb hooks over his bottom lip, prying him open just a touch more, tip of it resting against his teeth.

It’s all a cruel mislead, of course - an opening for her next move. Her tongue rolls around the floor of her mouth, letting herself salivate for a moment as satisfaction rolls through her in waves.

With a sudden, fluid motion, she leans forward and spits. Directly onto his tongue. The wetness lands with an audible sound, catching him completely off guard. His body flinches instinctively, a mix of shock and disgust flashing across his face as his eyes snap open.

Sam recoils, twisting sharply in an attempt to pull away, but her hand tightens in his hair again, keeping him in place.

“Swallow it.”

He gawks at her, blinking, disbelief carving deep into his face. Then, defiant, just as she’s halfway to standing - he spits right back at her.

It lands on her thigh.

Her eyes track the slow slide of it, narrowing, sharp with intent.

"You're gonna clean that up."

It hits him sideways, enough to make him bark out a laugh and tell her she’s fucked in the head. He shifts, rocking back to stand, sick of it- but before he can get far, she’s got him. A sharp yank, fingers curling tight in his hair, dragging him between her thighs as she sits herself on the edge of the bed.

He fights. For a second. Maybe longer.

Jerks against her grip, muscles straining, breath sharp. A tangle of half-formed curses and gritted insults spill from his mouth. He bucks, twists, pushes back all sloppy and desperate. But it’s instinct more than anything.

She holds steady.

Unyielding. Even shushing him at one point, her harsh clawing at his hair turning into a patronising stroke.

Just a roll of her hips - grinding her cunt against his spit-slick lips. His breath stutters, his pulse a frantic hammer. He wants to pull back. He needs to, or he’ll never hear the end of this. But it’s already slipping - crumbling.

And she knows.

That faint, knowing smile. Just enough to gut him.

He loathes her. But right now, he's fucking powerless against the way she holds him, so he loathes himself just as much. The beauty of her contempt, the sight of her; swollen, dripping, so fucking pretty - it unravels him, inch by inch.

Lust coils around his willpower, thorned vines twisting, piercing, digging in deep, holding him there just as her thighs do. Every defiant twitch grows weaker. His fight crumbles, piece by piece, drowning under the weight of his own sickening want.

It’s like being stuck in a weird loop - one second clawing for control, the next watching it slip through his fingers. His mind spirals, blurring need with shame. Clawing for control. Losing it. Over and over again.

A shuddering sigh escapes him. Surrender. His mouth moves before his mind can catch up, tongue finding rhythm, following instinct. Thought dulls. Exhaustion takes hold.

She tastes incredible. Feels incredible. He lets her keep rubbing against his nose, his lips and tongue - hell, he even catches himself looking up at her to see how she reacts - if he’s doing a good job. And worst of all - he can feel his cock twitch as she damn-near suffocates him.

Fuck, he hates her. She sounds so goddamn pretty as she pants and mewls as she uses him like a toy, and he fucking hates her.

Her thighs tighten around his shoulders, boots digging into his back, tugging him in closer. He exhales, sharp, ragged. It fans over her clit and she laughs softly at his final act of dissent before it all caves in.

No words. No insults. Nothing.

Just her control.

And his capitulation.

She’s watching him. Half-lidded, eyes glazed, lips parted - lust-drunk.

Then, her head tilts and her eyes drop between his legs. She streams around his tongue when she sees how swollen he is, reminding herself of how he felt minutes ago.

A sharp tug - his hair burning against her grip as she pulls him away, just for a moment, just to drink in the sight of him - face slick, pupils blown, chest heaving. He barely has a second to catch his breath before she shifts, hands pressing against his shoulders, shoving him back.

He hits the ground with a ragged gasp, body thrumming, limbs heavy. The world tilts, his mind scrambling to keep up, but she’s already moving - crawling over him, her thighs bracketing his head, knees pressing firm into the floor.

His bound arms ache beneath him, shoulders burning, but it barely registers.

Sound, weight, scent - she drowns him in it, a force as consuming as the taste of her on his tongue. It suffocates, but he doesn’t fight it. No, he revels in it.

The pressure of her thighs, the slick heat against his mouth, the way she bears down with full intent - it dilutes the pain, the sheer humiliation, all eclipsed. And God, does he feast.

He laps over her, tracing the edge, tugging at her hardened clit, pulling a raspy cry from her, muffled by her thighs. He pushes his tongue just a little further, breaching and earning another gush as she braces her hands against the floor.

The sharp roll of his tongue, the relentless way he works her over - it’s almost too much. Her thighs twitch around his head, her breath coming in short, hitched gasps, and she knows she’s close. And she won’t give him that victory yet.

She moves because she wants to see his face - wants to see the mess she’s made of him. It’s not enough to feel him unravel beneath her; she needs to witness it. Needs to drink in the sight of him, sweat-damp and dazed, lips pink and slick, chest heaving from the effort of it all.

She lifts herself just enough to glance down, and - oh.

He’s a sight. Pupils dark and glassy, lips parted, jaw slack like he hasn’t quite remembered how to hold himself together. His shoulders twitch beneath the strain of being bound for so long, but he’s not focused on that.

Her legs feel unsteady as she moves, dragging herself up his body, heat still pulsing between her legs as she settles over his chest instead.

His face is slick with her, lips parted, gaze flickering between her eyes and the curve of her mouth, like he’s searching for something -defiance, permission, something he can twist back in his favour. But she doesn’t give him the satisfaction.

Instead, she just smirks, tapping a single finger against his jaw. “Arms hurt?”

