#is so fucking exhausting to me beyond comprehension

[orphicsun]

Hear me out succubus!reader x sub!ellie

warnings: succubus!reader + sub!ellie, slight mentions of inhuman body traits (tongue, claws for nails), tribbing, oral sex (e! receiving)

Ellie knows it's wrong. It's wrong physically, mentally, morally, spiritually. It's wrong in all the ways that count. The predicament she has found herself in is downright terrifying, and it should make her feel similar to how someone must feel surrounded by great, thick patches of forest in the middle of the night with nothing but a dead flashlight and prayers. She should feel each bit of hair raise in the same direction the follicle it protrudes from, and part of her cannot deny the sinister feeling of summoning something so beyond fucked.

But you've got such a grip on her, it's a helpless cause to hope that she can ever feel normal again.

It's easily the third time this week, but she needs it. The craving feels so easy, naturally attained as water soothing the body's thirst. It makes her feel extreme and she finds herself sliding one, two, three fingers into her graciously wet hole, only to whimper helplessly on the brink of an orgasm she will never reach without your help.

It's tragic, really. Walking down the aisle to the love of her life someday, and yet on their honeymoon some place far away, a hotel and soft silk sheets with a poor girl who isn't aware of the ritual a once bored 19 year old Ellie did, Ellie will be stuck in a loop. She'll never be able to cum, no matter how hard she tries. Not to her own touch, not to her wife's, and you'll be long gone by then.

It's a fate she chose for herself, really. She signed the terms and conditions agreement.

But for now, you appear when she feels the need to be stuffed and stretched rise up below her waist.

"You said you'd try to hold out longer," you greet her directly into her ear, deceivingly honey-soft laughter bellowing from your chest. It never gets old, because Ellie jolts, looking around until she finds you in her room. She isn't used to this—a demon available to her whenever she even feels the least bit horny. Not that she is complaining.

"Yeah, well, I guess I've changed my mind." You don't stop to take her in, the boy shorts that hug her hips in a cotton embrace a sight gone to waste as you immediately peel them off of her wanton body. The t-shirt is soon to follow, and Ellie doesn't need to be told to lay down nice and comfortable only to be wrecked beyond comprehension by you.

You're already naked, always are. You're impatient and all of the above, and she doesn't complain. She is ridiculously horny, and unlike you, she doesn't have all the time in the world.

You encourage her legs to part and receive no backlash; then, you find your hips fit snug between them, the fat in the back of her thighs cushioning you like a perfect fit.

Ellie knows this isn't what sex should be, never as perfect as the kind you supply and yet so painful. It reminds her of ballet, in a twisted sense. It's painful and leaves her body and soul weary, but she doesn't take the time to recover, kin to the exhaustion of the dancer whose years of cracked soles amount to an art so refined in the process, it's nearly worth it all. For a ballerina, she thinks it is worth it all. She isn't so sure with you.

She is addicted to the art of being your prey, regardless.

But she needs it like a dosage of her favorite drug, and she lets her hands greedily roam the smooth expanse of your back, drawing patterns over your shoulder blades. She takes all she can get when she is beneath you.

"I can smell how horny you are from miles away, you know." Your tongue is filthy against her neck, each stroke you draw against her jugular sending dopamine through her veins and straight down to her beating clit.

"Please," she murmurs needily, shuddering when one of your leg hitch over hers, feeling your clit easily slide against hers. "Fuck, like that, please. Just like that."

"Good girl, aren't you? Just take it." Your hips rock against hers in a familiar rhythm, just how Ellie likes it. Beneath you, the girl is a babbling mess, whining about how good you fuck her. She is delirious, so much so that she grabs your hips to keep you firmly on her lap as she grinds up against you. It's not enough and somehow too much all the same.

"Fuck, can you please just eat me out?" Ellie blurts out between her panting.

"Aw, getting selfish now?" You coo condescendingly, leaning down to shove your tongue into her mouth. She moans around it and sucks on it, feeling your spit-tanged lips slot against hers in a mockery of a loving kiss. She'll accept it, though. She'll love it.

You break the kiss to lick down her body, pausing on your favorite places. You have sex with her for selfish purposes yourself, none of them really being out of lust, but you still have appreciation for her tits and won't miss the chance to take one into your mouth, attaching your lips to her nipple so you can swirl your tongue around the sensitive bud.

"Stop teasing," Ellie grits through her teeth, voice strained and yet the desperate lilt rises even higher when you giggle against her navel, your path clear.

As if she wasn't soaked enough, you spit on her clit, watching as the saliva rushes down her folds and past her perineum. She moans at the feeling. Your saliva is always oddly cooler than it should be, and as soon as you poke your tongue into her hole just barely, the hot muscle a sensory contrast, her pillow is greeted by the back of her head, her neck raised like an arch in overwhelming pleasure.

You always like to make it painful too, so much so that she craves it when you dig your clawed nails into her thighs as you spread them impossibly apart, and in more extreme cases, she begs you to wrap your fingers around her throat and take her breath from her lungs as she cums all over your free hand or pussy.

Before, it was teasing and had her desperate for more. However, the direct stimulation now has her nearly doubling back in overstimulation before her orgasm. You hold her to her words, though. Your tongue clits against her clit, and your tongue feels unlike any human one, roughly textured. You work against her pussy as if you have found a door into her mind and know just how she imagines her pleasure, drawing it out on her body before she can even begin to describe it to you.

When her orgasm crashes over her, your grip on her thighs shifts up to her hips, pinning her quivering body to the bed. Cries of pleasure tear from her throat so loud the neighbor could hear if he were home. Thank Goddess for the community pool he frequents daily in his speedo, because he won't be hearing his neighbor get her pussy eaten by the succubus she made the mistake of summoning.

It's not art, but you look down at her as if she is—her heaving chest, nipples and both lips coated in your spit, pussy leaking down onto the sheets, clit engorged and red, and scratches marks littering her thighs. It's sends power through you just to see the state you've left her from.

But like always, you're gone before she can even think of uttering a reaction. You stay for the feeding, and you've given her her end of the deal.

Ellie is beginning to think of this as a mistake she cannot undo, however.

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a/n: yeah idk how to feel about this but i'm trying to fully get over my burnout and this is a step!!

[sevsgiirl]

— piss her off ‘til she hates me, pt. 2

pt. 1, pt. 3

mechanic!sevika x reader. men and minors dni.

synopsis: when the vacant house next to sevika’s finally got new tenants she didn’t think much of it. as long as her new neighbors didn’t cause any trouble, all was well. that is until she found out the neighbor had a young daughter.

word count: 9k words.

tags: age difference, alternate universe, mechanic!sevika, brat!reader, enemies to lovers, oral sex, dom!sevika, sub!reader, pet names, scissoring, hate sex, vaginal fingering.

you can check out the fic playlist here.

it’s been two days since you and your father moved in and sevika was beginning to think she had nothing to worry about.

your old man seemed nice enough and his shift at the town’s office started this monday morning. she found out yesterday that he clocked in at exactly 6am and would come back home at 7pm and sevika felt bad for the guy. her job starts at 9am and ends at 6pm, and that was already exhausting for her.

she didn’t have any work today because her boss wanted to remodel the place. some of the paint on the walls had chipped off and her co-worker, ran, almost had one of the metal shelves fall on them due to rust.

but she still went out of her way to wake up early so she can work out, meaning she was able to catch up with your father when he pulled up at your driveway, ready to leave as he unlocked his car while sevika watched from her garage.

she just finished her cardio and was toweling herself dry from the sweat dripping off her forehead when you suddenly ran out in a pair of fluffy pink slippers, your hair in disarray while a thin blanket was draped over your shoulders. you gave your dad a quick hug and he smiled before he kissed the top of your head and sevika had to admit she found the view endearing.

she didn’t have a good relationship with her father. after her mother died her relationship with him got tethered and for the remaining years before he passed it just felt like living under the same roof as a ghost - a shell of a man who once had everything and then nothing, which made her resentful given the fact he still had a daughter, after all. that’s why she admires your father.