His eyes track her, blinking through the mess, his chest rising and falling with shallow breaths. His lips part, like he wants to say something, but instead, he just watches her. There’s defiance, of course, and something almost like curiosity.

“Arms. Shoulders,” he mutters, still catching his breath, his eyes narrowing up at her, “you try being tied up by a total amateur.”

She laughs lightly, breathless herself. “Could’ve fooled me, you seemed to be enjoying yourself.”

He groans, rolling his eyes, but there’s a hint of something that might be a laugh in there. “Enjoyin’ mysel- Jesus, you really are… not right in the head.”

Her smile sharpens, and she leans down, foreheads touching as she mimics his cadence. "You really are… not handling this well, are you?"

His jaw clenches, a muscle ticking in his temple, but his voice comes out hoarse, lacking the bite. “I swear to God…”

She can’t help it - she laughs. Breathless and sooo giddy.

He shakes his head, hers still resting against his, a mix of frustration and something dangerously close to resignation. “I’m gonna break your damn neck in a min-“

She silences his cheapened fury in an instant - he doesn’t even realise she’s kissing him until she pulls away and his lazy threat slides back down his throat. She tilts her head, lips curving in that smug, infuriating way they always do.

“Get this shit off of me,” he grits, trying to hold onto something solid, cheeks warming despite his best efforts to keep it together.

Her grin spreads, slow and syrupy, and her fingers trace along his jaw, then down to the ink on his neck. Her hips press down, just enough to make him aware of the weight of her against him, soaked folds sliding over him.

“In a minute,” she chides.

He groans, a tongue pressing against his teeth, a mirthless huff of laughter escaping as he turns his head slightly. “Nope. Right now,” he mutters, but it’s more of a complaint than a command, his resolve fraying at the edges, worn thin under her touch.

She hums thoughtfully, as if actually considering it, before leaning closer, lips brushing his ear. "Do you want to finish?" Her tone is casual, light, like they’re talking about the weather.

Ugh. He rolls his neck, a sharp crack that makes her wince, but there’s no real venom left in him. Just frustration, heat, and a grudging acceptance of the situation.

“Thought so,” she murmurs with a grin, and she angles herself against his tip, he doesn’t have the energy to fight it.

She watches him with curious intensity as she sinks down, a soft laugh and long exhale pulled out of her when he winces. Her cunt swallows him whole, searing her in two, boiling his blood, all the heat and tension and rage and exhaustion of this seemingly endless ordeal of being stuck together for weeks on end - making them a mess of tangled limbs and ragged breaths, sounds pulled out of both of them, her moans caught between sharp inhales, his teeth clenched around groans that scrape up his throat.

“Mm-ff-fuck-” he stutters, teeth snagging against his lower lip as he can’t prevent himself from fucking up into her any longer. “Y’know you’re so much more- ha- more tolerable like this.”

“Woah - was- was that a compliment?” She slows, letting him take the reins for a moment.

He laughs, head tilted back into the carpet. “Fat chance.”

“Oof,” She scoffs, leaning back to brace her hands on his thighs. She sits up fully, enveloping to the hilt and he watches himself repeatedly disappear into her, lips parted, trying to maintain a semblance of control over his breathing. Fuck, she loves the way his eyes roam her body - hungry, devouring, darting from the ripple of her stomach to the bounce of her tits, lingering on the flush that spreads over her skin, the sweat-slick glow catching in the dim lamplight. “And to think I was about to give you some… jargon about how nice your cock feels.”

“Wouldn’t want it.” He lies, eyes shut as he smirks to himself. “Servile praise never really did much for me.”

“Hah, well your tongue was acting pretty servile a second ago… ugh, fuck.” She groans, shunted forwards, hands smacking onto his chest to stop her falling flat onto him. He swears as she accidentally pushes more pressure on his arms. His shoulders flex, trying to balance the ache beneath him with the overwhelming pleasure of her on top, the cruel mix of restraint and indulgence that keeps him teetering on the edge.

She should leave him like this. Should keep him right where he is. But when he shifts beneath her, just enough to drag a ragged groan from deep in his chest. Something about it makes her cave. Maybe it’s pity, maybe it’s power, maybe it’s just the fact that she wants to see what he’ll do with his hands freed.

She reaches behind him, fingers working the buckle loose, and the second the belt slips away, his arms fly forward. One hooks around her waist, dragging her down so fast the breath jolts out of her, the other fists into her hair, yanking her into a kiss - clumsy, messy, all teeth and heat and unspent frustration. It’s not tender, not sweet. It’s nothing but a last-ditch attempt to swallow down the sounds she’s already torn from him, to reclaim some semblance of control before she can smirk against his mouth and make him feel even more, as she’d rightly put it, fucking pathetic.

She’s embarrassed him enough. He’s got to keep something to himself. He fucking groans anyway when he feels her clench around him.

She pulls back just enough to smirk. “What was that?”

“Will you shut your fucking mouth?” He doesn’t give her time to answer. Just flips them, shoving her onto her back, thrusting into her with new, unrestrained fervour. She gasps, half-laughing, half-moaning, her nails digging into the back of his neck.

“I get it,” she breathes between ragged inhales. “You - oh, fuck - you’ve gotta hold on to what little dignity you have left.”

His jaw tightens, nostrils flaring. “Be quiet.”

It’s a half-hearted command, lost between a sharp exhale and the way his pace turns frantic, his restraint fraying at the edges.

But she’s not faring much better. Her moans rise in pitch as his hand pushes between them, recklessly rubbing against her clit again - no doubt she’ll have something smart to say about him coming first - she writhes, arching up unto him, tits crushed against him, her thighs twitching around his waist, her nails pressing deep enough to leave crescents in his skin.