that in spite of everything he still looked out for you. and she admires you too in a way, that after everything you didn’t let the passing of your mother weigh you down too much that you still managed to stop yourself from going down the path of an addiction. unlike her, it took her a good chunk of her twenties and thirties to overcome hers, but even now, she still needs at least 4 pints of alcohol to get through the day.

so that’s what convinced her that since your old man was a good example maybe you wouldn’t be too troublesome.

oh, but she thought wrong.

it wasn’t until a few hours after your dad left and she finished her workout and decided to go back to bed was when she heard it.

that awful, grating sound of a speaker blasting music from your bedroom window, which coincidentally happened to be right across hers.

sevika tried to tune it out thinking maybe she’d be able to sleep it off or that eventually you’ll turn it off, but after twenty minutes where you showed no signs of stopping, she begrudgingly got up from bed in only a wife beater and sweat pants hanging low on her hips, marching out of her house and up to yours.

she didn’t want it to come to this, she thought maybe she was just overreacting when she sensed you were going to be a problem but like always, her gut instinct was right.

she pounded on your front door and when you took too long to open it, she scowled and banged on it so hard she swore she could’ve torn the hinges off.

“open up!” she yelled.

the music came to a screeching halt. fucking finally. she never really let her temper get the best of her, she normally had a tight hold on it, but in moments like these where she was given some time off work and to relax, to have that disrupted so early in the morning irked her beyond comprehension. plus didn’t you have any consideration? it’s nine in the fucking morning.

it took a couple of moments before the door swung open and revealed you, still clad in your pajamas (rather skimpy at that, as you only sported a baby black tee and shorts) distracting her with your bare thighs before your voice snapped her out of it.

“can I help you?”

again, your voice got on her nerves because not only was it a huge contrast to your inconsiderate behavior, being soft-spoken and all, but the way you asked the question didn’t help either. you almost sounded like you were the one being inconvenienced.

her jaw clenched “can you turn the music down? it’s so loud and I don’t know if you’ve noticed but it’s still so goddamn early.”

you blinked up at her with your big doe eyes, and if it were any other person, they would’ve fallen for the oblivious facade you were trying to pull. but she knew better.

and you sensed that she wasn’t having any of it either, making the ends of your mouth twitch as you glared up at her.

“you know, I’m beginning to doubt my dad’s judgment when he said you were cool.” you quipped back which only made her chuckle.

“I am, only because your father was good company and respectful. but you,” you dared her with your eyes to continue and quite frankly, she had no problem doing just that “you on the other hand? yeah, can’t really say the same.”

you shot daggers at her with your eyes but you were quiet for a bit despite her remark. then you grinned before walking closer and getting up in her personal space, too close that she was taken aback because she could practically feel your chest rubbing against hers due to the close proximity.

“that’s not a nice way to talk to your neighbor now is it?” you asked, tone dripping with sarcasm while your face hovered near hers, the height difference being the only barrier that stopped your lips from touching hers considering the top of your head could only touch her chin “sevika?”

the way her name rolled off your tongue shouldn’t have made her spine tingle, but it did. you had an obnoxious effect on her and she wanted to justify it as her being annoyed by you. nothing more.

“turn that shit off or else,” she said gruffly before turning back around and walking away, sparing you one last heated glance before she reached her house, and slammed her front door once she got inside.

the music still didn’t stop.

 

𐙚˙⋆.˚

 

it only got worse from there.

she should’ve known better than to confront someone like you who probably fed off on being told no more than anything, and you were slick with it too. you pulled your tricks just around the same time your father leaves for work, leaving no possible witnesses to see how much of a menace you are.

it started with the music, which became louder and more horrendous that she was convinced you only put it on just to grind her gears. it’d last for three hours until eventually you go the whole day before turning it off when you knew your father would come back home.

as if that wasn’t enough, you made some friends. not just any other friends, of course, you just had to get close to powder of all people, vander’s youngest, along with the rest of her friends who’s been sevika’s biggest nightmares for as long as she could even remember.

they’d stop by your house to hang out which would’ve been fine hadn’t powder brought her whole damn crew with her, and she means that literally too. powder and her boyfriend ekko had their own little band as a sideline job which they called the firelights, and for some ungodly reason, you decided to invite them over as well.

the firelights testing out their new equipment in your garage while you and the rest had drinks in your front yard, flinging some of the red solo cups you were using carelessly into the trash bin and of course missing, causing three or four to land on sevika’s yard instead.

combined with the commotion coming from your garage and the fucking littering, sevika was about to pop a vein. she knew she’d have to confront you again without there being other people so as to not cause a scene, so instead, she took her jacket and got out of the house so she wouldn’t have to endure any more of this nonsense. but while she was stomping away, the sound of your maddening voice made her pause.

“afternoon, sevika!” you chirped from where you sat in your front yard in your plastic chair, a stupid obnoxious grin on your face as you drank from your red solo cup before flinging it directly on sevika’s lawn, making her eye twitch before she got into the driver’s seat of her car and slammed the door shut. scowling at you one last time and she swore she saw you giggle.

fucking brat.

 

𐙚˙⋆.˚

 

she couldn’t take any more of your bullshit.

but she didn’t want to make it awkward with your father by bringing it up. aside from the fact she got along with him, she’d seen how tired he was after a long day at work. he does not need sevika giving him crap about how his daughter is a major pain in the ass.

vander and silco seem to agree as well.

“just ignore her, girls her age tend to act like that so they can get a rise out of you.” silco advised as sevika scoffed.

“I’d be lying if I said vi and powder don’t act the same way sometimes,” vander chimed in from behind the counter of the bar, a bustling little establishment he and silco opened years ago, before pouring sevika another pint of beer.

sevika chugged it down in mere seconds, letting out a groan “why did you even let that gremlin daughter of yours befriend her? now I got two problems on my hands.“

vander sighed “you know how she is, she’s sociable. and the girl is new here, are you really mad that she’s making friends?”

“I couldn’t give less than two shits that she’s making friends, my problem is that she and your daughter are causing a ruckus while I’m a few feet away.” she snapped “I only have a few days off before my boss clocks me in again, and I haven’t had the time to enjoy it.”

both men exchanged deliberate glances with one another before vander nodded in understanding.

“I’ll talk to her.”

sevika held onto that promise. even as she returned home from the bar, her head pounding from the afternoon spent complaining about how much of a nuisance you were while she drank her stress away.

she noticed that your father’s car still wasn’t in your driveway, but thankfully powder and her friends already left. relieved, she strode up to her house and up to her bedroom, already wanting to sleep the day away because she knew you’d wake her up with your obnoxious music in the morning.

she begrudgingly stepped into her bedroom while she stripped herself from her shirt, leaving her in only her sports bra as she tossed her keys onto her nightstand, about to turn the lamp shade on when her peripheral caught something from your window.

there you were, clad in a matching black lace set of lingerie. you looked at yourself in your vanity mirror while your hands roamed from your torso up to your shoulder blades until you fidgeted with the thin straps of your bra.

’what the fuck?’ sevika thought to herself as she watched you almost in a daze, entranced at how you fondled parts of yourself while being unaware that you had an audience.

one of your hands reached for your drawer, rummaging a bit until you pulled out a lengthy, purple object that sevika took a while to decipher what it was until it hit her.

you gripped the purple dildo in your hands as your nimble fingers made quick work to remove your bra, unclasping it from behind before it fell graciously down your back. giving sevika a good view of the small dip just above your rear, her gaze moving slowly back up to where your mirror was.

your vanity mirror which gave her a vantage point of your round perky breasts, your nipples pebbling in the freezing night air and you let your palm stroke them slowly, making you shiver as your head fell back, and sevika was sure you let out a moan.

sevika’s throat clamped up. she knew she shouldn’t be watching this. she didn’t like you but it’s not like she should be invading your privacy, it was wrong and she was forcing herself to turn away.

but you were hypnotizing, to say the least. a small little forbidden fruit she was so tempted to take a bite into, curious what you would taste like - how you’d react if the simplest of touches already got you so riled up like this.

she felt her cunt throb at the thought, wondering how you’d feel under her callous hands. if you’d squirm if she decides to manhandle you, pull your hair back while she yanks your hips and jerk you down onto her stra-

she snapped out of her trance when she noticed you were no longer in your own little bubble, eyes finally meeting hers and she startled before running to close her blinds in a hurry. but not before catching the way your eyes squinted, watching her.

fuck. fuck. fuck.

it was like it was your mission to make her life hell.