She gasps, startled as he presses against her almost painfully, and he takes the opportunity to bite down on her lower lip, just to feel her jolt against him, just to make sure he’s still got some say in how this plays out. But she’s never been one to let him win easily - her fingers twist into his hair, pulling just enough to sting, her hips rolling up against his in a way that makes him groan despite himself. He curses into her mouth, swallowing it down just in time.

Her body tightens beneath him, trembling, and god - he knows she’s close.

So is he.

“Gonna- ah, shit, c- can I cum in you?”

She swallows before she can register what he’s said, eyes squeezing shut as a stuttered cry tumbles out of her mouth - then she’s pulsing - gushing around him. Nails dug into spade, heart, club, diamond, as he fucks her through her climax. Lucky is right.

She feels nothing short of transcendental around him - the only thing putting a stop to him mindlessly telling her this is his own building panic.

“P- shit- fuckin’ answer me.”

Oh, he’s seriously asking? Her thighs tremble as she falls limp under him, nodding into his shoulder as a cock-drunk flash of a smile plasters its way onto her lips.

His hand quickly tangles into her hair as a ragged, stuttering groan resonates in his chest; the jerky, force of his hips against her thighs bruises as he succumbs to his own release. She’s all-encompassed by a sudden warmth filling her up, the intensity of her heartbeat thrumming away in her ears.

He lets out a long huff of air, hand snatched from between them as he braces himself against the ground, breathing heavily.

For a moment, neither of them move, bodies buzzing with the mental and physical aftershock, chests rising and falling out of sync.

He eventually rolls off of her, rubbing a hand over his face.

“What... the hell was that?”

She huffs, staring at the ceiling. “Your poor anger management.”

He turns his head to glare at her, but there’s no real bite to it, just exhaustion and the ghost of humiliation he’s struggling to swallow. "Yeah, well, you’re not exactly a picture of restraint either.”

She shrugs, stretching her arms above her head as she sits up, cheeks flushed, hair matted. “You called me frigid. Had to prove you wrong.” He snorts, full of resentment.

A few more beats of silence, then- “What are you smiling about?”

She bites back the smug little grin threatening to spread wider, rising to her feet. “C-c-c-can I c-c-cum in you?” She stutters, blatantly ribbing, voice pitched in a terrible imitation of his desperation.

His jaw twitches, shuts his eyes, grits his teeth. Ugh. “Your presence is excruciating.”

She clicks her tongue, gesturing to the pearly liquid slowly dribbling down her inner thigh. “Sooo excruciating.”

He groans, shoving a hand through his hair, looking very much like a man questioning his life choices. “Fuck off.”

“I am.” She steps over him, standing on shaky limbs with an obnoxious head tilt as she goes for one of the poorly folded scratchy towels on the dresser. “I’m not leaking all over the floor. Even if you’re sleeping there. I have standards.” He makes a face, brows furrowing, mouth parting slightly like he wants to argue but just… can’t.

She watches the realisation dawn on him with no small amount of satisfaction.

“Jesus Christ.” He groans, flopping back onto the carpet, throwing an arm over his eyes. She laughs as she heads for the bathroom. His hand blindly grabs for his belt, launching it in her direction with an irked grunt.

It thuds against the door as she shuts it behind her. He exhales sharply, rubbing at his jaw. Stares at the ceiling. Fuck.

[impishjesters]

Jax x Reader w/depression/suicidal tendencies

warning(s): mentions of depression/suicidal behavior/tendencies, nothing graphic though, mentions of morbid/dark humor note: it's only mentioned that he has feelings for you, whether romantic or platonic is left up to the reader. A/N: I think this is the fastest I've ever wanted to write for something utterly new to me, usually it takes a while of being into a series or liking a character to wanna write something. This was...less than twelve hours? This was probably the most self-indulgent thing I've written in a while.

Nobody was safe from Jax’s pranks, including you—regardless of how much he found himself gradually enjoying your company.

It’s actually a right of passage at this point that every new person (as rare as it is) who shows up is subjected to some awful prank to gauge just how much of an easy or difficult target they’ll be.

You handle the pranks with ease. Sure it can be annoying, but there’s little that can seemingly “kill” you here.

Which is a shame really—well, only slightly.

Your therapist would’ve probably found it a good thing, trying to off yourself in a digital world where sleeping and eating were no longer required likely meant the inability to die.

Not in a traditional sense anyway.

You’re the only one ballsy enough to prank Jax back, which isn’t easy but when a prank is successful? Oh, it’s worth it to see his reaction.

There’s an unspoken prank war back and forth, but typically the other’s are the subject of your guys’ pranks. Somehow it feels more rewarding with the joint effort.

It's not often, but sometimes Jax's pranks will go a step too far and trigger something unpleasant. He's not really sure why you just walk off like that, those pranks don't make him feel as satisfied for whatever reason.

Once a special type of friendship grows between the two of you, the pranks lessen—not entirely though—nah he loves the unsuspecting reactions of a prank you didn’t see coming.

The pranks become less hostile and more casual—he’s got a reputation to keep after all, regardless of how he feels about you.

The initial reaction to someone being told there was no way out was to panic, you however, didn’t..well not outright. Your initial reaction is dark humor—even with the whole censorship thing.

Ragatha is the only one initially disturbed/worried over your dark sense of humor, which should be expected from one of them since they’ve been there longer.

Jax is aware of your morbid sense of humor and often plays along with it, especially in the beginning—later in the friendship though? Yeah, there’s no noticeable physical change, but he’s only a tad worried.

When not tormenting the other’s Jax stuck with you, or vice versa.

After the attempted drowning and standing (willingly) in harm’s way of one (or three) of the rides, Jax keeps your bedroom key closer in hand than the others.

And honestly? Ragatha doesn’t even blame him. You aren’t distant from them, but you do tend to favour Jax’s company. Regardless of her feelings about him as a person, it becomes obvious that he feels something less hostile towards you compared to them.

It takes a while before you finally confess to Jax that prior to being trapped in this digital hell, you were medicated for depression/suicidal tendencies. And while the digital world took away things like needing sleep and food, it didn’t get rid of the thoughts or urges.

Now—had this been someone else telling him all this? He’d be very uncaring and probably make a nasty “joke”, but because it’s you? He’s treading into foreign territory here when it comes to emotions.

There’s not really anything he can say that would make you feel better, but he does show a more rare tender side, offering to be there whenever you need him. Just to backpedal like a tsundere and say that he won’t always be free ( a lie, the fuck else does he have to do?), but he’ll try and make time for you during those moments.

He doesn’t do some pinky promise bullshit, I mean he can and would, but he doesn’t expect his offer and attempts to do that much (words of promise aren’t on the same level as a prescription drug after all).

But if being around his rude ass self and doing the occasional nice *gag* gestures of like, hugging or whatever helps you, he’ll do it—just, not with others around obviously. Again, man has a reputation.

From then on Jax is more aware of where you are around him at all times, not in a suffocating way though. Well, not intentionally, he has his moments. But he’s trying, again this is new territory for him.

Jax makes it his unspoken, personal goal to make sure you don’t tread the line of becoming abstracted.

Bonus (fluff)

Jax will make an attempt not to immediately recoil from your touch when others are present.

I’m not talking “Whoops, sorry to bump into you”, I’m talking about grabbing onto his arm or being in his personal bubble because you need something grounding or whatever.

More often than none his immediate reaction is to just use you to lean on, elbow or arm resting on top of your head to give you some contact and pressure. (He does it out of habit even when you don't need it.)

Sure he probably looks like an ass to others, but after a while, they sort of just get used to it since you never bring up being offended by the act.

But in private? Yeah, sure shoot, just don’t expect him to put any effort into returning anything. Maybe the drape of an arm or his legs, but if it’s really bad? He’ll lay or sit there while you cling to him like a koala.

Jax actually finds it kinda funny how tightly you hold on whenever he gets up.

“Wow, you really holdin’ on there.”

[imagining-in-the-margins]

CM Wrong Recipient Writing Challenge 🎁

The following are prompts including a Wrong/Mistaken Recipient! Reader or OC, Gen/Platonic, AND Character/Character fics are allowed!

This event is over (Masterlist of Fics here), but you are welcome to use any of these prompts. If you would like to be added to the existing Masterlist of entries, please check out the Rules below!

SFW Prompts 🙈

The BAU arrests the wrong person

The flower delivery guy really messes things up

Character grabs the wrong person to kiss at NYE

Character leaves a voicemail for the wrong person

Character grabs the wrong person’s hand in public

Character receives an awkward text from an unknown number (or one they haven’t spoken to in a long time)

Character throws a snowball at their friend… but misses (and hits their crush/an attractive stranger instead)

Talking to different people on multiple phone lines can get really confusing

Somehow Character got on someone's super silly Christmas Card mailing list

There’s a mixup of notebooks and Character finds writings/drawings... of them

Character receives a package they weren't expecting and finds an even more unexpected item inside

The team recounts all the times Penelope said something inappropriate to the wrong person on the phone

Character has been sending messages to their loved one after they passed (they never expected a response)

Character pulls a prank against a fun-loving coworker, but their significantly less playful coworker triggers it

Character leaves an anonymous letter confessing their love, but the recipient insists it can’t be for them

Character enlists Penelope’s help in hacking into someone’s device to delete an unintended message

Anything else you can think of!

Keep Reading for more Prompts and the Challenge Rules!

Dialogue Prompts 🙉

“Oh, God. Wrong house.”

“New phone, who’s this?”

“So… who is (intended recipient name)?”

“Baby, I can be whoever you want me to be.”

“Any chance we can pretend you didn’t see that?”

“No matter what you do, do NOT open that.” “Too late.”

“I’m not complaining, but I don’t think that was for me.”

“What’s the point of the unsend button if it tells them that I unsent something?!”

“This is definitely the wrong number but, seriously, did you think that line would work?”

“I actually can come to the phone right now with a very special message that your mother is a—!”

NSFW Prompts 🙊

Character is a stripper at the wrong party

Character receives scandalous selfies from a coworker

Characters buy books together but take the wrong ones home (at least one of them is erotica)

Character wanted to gift a friend a sex toy as a joke and they used the same wrapping paper for their crush’s gift

Character sends their friend a detailed review of their recent sexual encounter… and accidentally sends it to the person they’re reviewing

There’s confusion and two BAU members end up with the same hotel room (Character walks in to find their coworker completely nude)

Character is waiting for an unsub in a confessional booth (the unsub doesn't show, but someone else confesses unholy thoughts)

Rules

Your fic can be a Reader insert, an Original Character, a character/character ship, a platonic ship, or a Gen fic. It can feature any Criminal Minds character. AUs and crossovers are more than welcome.