[rivertinghaze]

Can i request an abbacchio x reader where the reader is similar to howl from howl's moving castle? Like the whole powerful wizard part but also the dramatic mess part. <3

dramatic, with a side of magic | leone abbacchio/reader

rating: general; content: gn reader, magic shenanigans, exploding fruit; genre: fluff with a dash of hurt/comfort; word count: 1052

summary: Leone is not a romantic man, not by a long shot. But he's going to ask, 'damn, is no one going to help this pathetically hot mess in desperate need of help?' and not wait for an answer.

masterlist ☆ requests open

The first time you really try to impress Abbacchio Leone on the job, he tells you to fuck off.

You're not exactly surprised, but maybe, just a tiny bit wounded. The man clearly has no taste – he can see you levitating a whole meter off the ground, colorful sleeves rolled up to your elbows, golden accessories and trinkets on display like a parading peacock, can he not?

"I could conjure a glass of wine for you, from a single rose," you say, circling around him a few times, "I'm wearing my best coat! It's made from a dying sun! Are you not hopelessly in love with me already?"

He raises an eyebrow, unimpressed. "It's a bit excessive."

Hmpft. How rude. 

You flutter down to the cobblestone streets of Napoli, like a gliding feather, and land on solid ground with a sigh. The soft breeze moves your hair around, away from your face, and you have the audacity to pout like a child that was promised ice-cream, yet hasn't gotten any. He thinks this is just ridiculous – that you're ridiculous. 

"And you know this is a mafia job, right? Not some fairy tale with talking animals and moving furniture."

You flick a sparkle of colors from your sleeve with a dramatic sigh. "No reason why it can't be both."

Abbacchio steps closer. You meet his glare without flinching, and see the exhaustion in the lines of his face, the weight of regret pressed into his shoulders. You think he's beautiful, in the way dark storms full of lighting and thunderclouds are beautiful, too. You've always liked chasing storms.

Your hands are trembling. Your heart feels like it's trying to claw its way out of your chest. Yet – you remain still, unmoving. Like a lifeless statue.

Abbacchio has never seen you like this before. Didn't imagine it was possible. He's snapped at you a few times in the past, revolted by how you can never seem to sit still, even for a minute. He regrets it now, because it feels so wrong.

"Did you cast something wrong?" he asks. His voice is quiet, like he's trying not to startle you. Like he's somehow trying to make this casual.

You shake your head, avoiding his eyes. "No. No… just me being –" the crack in your voice makes his hands tremble, "– too loud. Too much. Just… wrong."

He doesn't say anything for a while. You think he's going to leave. You hope it, too, because what reason would he have to stay, especially when you know damn well he doesn't do well with complicated emotions.

"Hey. Look at me." You don't really want to, at first. Something instinctual that wants to protect you from danger. But Abbacchio is anything but. 

(His eyes are a sunset. You've seen colors beyond human comprehension, combinations of hues and contrasts that rival anything normal people usually imagine. But him –)

"Maybe you are different. But it's not a burden. Not to me, not anymore. It's who you are." He sighs, like he's confessing something he doesn't know how to put into words, "It's wonderful. Infuriates me, sometimes, but you never have to change it."

(– he's special, isn't he? He's become someone you look at every time you enter a room. It started as fun, dramatic teasing and flirting, easy banter and cheeky little remarks, but it's grown into so much more.)

Carefully, he presses his hand to the back of your head, just enough to encourage you to lean forward. A silent invitation he doesn't dare say out loud. But he knows. You cry into his chest like a storm breaking, and he stays right there, grounding and real, the only steady thing in your world that never stops spinning.

"Whatever it is, I've got you." And you believe him.

It's been a chaotic, wild day for the both of you, away on a job that went wrong in nearly every single aspect that could have gone wrong. Abbacchio’s scowl is reaching near astronomical levels as he ducks behind an overturned cart within today's make-shift battlefield (a goddamn fruit market!). 

"This was supposed to be low profile."

You're perched on top of a light post, colorful, patchwork cape fluttering wild. "Please, darling! I barely even lit anything on fire!"

"You mean, this time!" He tries to counter as a melon explodes behind him. You just cackle like a wench.

Among the mayhem of enemies, Stands, and unfortunate bystanders that spectate what appears for them to be a wild fruit-fight, you notice it before he does – one of the enemies wants to flank him from the side, too fast to move away or to counter. They are a predator ready to strike, ready to hurt your Leone – 

Time folds sideways. You coax it out, around and away, infinite space between fractals and fragments and heartbeats. The bullet never reaches him, instead snatched into a pocket of stillness, frozen in place like something pathetic.

He blinks. You land beside him with a bounce in your step. 

"You are welcome."

He looks like he wants to say something mean. "You’re out of control."

You grin at him, unbothered. "And you'd be full of holes without me, love!"

Instead of a verbal answer, he glares around the market, the toppled stalls and ruined fruit that have been turned into mush. But during it all – the fight, the chase, the conflict between your team and the enemy – you've been perfectly controlling every tiny detail that leads up to something bigger. No civilians harmed, no irreparable property damage, no wild moves he couldn't predict. You look out for the little things without making a fuss about it.

(You work and you fight in perfect sync, like he's able to hear the song in your heart, the hum that guides you through life with iridescent dreams and wonder-filled steps. He sees you as you are, a wild, untamed presence in his life, one he can't seem to shake off anymore, no matter how grumpy or unapproachable he makes himself appear. He doesn't want to push you away anymore, he thinks.)

And when you dash ahead, laughing, magic trailing like soap bubbles and tiny stars, he follows without hesitation. A traitorous part of him is smiling, too.

author's note: ah, abba my beloved, he's a terrible mess and i've always loved him <3 thank u for the request, this was a fun concept to explore, especially the good old grumpy x sunshine vibes (≧◡≦)

[orbitariums]

rum punch | patrick zweig x black fem reader

writing this because patrick is definitely the type to text you like “if you wanna pull up just to get fucked here’s the addy”

obsessed with this song right now (rump punch by cash cobain) and listened to it over and over while writing this. i recommend listening to compliment your reading experience 🙏🏾 it’s sooo challengers especially patrick zweig coded. let’s review: “top five nasty, you ain’t even gotta ask me” and “soon as you leave i miss u too, like damn”; “don’t be asking questions like a interview cuz you really know what we finna do”...  “i just made her cum twice you ain’t make her cum once”?!!>!##? that’s patrick DOWN. sorry it must be said… 

so a little drabble-ish thing is ahead! contains: cheating (ooops), degradation, smut

it started when you started dating your current boyfriend, or at least that’s what you would tell yourselves to make you feel better about the whole ordeal — not that patrick cared much to begin with. but anybody who knew you and patrick knew that this had been going on for far longer than either of you would care to admit, or that either of you had enough introspective ability to even realize. every single playful shove, every time you squeezed his hand to deflect from parting at the end of a hangout, the way he’d stack his legs on top of yours while you were studying even though he knew you “hated” it, his thumb circling your hand, your head on his shoulder during a late night movie sesh with art and tashi, eyes fluttering closed until you found sleepy heaven in the perfect crevice of his neck. nearly every time you saw each other, which was frequent, you were touching without touching. art, who wasn’t one to make crass comments often, would always tell patrick: “it wouldn’t even make a difference, you should just go ahead and fuck each other. the shit you two do is more than just sex.”

it was 11:16 pm when you called him. your boyfriend had sped off in the middle of the night in a fit of anger after an intense argument about the same thing for the hundredth time. you were so tired. you’d been so close to texting or calling him before, but you refrained — you didn’t want things between the two of you to get messy when nothing in your life was going right in the first place. but now that you were nearly slumped against the wall with tears hot against your face, so tired beyond comprehension, you could blame it on the delirium brought on by exhaustion. you told yourself you just needed the comfort of your close friend, who always made you laugh.