Tag me in the fic, or send the link to me in a Direct Message. It can be already written, or you can write it for the challenge - I collect both! You can also tag “#mentioningmargins”

The fic can be any genre, but ONLY send me smut if your bio states you are 18+. I DO NOT WANT smut written by minors. Ever. At all. I will check. Platonic ships and pure, fluffy fics are 100% allowed. Please also include some indication of rating if it is NSFW.

Please include Content Warnings and a one-sentence Summary of the fic in your post. For xReader fics, PLEASE specify if your reader is Female, Male, or Gender Neutral.

Have fun!

Happy Writing!

[t1oui]

going to school and being friends with percy jackson would be REALLY WEIRD so let's discuss it rq

he gets dropped off every day in his stepfather's car, which inexplicably has hoof prints on the hood?

the panic attacks... there's a lot of them, and nobody can even tell what's triggering them at this point

the old counselor disappears about a week into his first year at AHS (here's some cotg lore for yall) and is replaced by a weird lady who finds a way to bring percy up to every. single. student. who visits her office.

randomly disappears multiple times throughout the year

very very sea green eyes and a gray streak in his hair

once got out of the pool after swim practice and was completely dry (he insists it was a trick of the light)

the blue food obsession ofc

talks about his girlfriend annabeth all the time... even his friends are convinced it's a "my canadian girlfriend" situation bc he never calls her. he doesn't even have a PHONE

always carries around a pen in his pocket and even though it's just a shitty old ballpoint, NOBODY IS ALLOWED TO TOUCH IT. also he never uses it. ever.

every teacher has sent an email with their concerns about him to the counselor and when that doesn't work to his parents. the responses are always very awkward and vague

talks about his bio dad a lot... never explicitly negative but bro clearly has daddy issues lol

will sometimes randomly mention camp/war/gods and then brush it off like it never happened

absolutely vibrated in his seat the entirety of the greek mythology unit... told the teacher "a demigod named perseus fought ares once" and the teacher just assumes he means the og (aka the one he's named after)

that one upbeat popular guy everybody knows absolutely nothing about, his friends included

they probably have a spreadsheet with all the info they actually DO know about him

finds a way to brag about his mom in every conversation no matter how irrelevant... his friends are used to it atp

everyone's so used to seeing him smiling and laughing that when, say, he catches a younger kid being bullied, it's actually terrifying to see how angry he gets. everybody in that hallway gets chills

there's something off about him and nobody can tell what. that's just how he is

sometimes weird people in weird outfits are hanging around the school and they're ALWAYS looking for him.

every time someone asks what college he's going to he gives a different answer or straight up avoids answering so nobody actually knows

(if he says a school and someone is like "omg me too" he changes his answer right then and there lol... he's like "oh nvm i forgot i'm actually going here my bad" and the person is so confused)

nobody ever sees him working on college applications but he complains about having to do them all the time... bro is like "yeah i had to go through a sewer system but at least my girlfriend and my best friend were there" and his friends are like yo HUH

never explains anything he says

presentation night presentation = all the shittiest things my family has done and he's laughing about it but wdym your aunt kidnapped you and gave you amnesia???

sometimes he's getting fed up with a teacher or another student and a pipe randomly bursts in the school. like it's weird how often his anger ends in a plumber being called when he's nowhere near the problem

where everyone else is excited to watch a movie and chill in class, percy complains through the entirety of hercules - not just "oh this movie sucks", more like "god hercules is such a dick, idk why they made him chill in this movie"

the weirdest part is how, when percy complains about zeus being a good dad in the movie, it starts thundering outside

nobody can keep track of how many schools he's been to at this point... there's a whole section of the spreadsheet for this

when percy's friends finally meet annabeth they are SHOOK bc they truly did not think this girl was real

alright i can't think of anything else but if i DO i will add on later

[marlboro00999]

So, tell me about yourself, Chris.

"My studies take up a lot of my time. I've always achieved top grades in my chosen subjects. I love the theatre and costume design - I've written a few plays. I'm a good writer, and I like to push the boundaries of acceptibility. People need stimulation and their personal comfort zone needs to be pricked - triggered to question if other possibilities they'd never thought of could be accepted by them."

Are you dating anyone?

"Ha!... No. I was dating for a while, but something happened that changed all that. You see, I started meeting up with a friend after school. He was a good few years older than me, but he made a big impact. I don't even remember how I first met him. That time seems a blur to me now. But I felt compelled to meet up with him when he wanted to meet me a few evenings a week. Nobody had made such an enormous impact on me. He introduced me to smoking, which became more and more regular, as he'd supply me with Marlboro Reds. He became my best friend, and he learnt everything about me."

Really? He must have been quite a guy.

"Oh yes. He really is."

So, what happened?

"On one of the evenings, he took me to a place out of town which was a life-changing experience for me. It transformed my whole outlook on life, and life's priorities."

Can you tell me where that was?

"I can't tell you the location, but it's called the Marlboro Men's Club."

What happened?

"My friend told me he wanted me to meet his friends, so I was quite keen to be introduced. It may seem strange, but even though he knew everything about me, I'd not actually learnt anything about him over all those weeks of meeting up with him and smoking. I can't even explain why. Smoking the cigarettes with him had become an almost ritual process, and I felt incredibly bonded to him through it. I trusted him completely, and can honestly say I'd do anything for him... and for the Marlboro cigarettes."

What happened when you arrived at the Marlboro Men's Club?

"The door was locked, but he had a key. As the door opened, a cloud of cigarette smoke was billowed through the door. He led me into what was a large dark room. It was like some sort of warehouse, but totally wreaked of cigarette smoke. It was such a surprise, but unexpectedly appealing and stimulating. Out of the shadows stepped a number of men, all dressed as my friend dressed, with biker jackets. I wasn't afraid, as I knew they were his friends, and they were all smiling."

So, it was just a few older men?

"Well, actually... no. I was surprised to see a few guys my age from school. Not from any of my classes, but I recognised them from seeing them during break times. All the men and the guys from school were smoking, and all smiled, looking really pleased to see me."

Was the room empty?

"No. There was a very large Marlboro logo on the far wall, illuminated by lamps and candles which adorned a massive stone slap in front of it."

Interesting. So, what happened next?

"I'll simply say that, if the following events were to be included in any of my writings, I'd never be published, and my future prospects in the theater would vanish. However, I can add that after that evening, I broke off with my date. The experience of my ritual initiation into the recently formed Marlboro Men's Youth Club transformed me, and I knew that this was the only family I needed - that no partner could possibly come near to providing the emotional and physical needs that had been revealed to me. I was filled and fulfilled at that stone slab before the Marlboro icon in ways that remain secret, only known to the initiated. I'll simply say that I was brought into full communion with my family and with Marlboro."

What are you writing in that book?

"I'm writing updates on the boys at school that I'm currently nurturing in Marlboro addiction. It's important that I report on their addiction progress, and on my level of influence over them. It's so my family at the MMC can judge when each one is ready for introducing for their initiation."

Their initiation?

"You surely realise that all the boys at the school need to eventually be initiated in the MM Youth Club? It's what's best for them. My family require it. Marlboro requires it."

Check the follow-on story HERE

[beifongboars]

Hot take that may not be a hot take:

Baatar does not get nearly as much smoke as he should for his antics. Like let's be honest. Kuvira wouldn't have gotten as far as she did if it wasn't for his backing, aiding and abetting her at every turn. That mech suit? Baatar. Spirit weapon? Baatar (granted, the idea was plagiarized from Varrick but still). The equipment she has? Baatar again.

Without him, Kuvira would have been your standard military dictator. Which isn't great either, but she wouldn't have been the absolute menace she was once she got her hands on improved tech(courtesy of Baatar and Varrick). Yes, she pulled the trigger. But Baatar gave her a trigger to pull to begin with.

(100% if this was real life, Baatar would have gotten a slap on the wrist, if he was even prosecuted at all. That guy wouldn't see the inside of a courtroom if Suyin has anything to say about it. Suyin, being the enabler she is at times, probably would have shipped him out somewhere till the heat died down, then brought him right back to Zaofou like nothing happened. Regular billionaire shit.

Especially if Suyin plays up the whole "he's young,dumb and love/pussy-drunk" angle to the public. She's already insistent that Kuvira "brainwashed" him........as if he's not a grown ass man that not only chose to follow Kuvira, but was fully engaged to her. As if she didn't raise and foster Kuvira. Then again, we know she'll willingly throw anyone under the bus to protect her public image. Her eldest going to jail would be an embarrassment to her, so it's easier to blame Kuvira.)

As Baatar’s number one fan, I completely agree with you. You know, it was always funny to me that the fandom does the same thing that Su does to Baatar: removes his agency. He is a grown man, albeit young, and he is very intelligent and capable of making his own choices.

I genuinely don’t know why the fandom sees the Earth Empire as something that Kuvira made and tricked Baatar into, rather than a collaborative effort between two people in a relationship. We never see Kuvira scheming without Baatar, she constantly mentions and includes him, and he witnesses her ‘outbursts’ and seems amused by them (choking Varrick, threatening Bolin, etc.) He literally says “Hard truths, Bolin” when Kuvira threatens to send him to a concentration camp. Like, you can’t tell me this man isn’t aware and fully on board. He’s just as into this as Kuvira.

I’m glad someone else can see that without Baatar, the Earth Empire wouldn’t have been possible. I love watching people react to the show on Youtube, and most reactors think that Baatar isn’t even a good engineer (which is literally never implied) and that everything in the army has been made by Varrick. Baatar is not only Kuvira’s right hand man, the second in command, but also her chief scientist – without him, Kuvira doesn’t become the Great Uniter, point blank period.

I think I actually mentioned somewhere on my blog that I HC that Baatar was never even tried for his crimes, and that his ‘house arrest’ is imposed on him by Suyin, and not by any court. The eldest son of the richest family in the world is not seeing the inside of a courtroom, let’s be clear. There was probably some kind of shady deal struck and he walked relatively free. I’m not mad at this, since it’s actually very realistic, but I wish more emphasis was put on the fact that he wasn’t Kuvira’s victim, but her accomplice.

And yes, Suyin really decided to go with the ‘yound, dumb, and full of cum’ defense lmao. Meanwhile, her baby boy has been in a relationship with her foster daughter since before Book 3, according to the official RPG, and she had no idea. So of course to Su it seems like he was suddenly seduced by a pretty girl, rather than schemed with her to accomplish their shared goals. She doesn't really see her son as a person with his own agency, his own desires and goals. She means well, but Suyin really embodies the saying “the road to hell is paved with good intentions”.

Bottom line, it pains me that Baatar is so underrated and underestimated by the fandom, as well as his own family. I’m not excusing him, but I can see how that would be frustrating lol

[darkficsyouneveraskedfor]

Sugar Cookie

Warnings: non/dubcon, allusions to abuse and neglect, oral sex, manipulation, and other dark elements. Not all kinks or triggers are tagged. My username actually says you never asked for any of this.

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

Summary: You try to learn some new traditions for your first Christmas with Tony.

Character: Tony Stark

Day Eleven of the December Daze Challenge.