“patrick, can i come over?” you’d asked, your voice trembling, your face buried in your sweater sleeve. 

patrick had never heard you sound so upset — he’d never even seen you cry. when you were around him, you were always so jovial and giggly. so when he heard your voice on the phone, so late at night, sounding so fragile and fractured, his eyebrows immediately knit together with concern, and he sat up on his couch. 

“yn, are you okay? is everything alright, you sound—”

“i’m fine,” you sniffled, breath catching on your voice multiple times. “just-just need a friend. please, can i come over?”

you couldn’t see it, but his features softened, and some wedge in his heart seemed to shift over,

“yeah. yeah, of course you can.”

he was so confused, but just glad to know that you were at least okay, taking pride in the fact that he was who you wanted to be around, whatever was going on. he made some rushed efforts to tidy up his bachelor apartment, sweeping crumbs under the rug, tucking in pillows on the couch, throwing yesterday’s takeout into the overflowing trashcan, and swiping the trash off his coffee table. 

he couldn’t believe how shrunken you looked when you appeared in front of his door that night, clad in an oversized stanford hoodie and sweatpants, slippers, tears still welling up in your eyes. this couldn’t be the same yn pushing him off of her with excessive force and maniacally cackling at his stupid jokes. 

“wh-”

before he could get a word out, you threw your arms around your waist, plopping your head down on his chest. he stilled for a moment out of shock, then relaxed into your touch, embracing you with his arms around your shoulders and down your back, holding you because he knew that’s what you needed right now. 

and then you were pulling away, sniffling and wiping away your tears, finally feeling some ounce of comfort now that you were with him. you knew, you knew, this was what you needed, as much as you had resisted this very thing. 

“it’s chris,” you said, moving past him and inside his apartment, groaning as you plunked down onto the couch. 

now, looking out the open door at the hallway ahead of him, patrick was nodding to himself silently, like he had come to some realization. he sat beside you, and you turned to him with a pout. and it was then that patrick knew he was not a good man for thinking about how pretty you looked with tears streaking your face and your lips pressed together in a girlish pout. 

“he’s like… intimidated by me or something. every single thing i tell him about my day, about work, about my friends, my wins… he’s always finding some thing to harp on like i’m some villain stopping him from achieving his finance bro dreams. he hates that i’m living my life because he isn’t living his yet. so every thing i earn, he just picks it apart and tears it down, questions my motives for everything.”

“he’s a dick, alright?” patrick said, in that ever so frank tone that you honestly missed, and wished you could hear during these arguments with your boyfriend. “yn, i’d never… we wouldn’t treat you like that, me and art and tashi. we’re your real friends, we celebrate you. that’s how a relationship’s supposed to go. he’s a stupid fuck.”

you grinned a bit at his correction, the corner of your lips turning up.

“i know you wouldn’t.”

“can i ask you something though, yn?”

“mhm?” you looked up at him with such innocent doe eyes that he didn’t want to call bullshit, but he was calling bullshit. 

“why… why’d you come over here? why not to tashi or your mom’s or… anyone else? why me?”

you sighed deeply, shaking your head,

“because, patrick, i… i just… want you right now.”

his face impossibly close to yours, intruding your senses and all your walls before you even realized they were up. 

“how do you want me?” he asked, his voice the softest it had ever been, his breath tickling your cheek. 

you were hoping you wouldn’t have to finish your sentence, and patrick knew it — his hands gripped the sides of your face with a stronghold, and then your lips were crashing against each other like a wave coming to the tide, foaming and sputtering and wetting the cracked sand at the shore. and it didn’t take long before you were climbing on top of him and straddling him, your clothes falling off one by one. his rough hand clutching your breast and squeezing, another in your panties navigating your clit like a fucking expert, making your back arch against the air. then your legs by your head as patrick drove himself into you, tender and slow and making you see stars instead of his face and the ceiling. fucking every tear out of you, turning your sobs of pain into sobs of pleasure. your moans were like a choir to him, licking flames against his earlobes each time you whimpered his name, leaving little half-circle imprints in his back with his nails. sweat dripping down his forehead as he clutched his eyes shut and tried not to come too fast, tried not to let the way you wrapped around him like a fucking snake— pussy squeezing his cock, legs trapping him inside you, hands roaming his back like new found land — make him lose focus. 

“fuck, your fucking moans. d’you have any idea how much i’ve thought about this? f- fuck, if you come to me crying again, i’m not gonna go so easy on you.”

if he had an ounce of self-respect, he’d have stopped you after the first time (he didn’t have the discipline to deny you completely), but something about him stirred at the unpredictable predictability of it all. he knew that at least once a week, you’d come crying to him over something your asshole boyfriend did to you, it was just a matter of what day of the week. 

he liked when you came over on friday nights most, because more often than not you’d stay the night, sometimes the weekend, making the excuse to your boyfriend that you were sleeping over at a girlfriend or your mother’s house. but really you were just spending the whole weekend getting fucked by your recovery boyfriend patrick, who would scrape up the little money he had to order food from your favorite thai restaurant every night and watch what were, in his opinion, the most insipid movies he’d ever seen — because he knew that less than halfway through you’d be split open on his cock, sobbing with pleasure into his shoulder as princess diaries became a distant echo in the background. his hand on the small of your back, his vision glazing over as he stares ahead at the tv, too enraptured by the sweet whimpers you make while you’re (attempting to) ride him, the sounds of your slick pussy swallowing him whole in slow intervals, panting and gasping as he speared you open because he was: “so big, patrick you’re so big.”

he’ll snap out of it then, find his hands wrapped around your waist and his lips buried in the crook of your neck,

“it’s okay, baby. you can take me.”

“i’m trying,” you wailed, the frustration so clear in your voice that it almost made him laugh. 

instead, he wrapped his hands around your waist firmly, leading you down onto his cock himself. 

“fuck!” you shouted out, practically collapsing forward onto him. “patrick, please—”

“if you can come to me crying just to get dick, you can take it.”

you gasped at the directness of his words, punching yourself for how much it turned you on. and he knew it too, by the way your pussy throbbed around his dick. you couldn’t see his face, but you could practically hear the shit-eating smirk in his voice as he grabbed your asscheek,

“yeah, your pussy loves it though. and you love being my little slut behind closed doors when your boyfriend isn’t acting right.”

you couldn’t control the moan that tumbled out of your lips when he said that, and definitely not the screech you let out when he started to thrust up, jackhammering into you so his cock reached the hilt. 

“that what you wanted?”

“yes, yes!” you wailed, nodding desperately, positively wrecked as your head practically hung over his shoulder, enveloped in a world of pleasure. 

“yeah… i know…”

and sometimes he won't be so nice. he'll be damn near using your pussy like a fleshlight, his body practically covering yours as he fucks you like an animal, hard and fast and rough, your pussy squelching around his cock each time he rams it into you. he'll use you like he's the one that needs comforting, like your pussy is the only safe haven he knows. and it's only fair, the way you hide out in his house and act like his dick is your life source. he fucks you like he's an athlete and this is his sport, tennis be damned. he'll degrade you anyway he knows how — because he knows you love it, knows it makes you finish two times as fast.

"he doesn't fuck you like this."

"you're such a fucking slut. come over here crying acting like you don't pull up just to get fucked." he'll laugh as he says this, and you want to smack his chest in indignation, but you can't manage anything but moans.

“you’re such a good girl. letting me use this pussy when i want.”

"there you go, squeeze my cock like it's yours."

"pussy's so greedy, getting fucked by the both of us. still so fucking tight."

"your boyfriend's probably wondering where you are." this has made you come twice now.

"whose pussy is it?" (and even though you have a man, you tell him it's his every time. sometimes he doesn't even need to ask, sometimes he fucks you so good that you just scream out: "it's your pussy — it's your pussy, daddy", and he'll chuckle and say: "i know.").

and you let him say these things and more, because he fucks you like no one ever has, like he knows something you told him in complete and total secrecy. like it's something so complex — but all it ever takes is one touch.

your friends have noticed something is different between you two, but it's honestly not a big jump from before — only this time, you guys sealed the deal and were actually fucking now. of course, patrick can't keep his mouth closed for long and ends up bragging to art, and you tell tashi because she's one of the girls, and now there's this unspoken understand between all of you. but no one feels the need to intervene, because honestly... it makes sense.

and you’ll have a conversation with him every other time, telling him “we have to stop doing this.” and one day he replies, 

“yn. not to be a dick or anything, but you’re the one who calls me. you act like you're coming over for comfort, but we both know it's my dick doing all the comforting."

and you know it’s true, you know patrick is right even if he is an asshole. but you won’t let that stop you from texting him: thai food and a movie? everytime your boyfriend fucks up. and patrick won't stop you either.

[penvisions]

wish i never met you {a garnish one shot}

Pairing: Chef! Joel Miller x Professor! Reader (formally known as Bartender! Reader)

Summary: Fear of rejection and messing up so beyond comprehension makes you regret crossing the professional line and getting to know Joel as you do now.

Word Count: 1.6k

Warnings: canon typical language, joel thinks he's the one in charge but we all know it's really reader, religious contemplation, mentions of past trauma, mentions of bad family dynamics, smoking, consumption of alcohol, menstruation, talk of menstruation, blood, cramps, muscle soreness, unorthodox pregnancy announcement, reader is a hot mess, allusions to adult content, allusions to smut, mentions of past p in v, might need to add more if i missed anything!

A/N: wrote this as part of a fun, silly fic title prompt game submission from a sweet anon. it totally inspired an angsty din piece at first that i have in my drafts but then these two slammed into my brain and hijacked the idea. i just love them, your honor. i have so much love for them. NOW I KNOW THIS SUBJECT MATTER ISN'T FOR EVERYONE, I REALLY DEBATED POSTING THIS OVER THE LAST FEW DAYS BC I KNOW IT'S NOT EVERYONE'S CUP OF TEA but i feel like this is a good trajectory for these two, truly. i'm so sorry if anyone disagrees with the direction i took this in and i hopei t doesn't take away from the original series for y'all

ao3 link || series masterlist || main masterlist || ko-fi

“No, fuck off.” Was the quick response to a wide palm caressing over your back. You were hunched over your crossed legs on the couch, aware of how bad the position was for your posture. But it was the only way to find any relief on your aching back. You had thought it was cramps at first, really, but then you realized all the symptoms of your monthly cycle fell in line with something else when the bleeding never started.

“Excuse me, darlin’? You sure you wanna use that language with me?” Joel’s deep voice was tinged with an edge, giving you the chance to retract your expletives. You were never so outright with your denial, never wanting to deny the man a few feet away. But the way in which you had expressed it to an obviously exhausted Joel was maybe too bold for the late hour. But you didn’t take it, instead repeating yourself.

“Kindly, fuck off. Don’t touch me.” You pulled away from him, hunching lower under his hand to break the contact.

“That’s not much better, ya know.” Joel’s hands shifted to his waist, a thick brow raised as he took in the sight of you nearly balled up, the faint light of the screen lighting up your face as you ignored him.

A harsh contraction of your muscles had you groaning out, “I wish I never met you.”

“C’mon now, you don’t mean that.” Joel huffed, trying to keep his calm, but you knew it was hard for him even if you really didn’t feel all that good. You never took your pain or frustration out on him like this, it was always soft murmurs of ‘hold me’ or ‘can I borrow your warmth’. Never the way you were reacting now.

“I don’t know what’s gotten into y-“ His mouth snapped shut, eyes focusing on the screen. On the words you had typed into the search engine. Normally he would tease you over the typos, your fingers not working as quick as you mind for all the grace and focus you normally had to expertly wield a sharp knife.

 Your heart thumped at the sudden silence. The fizzling tension that had filled the room.

“Don’t!” You gasped out, slamming the laptop closed and shielding the device with your body completely.

“Darlin’…” You swore you could hear the cogs turning in his head. Thinking back on the depraved as desperate way you had been seeking him out when he returned home from a late shift at the restaurant even despite the haze of sleep, in the mornings before you had to peel yourself away to go to campus, the photos you had brazenly sent him without warning that had him shielding or turning his phone over throughout the day. Thinking back on the way you had been inhaling food at any occasion, none of your normal contemplation or silence after what you considered a binge. Thinking back on the way you had begun to complain of your work clothing feeling wrong and too tight on your aching body as you dressed in the morning.

When he moved to sit on the other side of the couch, far too close for comfort, you shied away and pressed your back into the arm on your end.

“Not gonna touch ya, you have my word.” He raised his hands placatingly, his expression so soft that the tears burst from you without warning.

“You do-don’t wanna touch me. Not anymo-more.” Hiccups jolted your body, making the skin you were already uncomfortable in tingle. “I ruined ev-everything.”

He regarded you with a small frown, his plush lips pulled down as he clasped his hands together in his lap. Just as he opened his mouth to speak the words flew from you.

“I remember what you said, on the line.” You narrowed your eyes at him as they echoed in your head.

‘It had been a slow day, prep and cleaning taking over most of the evening shift. It had been back before you had taken on a role in the kitchen. Sneaking fries from the bowl of them on the expo line. They hadn’t been hot or even salted, but they were better than snacking on the fruity garnishes at the bar.

He had been passing the time with who you hadn’t known at the time was his brother, Tommy. Who had driven into the city to help take a look at the empty lot beside the restaurant, both of them contemplating the construction of a patio. But they had ended up in the kitchen, hunger too strong a call.

While Joel was on the line, Tommy was beside you, sneaking fries with a wink in your direction. But you ignored him, focused on looking through the catalogue of one of your vendors. Trying to make a seasonal menu. But your ears caught the harsh grunt of the man your eyes trailed over in the midst of busy nights.

“Wouldn’t do it, no.”

“C’mon, you seriously tellin’ me you wouldn’t baby sit for me if I were to gift you with a niece or nephew.”

“No, ‘m too old. Hire a babysitter.”

“You’re full of it ‘n you know it.”

“Brother, a baby is a lot of work. Now, your baby? Even more so.” Joel leveled his brother with a look that silenced any other argument on the matter.’

The moment he realized what you were talking about, his brows flew up into his hairline and he breathed out a hearty chuckle.

“Darlin’, I was just givin’ him a hard time. You gotta know that.”

“I didn’t know you.” You stood up from the couch, body protesting the movement. Cupping a hand over your mouth, you breathed harshly as you tried to tamp down a bout of nausea. “And now that I do, I’m gonna have to consider literally everything on my own and I’m gonna hate how much it hurts to not know you any longer. I wish I-“

“No,” He sighed, brow furrowing before he pinned you with a serious expression. “You do know me now and I wouldn’t turn my back on you, on this. I’m in it, pretty girl, no matter what you decide to do.”

When you whipped away from him, shuddering breaths wracking your sore body, the crack of your voice on a sob spurred him into motion. His arms came around you slowly, giving you the chance to retreat if it wasn’t something you wanted. But you let him, the feel of his chest warm and soothing on your aching back. The push of his soft stomach comforting. His chin hooked over a shoulder, and he spoke in such a somber tone.