Prompt - experiencing a new festive tradition 

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

You stare at the floating screen and suck in your cheeks. It's only your first try but you're feeling overwhelmed. Just like always, you can't follow simple directions. You're a fuck up. 

It makes you wonder how you ever ended up here. In this immaculate kitchen with its shining marble counter tops, sparkling appliances, and many gadgets and accessories. Silver pans dangle from the rack hung over the island and knives are stuck to the magnet hold mounted on the wall. Yet you've made a mess of it all as flour dusts over the gold-veined surface and the smell of burnt dough tinges your nostrils. 

"Miss, is appears you've burnt the snickerdoodles," Friday says in her matter-of-fact way. 

"I did," you groan and plant your elbows on the counter, cup your chin in defeat. "I'm sorry." 

"You don't need to apologise to me," she assures. "You should start again at step one. 'Preheat the oven to 375 Farenheit...' 

"The oven's still on, you drone as you turn your face down. "I've ruined it all. I tried so hard but it's just all spoiled." 

"Miss, you can try again. I've already ordered more ingredients so that you can make everything," she insists. 

You puff. That dang computer. Of course, Tony insists that isn't what she is. She's a companion. She's more than code and she's a lot smarter than you, so you should listen. 

You push yourself up as you stick your lip out pathetically. You've never baked before. Tony knows this but it's a tradition. Not your tradition. You never even celebrated Christmas before. You watched it on the old VHS'. The films about daughters or sons or lovers trying to make it home for the holiday. Stuck between four walls, you always just assumed it was another fantasy. 

"Miss, you should dump the burnt cookies. They are not fit for consumption. And put a fresh sheet of parchment paper down." 

You nod and do as she says. Your hands are still fettered in the oven gloves as you take the tray and carry it to the bin. She opens it and you wince. You're still not used to that. 

You return to the counter and pull off the thick gloves. You tear off a new sheet of parchment and lay it on the pan. A frown tugs at your cheeks until they hurt. What if you can't do this? What if you disappoint Tony? He'd just be another person who you let down. There may not be many of those, but you can count everyone you've known on one hand. 

"Begin with the topping," Friday directs you. "Combine the granulated sugar and cinnamon together in a small bowl..." 

It's easier to let her tell you what to do. Almost like she's thinking for you. Tony does that too. He tells you what needs to be done so you're not so worried. Sometimes though, it's too much. All those expectations. Before, you were only ever expected to be quiet. 

You make three lines of four. The dough balls are perfectly arranged. Now you just need to not mess them up. 

"I would be happy to set a timer, miss." Friday offers. 

"Thanks," you say over your shoulder as you slide the pan into the oven. 

"You've made enough dough for three more batches. In the meantime, you could begin on the fruitcake," she suggests. 

"Uh, sure," you agree. 

"Mmm, smells like a fire," Tony's voice jars you before the companion-programmed interface can give her next command. "What're we workin' on, beautiful?" 

You face him and press your sweaty palms to the red apron with the frill edging. "Cookies. Or cake--" 

"There are a dozen snickerdoodles cooking with eleven minutes and thirty-one seconds left," Friday supplies. "And she was about to begin the fruitcake." 

You cringe and nod, "what she said." 

"What about the meringues? Peppermint? Just like I said?" He asks. 

"Sure, uh," you gulp, "you know, Mr. Stark, Tony... I'm not very good at this." 

"You'll get better, beautiful. Besides, it's tradition." 

"Y-yeah, I know, but I... I don't want to screw up or make you sick." 

"Baby, you're just fine. I know you can do it." He steps closer and puts his hands on your arms, "I see what no one else saw in you, huh? You got potential, you just gotta try." 

"I am. Trying, sir," you say. 

"I know, beautiful," he reaches to tap the end of your nose. "Don't be so mopey, alright? Look at all you got; a gorgeous kitchen, a gorgeous house, a gorgeous man..." 

You flick your lashes shyly and look away. He leans in and you let him kiss you. That's getting easier, even if the other things still hurt. 

"You know, there's nothing else I could ask for," he purrs as he draws back, "well, maybe one thing. Whiskey?" 

He looks at you with his deep brown eyes and that crooked grin. It was that look that comforted you the day you met. When the red and gold receded and revealed the very human man beneath. The first man you knew that didn't loathe you outright. 

"Yes, Tony," you answer and spin around. The liquor cabinet opens as you approach. You thank Friday and take out the dark bottle. A cupboard opens and you pull out a glass to pour. You bring the drink to him and smile nervously. "Here you are." 

"You know, seeing as this is your first Christmas and all, you're learning all my traditions," he leans a hand on the counter and sniffs the whiskey before he sips. You watch him tentatively, "we could start a few new ones." 

"New?" You echo curiously. 

He winks and takes another swig, "yeah, all this sweetness," he looks around at the cluttered ingredients, "I'm thinking something even sweeter."  

"Oh?" You bring your hands together and wring them. "What's that?" 

"Friday, scram," he looms close to you and sets his glass down.  

"Reconfiguring to standby," Friday responds promptly. 

He steps up and frames your hips with his hands. He sucks his teeth as he looks you up and down. You shiver as you're reminded of the night before. 

"How about you hop up here?" He keeps one hand on you as he sweeps aside the bag of flower and canister of baking powder with his other. "And feed me another kinda dessert." 

You look at him. You think you know what he means but you’re not sure. You’ll be embarrassed if you’re right. The last time he tried that you couldn’t stay still. 

“Oh,” you bat your lashes. 