“Darlin’, I always thought I was too old to do this again. But I haven’t crossed fifty quite yet and the thought of you carrying my child, of loving me and my child. God, I would give anything for it to be our future. To see you blossom into yourself more, to show our baby the same devotion you give to everything in your life, you deserve somewhere to put all your love.”

One of his hands moved over the one you had on your middle. Holding you so secure, holding you both so secure.

“Joel…it’s a lot. It’s….we’re not even-“ You turned in his arms, facing him. His beautiful, open expression so full of love and adoration, all of it for you. Your heart melted in your chest, dripping low to flutter in your stomach. You weren’t even overtly religious, left over from the trauma of your childhood. Of being forced to attend mass and important holidays alongside your grandparents. The denial of your father never urging you to seek out a higher power in replacement. But the thought of technically being single and going through something like this. It made you afraid.

“There’s a ring in my sock drawer. Got it the day of our first do over date. ‘s why I was so close to the campus. It’s yours. I’m yours. This could be yours. But only if you want it.” Joel’s forehead lightly thumped against yours as he pressed in close. His breath a warm wash over your face, smelling faintly of cigarette smoke.

Looking between each of his eyes, searching for any hint of hesitancy from him it was quiet. When you didn’t find any, you felt a smile pull at your lips as you nodded your head in affirmation. Wet laughter bubbling up as his lips pressed to yours, a smile of his own for you to feel on them.

“But I still expect you to propose, can’t skip any steps with me. I know you think you’re hot shit with being crowned the city’s most prolific chef of the year but I swear to-“

He cut you off with another kiss, his moustache ticking your upper lip as he nipped at your bottom one.

“I don’t wanna miss any steps with ya, darlin’. I’m here for ‘em all.”

It was hard to ignore the stirring of other feelings in your body, drowning out the aches and pains. But when realization hit you, you pulled back with wide eyes.

“We’re gonna have to stop drinking and smoking!”

“We?”

taglist: @tuquoquebrute @jessthebaker @littlemisspascal @76bookworm76 @hiddenbabynyc @clevergirl74 @anavatazes @samiamproductions @sarap-77 @honeyedmiller @undercoverpena

[magicxc]

Safe Word Ignored

Pairings: Survey Corps x Reader

Word Count: 2606

Warnings: DUB CON, NON CON

A/N: As the name suggests this excerpt will be non con so do proceed with caution or not at all.

For a softer, consensual version of this, check out my aot x safe word headcannon. 

Headcannons Masterlist

Safe word - sparrow

Eren  - Eren strikes me as rather dismissive. He’s not necessarily nasty about it, but he’s also not too interested in opposing views, especially when he feels this good.

Face buried into your supple skin, Eren rocked his hips repeatedly into your warm walls, melting with each stroke he delivered. You smelled so soft and powdery - his favorite scent on you actually. He could stay like that forever, inhaling your hypnotic fragrance while your pussy squeezed him just right.

Your long nails slid down his back incessantly, stiletto shaped nails no doubt drawing blood from his tender skin. Eren was no stranger to scratches on his back, in fact he welcomed them, the marks an ego boost and a great addition to his battle scars. But these scratches signaled something else entirely, something a lot less elated.

Your strangled moans are music to his ears. But the record scratch comes in the form of the safe word, just barely audible enough for him to hear.

“Huh?”

“Sparrow.”

“Sparrow? Oh honey, no! Just hold out a little while longer for me, yeah?”

Face cradled into his fingertips, Eren swept away at your wet cheeks, pushing forward until he had reached his peak.

Do you really need the safe word? he thought to himself. It’s me. Safe words are meant for strangers or friends with benefits, testing the waters of what feels best. There’s no need for that in a committed relationship. Your partner should know exactly which buttons to press to get yours ticking and by the convulsing of your body, it’s safe to say that Eren’s found yours; yet again. 

“Honey, I know what you want before you can even think it,” he boasted.

Why would he give you what you want when what he wants makes you both feel great?

Levi - Levi’s blunt can sometimes double as your mean. While you're used to his word choice, it feels very different to be on the receiving end of them. 

Sweaty bodies molded into one, you couldn't tell where yours started and Levi ended. Your skin had begun to stick to the sheets and droplets of sweat gathered in dots littered around your forehead. Head sinking into the pillows, you couldn’t find the strength to raise it up if you wanted to, sad attempts to connect your lips to Levi’s long gone. Though the feeling was great, it had slowly started to take its toll, your body unable to keep up with Levi’s stamina.

“Sparrow,” is the safeword that so wearily tumbles from your lips, exhausted beyond comprehension.

“Really?” Levi questions. “I didn’t peg you for such a weak brat”

The sentence stings and you find yourself too tired to retort, tears kissing the back of your eyelids at Levi’s harsh words. While you were ready to tap out, you supposed offering your body was the least you could do in support of humanity’s strongest soldier - opting instead to lie there until he was finished; hoping that sleep would find you soon after.

Erwin - Erwin isn’t much for the long talking, therefore radio silence is all you get from him.

Thighs clamping his face firmly between your legs didn’t quite give you the reprieve you were looking for; Erwins thick muscle relentless against your clit. He works his tongue to perfection, your pussy dripping its praises in the form of soaked sheets. But it’s not enough for Erwin, its never enough for him. Ever the achiever, it takes more than shaky legs to get him to ease up, your vision darkening on multiple occasions at the sensory overload.

Teeth scraping against tender lips, you’re hesitant to mutter the safe word, but the next rush of fluids has you screaming it before you can stop.

“SPARROW, UHNNNN SPARROW. FUCK!”

Tongue reattached to your pussy, you just about passed out at the discomfort; what once felt so heavenly now feels borderline sinister. Twist and turn as you might, Erwins heavy hands pressed firmly against your thighs to hold you still, intent on eating to his heart's content.

Black dots dance around your vision, relief filling you to the brim. It doesn’t take long for the next wave to hit, knocking you unconscious as you welcome the darkness with open arms.

Connie - Connie hates the idea of you using the safe word but he hates the idea of stopping even more; so he’ll pacify you with soft words of encouragement until he’s finished. 

In the heated moment of roleplay you found yourself bent over Connie’s knee, a stinging sensation left behind after each slap to your ass. Hands clamped over your lips at first stifled light giggles, excited at the persona Connie had picked up - now they stifled your groans of discomfort, eagerly waiting for your 'punishment' to be finished.

thawck

Oh that seemed to do it. The final slap to your ass had tears sliding down your cheeks quicker than you could stop them, your feet shuffling about the floor to get a good balance. But Connie’s arm tightened around your waist, another crackling smack booming throughout the room without missing a beat.

“Not you running," Connie chided. “Bad girls don’t get to avoid punishment.”

“M’sorry Con, but it’s just too much."

thawk

“Sparrow,” you squeaked, lips quivering from the tingling ache.

“Awww buttercup,” he condescendingly cooed, rubbing soft circles on your butt. “You talked all that big talk earlier and now you’re calling it quits? C’mon just five more minutes, can you at least give me that?”

Hesitantly, you nod your head, lips tucked carefully between your teeth as you stared at him through wet lashes.

The eery grin that he sends your way is indication enough that his five more minutes will last anything but; and it did. For how long you couldn’t tell, but you’d definitely be sore as hell in the days to come.

Jean - Jean can get gaslighty for sure. It's to the point where you begin to question using the safe word in the first place. 

The moisture that gathered between your thighs was the cherry on top of the pride that swelled within you for making Jean feel so good. His breathy moans, his heaving chest, his fluttering eyelids - it gave you such a dynamic feeling. And apparently it did the same to Jean, his high so good he intended to chase it.

Hands buried in your hair, he used it to guide your plump lips to the very bottom of his shaft, the spongy feeling of your throat he once described as ethereal. Jean was a big boi and by all means required some prep; prep you weren’t entirely done with.

So the unexpected intrusion hits your esophagus in all the wrong ways, the feeling pushing your gag reflexes past its limit. The gurgling of your words and the spit that eases you down his dick no doubt makes for a delightful experience only it has you feeling the opposite. 

Fists tightly balled, you use them to beat against his legs, hitting just hard enough to catch his attention.

“Talk to me my love, what’s the problem?” he asked, hands still bobbing your head, only a little less vigorously.

Enough time goes by to where you realise he’s not letting up, so instead you try your best to mumble out the words around his dick.

“Sp- sparr- ow,” is the best you can manage under the circumstances.

And as muffled as it came out, there’s no doubt that Jean heard you, disappointment clear in the lengthy breath he blows past his lips. You’re sure he’s annoyed, but what's the point of the safe word if you can’t use it?!

“You do love me, don't you?” he asks in between bobs. “You are mine are you not?”

Fingers gathering your hair into a ponytail he pulled it back, just enough that the head of his dick rested on the tip of your tongue, steely eyes glaring into your soft ones.

“Uhh huh,” is your mumbled response.

“Then why would you put me in such a predicament? I’m so close already my love, couldn’t you stay put a little while longer?

Wide doe eyes meet his, trepidation keeping you from uttering the word once more; his shaft wasting no time in making a home at the very back of your mouth.

It doesn’t take long for Jean to loudly sing his praises, his boisterous moans dripping from his lips the same way his precum drips down your throat.

“There ya go. Good fucking girl,” he commends. “Besides, girlfriends can't say no.”

Onyankopon - Ony can come off snarky and sarcastic to mask his irritation.

Sex with Ony typically felt hot and sexy. The pure lust and raging desire usually made for a good time. It felt like a movie scene where the couple was so eager to be with one another that it got messy - missed kisses, sloppy hair, wet lovebites, tangled limbs. 

You tended to be in lights, camera, action heaven but today felt unusual. Understandably prep was a must when it came to Ony and you hadn't have much of that in the heat of the moment. It wasn't until he was fully seated inside of you that you’d realise the wetness at the center of your core simply wasn't enough.

His thick fingers delve into the softness of your flesh, dragging your hips up and down to a fierce rhythm. Eyes clamped shut you bounced until the feeling had become too much; too intense to ignore. 

“Sparrow,” is what you breathlessly pant through thrusts. 

“The fact that youre not my wife bothers me at least once a day,” he confessed. “But how can you be when you pull shit like this. 

“Ony I-“

“Do you really want me to stop?” he taunts between languid thrusts. 

Ony had slowed down considerably from the overwhelming force that he once delivered to your pussy, reaching up to swirl his tongue around the lobe of your ear. It soon lands on the sweet spot beneath it as his thumb rubs figure eights on your clit.  

“Is that what you want mamas? Hmm?”

Intellect had long since left you and now all your body could focus on was the mind numbing sensation. No matter how good it felt, a break was still in order but Ony wasn’t in the mood to be convinced. 

Reaching up to the shell of your ear, his lips ghosts against the tip whispering, “yeah, that’s what I thought. The ‘a’ in my name stands for always right; now gone ahead and come for me.”

Reiner - Reiner can't think of a way to justify his lust over your comfort so he’ll opt for tuning you out, physically if he has to. 

The squelching of your pussy made it clear that Reiner was putting in work. Your body would happily create the moisture it needed if meant that he could drive into you at the angle that made your eyes cross over. While you normally didn’t mind helping Reiner with a little stress relief, today he'd made you feel low.

Physically you felt euphoric, but mentally you felt degraded. You felt cheap; almost like someone he threw money at to remedy his frustrations. He’d treated your body so recklessly it brought tears to your eyes; scared to blink at the off chance that you wouldn’t be able stop them from flowing. So you settled for the safe word instead. 

“Sparrow,” you whispered. 

Face scrunching in confusion, it was the first emotion that you were able to clock aside from the blank stare he previously offered you. His thrusts never waivered and you briefly wondered if he had heard you. Lips parting to utter the word once more, Reiner planted his hand over your mouth, grunting out his disapproval.

Shock stiffened you to a standstill, feeling only the way that his hips drove into yours. You lied there, taking every thrust and listening to every moan. Reiner continued to touch you in all the ways that brought you pleasure, and when you finally found yourself tipping over there edge, there he hovered; a twisted smile curled onto his lips.

Armin - Armin is distraught, but somehow not enough to comply. He’ll apologise profoundly while still inside you. 

Armin loved having sex with you. The feeling was immense, but it was the actions that brought him the greatest satisfaction of all, like how you would wildly writhe beneath his body when you were almost to the finish line. He enjoyed seeing you reach out for him when you wanted to feel close, moan his name after he'd made you so cock drunk that it was all you could muster up the strength to repeat, cum around his dick over and over again, sink your nails deep into the flesh of his skin - Armin looked forward to it all.

Hands tugging on the clamps attached to your nipples, he admired how sexy they looked. Swollen enough to seep through the clamps, it took everything in him not to dive down and add to the excitement, his thoughts racing with ideas on how to make you feel even better. Thrilled at the possibility that your lust would trickle down at the base his dick, he just about came right then and there.

But the enjoyment wouldn’t come this time around as the clamps added a layer of pain that felt far from blissful. If anything they hurt, and combined with the tugging you figured it best to cut the night short.

“Sparrow,” is what slips from the confines of your throat.

Ashamed is the emotion that you make out across Armins features, but not for the use of the safe word, rather it seems to be in response for his lack of concern.

"Ohh sweetheart, I'm so sorry," he repeatedly murmured.

Forehead pressed into your cheek, his tears mixed with yours as he rode himself to completion, apologies never ceasing even as he went flaccid inside you.

He could scream his regrets until he was blue in the face, but it meant very little when his body found pleasure at the expense of yours; especially considering that he wouldn't hesitate to do it again.

Floch - Floch will outright blame you for feeling so good. Shame has no place in his house nor heart.

Floch was an ass man through and through. He loved claiming you in the forbidden hole. And you’d gladly comply; giving your heart and your body in service of him. It was one of those things where his pleasure intensified yours. 

The grunts and growls, moaning and howling - you were always a soaking mess long before he could make you cum. However, this time felt a little different. You couldn’t place it exactly but you just weren’t feeling sex at the moment. You’d held out for as long as you could, hoping that maybe you needed to be warmed up a little more, that maybe Floch just needed to lay into you just right; but, nothing. 

“Sparrow.”

“No can do sugar,” he scolded from above you. “You see I’m just getting started and I ain’t letting up until I’m done.”

You wanted to be shocked, to be disappointed, but unfortunately you weren’t the least bit surprised. Floch had this determination about him to see things through to the bitter end, even when all the odds were stacked high against him; even now when you strongly opposed his selfish desires.

But he somehow always managed to get what he wanted. And there he stayed, buried to the hilt as he continued to thrust into you from behind, smugly whispering about how good you squeezed him, as he kissed along your heated skin.

[velvetvexations]

This is a protective ask. It encourages you to check whether you really want to answer the asks beneath yet. Be good to yourself, you do good work for all of us <3

Thank you, anon. <3

sick of feeling like queer spaces seem to expect masculine people to be protectors and supporters without ever expecting to have to give us protection and support too. it's always how trans mascs can be allies to trans femmes and never the other way around. it's what about the scary trans man in the women's bathroom and little discussion of the threat we are under in these scenarios. it's always use your masculinity to protect me, but nobody can give without receiving. support and protection are features of community and community needs to be at least somewhat mutual. I refuse to constantly put myself in danger to protect someone who sees my suffering simply as an inherent duty of my presentation. let me be butch and slow and gentle for a change. let me be scared and held please.

I'll hold you. It's okay. You don't have to put yourself in danger to be a man, I promise.

people love love love to be blatantly misogynistic towards trans men/mascs and be like "well actually its subversive because he's a man! teehee!" was it subversive when i got told to shut up because i was the only women present (post coming-out) was it subversive when i got told i had to wear a dress to show off my feminine figure (post coming-out) was it subversive when i got called shrill mid-argument (post-coming out) was it subversive when nobody except me would clean the communal areas in the flat because i "did it so well" (post coming-out) was it subversive when i had my music taste made fun of when i was a 13 year old girl? is it subversive now that im a 20 year old trans guy? am i not the same person? is it subversive when people talk about trans men the same way people talk about teenage girls. is talking about teenage girls like that subversive if they come out as trans men later. or is it maybe a little different?