“Oh,” he repeats coyly as he squeezes your hip. “You’re doing all this work, baby, why don’t you let me do some?” 

“Um, later... er, the cookies--” 

“I got a hankering for something better than cookies,” he grabs at your skirt and shoves his hands under the hem. He gropes your ass suddenly as he pulls you flush to him. You squeal in surprise. “What are these?” He pinches the fabric of your panties. “I didn’t pull these out.” 

“Uh, I...” you gulp. You didn’t think he’d be unhappy, you can see through every pair he gave you. “I’m sorry.” 

“Take ‘em off,” his voice deepens as he lets you go and steps back. He crosses his arms as his lips straighten to a dire expression. “Now.” 

“Yes, sir,” you blanch and open, your thumbs catching on your skirt before you can get the panties down. 

You teeter as you shove them to your knees and they fall to your feet. You bend to untangle them and stand. Tony takes them from you and flings them without looking. 

“Now, baby, I’m ready for the full course,” He takes you by the waist and turns your back to the counter. “You gonna serve it up to me?” 

You stare at him, speechless. His thumbs curl into your stomach then ease. He trails his hands to your hips and you yelp as he lifts you. You land on the counter and knock over a bowl as you slap your palms on the marble. 

“Tony!” You squeal. 

He hushes you as he raises the apron and your dress up your thighs, “open up for me, beautiful.” 

“Please, can’t we wait--” 

“I’ve been waiting,” he growls and bends before you can stop him. Not that you would even try. 

He grazes your thigh with his lips and his facial hair tickles you. You quiver as he nuzzles along the crease of your leg and against your pelvis. You tense as he grips your knees, holding them wide as he shoves his mouth against your cunt. 

You cry out again. You spasm as his tongue glides between your lips. His flicks around your clit and you whine. It’s so sensitive you could explode. 

You grasp the back of his head and try to push him away, “it’s still too much--” 

He hums and keeps going, ignoring your protests as he suckles on your bud. The pressure is enough to make you buck. You lean back on your arm and hiss. He puts his hand over yours and presses it to his skull, as if to make you urge him on. 

He wiggles his head as he eats you up unabashedly. He snarls and groans and laps. You whimper and shake, your insides consumed in flames. You can hardly stand the heat as he seeps through to your skin. You push your nails into his scalp and murmur his name. 

“Mmm, delicious,” he slithers against your thigh, pressing a wet kiss to your leg. 

You close your eyes as the sight of his head just peeking out beneath the rumpled apron makes you blush. You bite your lip and shudder as he goes back to his eager tending. He clutches your hand tighter as his tongue swirls around and around. 

The smell of smoke tinges your nose again. You sniff and flutter your lashes. You open your eyes and see the silver curls climbing out of the stove. You squeak and try to twist free of Tony. He grabs your thighs and sinks in fingertips in until you ache. 

“Ton-y,” you eke out, “the cook-ies!” 

“Leave em,” He growls as he snakes his hands under your thighs and hooks his arms around them. He yanks you so you fall onto your back, splaying wider as you crush mixing spoons and bags of chocolate chips and sugar. “I got more than enough right here.” 

[coldwind-shiningstars]

my recent surgery will hopefully help my bladder/bowel stuff so lately I have been thinking about continence a lot, and the ways it is so important to me that we talk about it frankly and openly and the reasons why it is so difficult for people (including me) to do so. and I think there are a few different sides to the shame that comes with talking about it that are differently important?

there's the TMI aspect ("nobody needs to hear that!") where even if you're presenting information in a very educational, straightforward way people think of it as much too personal. and I think if your personal sense of privacy works such that you don't feel comfortable talking about these things you should listen to that and not talk about it, but if someone is offering information, even if you personally decide you don't want to hear it don't make disparaging comments about their choice to share it? I also think sometimes people overcorrect -- over the years I've had many conversations about continence when talking about disability and also disabled fictional characters and a number of years ago a friend told me that they were interested in exploring it but were afraid it was voyeuristic, and while I think it can be and there's a lot to criticize about the culture of "tell your entire medical details to the internet" it's not inherently more voyeuristic than other aspects of disability.

there's a disgust reaction which I also think is valid and reasonable to have, a lot of people have cleanliness related triggers etc, but again that's not the fault of the person actually talking about continence? everyone uses the bathroom. you can be polite and make your own choices about what you want to see and learn about but people should not stop talking about these things just in fear that someone else will find it disgusting

and, on the other end, there's the kink aspect which is the exact opposite problem. I want to be clear that I think kinks are morally neutral, if you have a piss/scat kink that's fine, you do you. but I also find myself worrying, when I talk about it, that people will think I'm speaking from a place of Being Horny For It instead of a place of "this is an important aspect of disability for many people." this aspect is worse when I'm speaking fictionally/fandomwise, and of course that's much less important than when I'm talking about Real Life Stuff, but I don't like feeling like I need to preface things with "I Have Incontinence Myself" because I don't think you need an experience yourself to write it compassionately or well and I don't like Telling My Business To Everyone On The Internet. there's a dialectics! moment where I genuinely believe there's nothing wrong with kinks but it's exhausting that that's the primary people talking about something like this, and also again I want what I say to be engaged with seriously.

anyway it's really tiring to me how even in a lot of disability spaces it feels like incontinence is still either shameful, a kink, or a joke. I'm tired of diaper jokes about people you don't like, I'm tired of one-off gags, I'm tired of "ewww" or "TMI!" as reactions. many MANY people have incontinence issues, and the shame around them really does prevent a lot of people from getting help for them! I want it to be something we can talk about