I'm sorry anon, you deserve so much better.

This discourse is always so fucking bizarre because IRL I'll be hanging out with trans women, getting fun updates from my friend on how her E dosage is going and her first foray into wired bras, spending time with the only other transmasc I know IRL at a 'women + nonbinary people' event because that's literally the only queer space near us intended for transmascs, and it's just incredibly obvious people perpetuating this discourse don't go outside

touching grass is vital

The shortest line joke reminds me of the fact that when I was more femme presenting & the women's toilets were blocked off, I went into the men's bathroom and a man went 'Ah! You scared me' and I was like at last, I am the threat <3 I haven't tested to see what will happen if I go to the men's bathroom now that I've started getting weird looks from women from being in theirs. Probably more of the same. It's hard out here being a bathroom liberation free the nipple communist

so true

i spent an hour arguing with a TRF and i'm exhausted. there's a reason i have a boundary with myself about getting into discourse. i don't know how you do it, but thank you for doing it from those that can't <3

I do what I must because I can <3

oh and then the same person said she think its funny to call trans men ‘birthday boys’… i neeeeed to mock and infantilise all trans men because a couple of them disagreed with me!

context

if someone treats you that way call them a slur back until they stop

(do not do that)

Yo it hit me over the head just now- i think there's a large portion of transfems who never did any gender work beyond their own. Like the running joke of 'of course every guy secretly wants to be a girl'; I'm not sure they can conceptualize us wanting to be masculine for any reason so there has to be some sort of 'ulterior motive'

Correct, though stupid selfish assholes with the same lack of comprehension or desire to comprehend the experiences of others come in all kinds.

[dufferpuffer]

I have read some of your long and comprehensive meta on symptoms of lycantrophy, but this is more of a headcanon question:

Remus suggests Bill might have some “wolfish traits” after his attacks. Could werewolves in their human form have enhanced sense of smell or hearing, or immunity for some water borne diseases, or other “wolfish traits”?

Would they be immune to Polyjuice just like Hagrid? Could they be immune to other potions and poisons? Or even spells or curses?

There’s also the moon factor - some people attribute Remus peakiness to the dread he feels before every transformation, some to the “pull of the moon”. So much to explore.

What I sense is that people are trying to give an overlooked side to lycantrophy that might not be that bad or painful, and sometimes I rather like that.

I’ve read some interesting works (some good some bad) that indicated that lycanthropes carry a magic of their own, more intuitive and primal. Personally, I find that exciting to explore, as the myth of the werewolf is really ancient and could be linked to some really cool lore. I also like the idea that shouting latin words and shooting sparks from a wand is only one way of doing things, and that magic itself can be manifested in more mysterious ways that prejudiced, self-important wizards don’t bother to explore.

Half my opinion and half asking for yours, the lycanthrope expert! Beyond uncomfortable pathological symptoms, how do you think the biology of a non transformed werewolf might change?

Thanks for reading my ramblings B^) I'm gonna engage with everything you brought up because thats what I feel like doing, its really really fun to talk HCs and theories

WEREWOLF HCs AND THEORIES

Like... 2000 words or something idk

The Moons Effect My theory is that symptoms are caused not by the Full Moon itself but a culmination of magic the moon puts into the atmosphere, getting stronger through the month until the Werewolf 'pops'.

You don't need to be touched by the Full Moonlight to transform, it happens regardless of where you hide... so it's in the air.

Yet Remus seems to be triggered by Moonlight when nobody expected him to be in PoA. (Part 3 is my theory on that in more detail.)

When they get symptoms before the Full Moon, even during the day, its like something is building up in them.

Their Lycanthropy (Dark Magic curse or Virus or both… perhaps a Virus with its own magic?) seems to feed on the Moon's energy.

I'm sure Remus feels dread before his Full Moon, but I think his peakiness is more than that. I doubt someone like Fenrir would feel that dread - but still has recognizable symptoms pre-Full Moon by Lyall (according to the 'Remus Lupin' Pottermore page)

'Pull of the Moon' is a good phrase. I like that. The moon is getting stronger and their Lycanthropy is responding in their cells, affecting them physically, preparing…

What are 'Wolfish Traits' in canon...? It is SO FRUSTRATING we don't hear more of this, ONLY that Bill likes his steak bloody. The story is teasing me. Leading me on. REMUS WHAT DO YOU MEAN 'WOLFISH TRAITS' DARLING PLEASE DON'T LEAVE ME HANGING YOU FUCKING FLIRT

Remus is not ''obviously'' a werewolf. He puts a lot of work into that. Whenever people have worked him out (James/Sirius, Snape, Hermione) it has been based on his disappearances, not on how he looks or acts otherwise.

+ There are vague symptoms pre-Full Moon (as Harry notices in a memory and that Lyall Pottermore thing), + Weakness and loss of weight post-Full Moon (though that could be directly tied to exhaustion from transforming) + And of course - the transformation itself. The psychotic break of becoming a violent bite-hungry wolf. ...Thats it. Thats is all we know about what traits are definitely caused by Lycanthropy.

I can only assume Bill goes through some minor version of this: Maybe he feels a bit off around the Full Moon. Maybe he gets a bit hairy, maybe the moon gives him insomnia and a bad mood… ...I like to think so. As you said - sometimes its nice to think about over-looked sides of Lycanthropy that aren't 'as bad'.

After all, while still horrible, the Full Moon isn't the most major 'disabling' trait Remus suffers. Sometimes he even LIKES the transformation. No, the worst symptom... Is probably the fatigue. Even on Wolfsbane he needs multiple days off work, feeling too horrible to show up for Christmas lunch. The thing that stops him from working, that reveals what he is to a bigoted society, extending beyond a night of delirium and pain into days of suffering… are his 'less bad' symptoms. (That's something often overlook with disabilities: it's often not the loudest symptom that are the biggest problem - but the management of them, the complications of it, side effects from treatments, poor mental health from dealing with it physically and socially... I love you Remus Lupin)

Potential Wolfish Traits There is no evidence that, even transformed, Werewolves have heightened senses. Pottermore says their eyes and snouts are 'more human' than a True Wolf - though that doesn't like… mean much. They could still have wolf-like smell and night vision and stuff. Or they could not. Apparently Muggle and Wizard blood tastes different - whether that is Lycanthropic instinct, heightened taste/smell or sensing magic… who knows.

In any case, I don't think in Human form they do. If Remus had heightened senses he could surely have smelled Scabbers. He could have smelled Padfoot. If heightened senses are a known trait then surely Remus could be sent out to pick up Sirius' scent and track him. (unless it isn't quite strong enough for that...)

In terms of fun HC - I do like it. B^) + I like the idea of Remus being able to hear people approach his office from further away, so he is always prepared. + I like the idea of him being not-so-good at potions because the smells are overwhelming. + I like the idea of him, and all Werewolves, being more active in the dark without Lumos because they can see better. Sneaky.

We get hints that there are 'Wolfish traits' one can tell a Werewolf by, even when in Human form… and I like the idea of them being subtle habits. Or you just blow a dog whistle and they flinch.

There's more evidence against this than for it, though. I don't think it is canon… but it is fun :) In any case it would most likely get stronger around the Full Moon and weaken by New Moon, as all his symptoms do.

THERE ARE SOME THINGS THAT MIGHT HAVE SOME CANON MERIT THOUGH: Magical resilience; Physical dexterity/strength; Healing; Greying.

Fenrir seems to take more powerful magical hits. Maybe he's just a badass. (He is. Punk grandpa is an icon tbh.)

Fenrir can run FAST on four legs in his Human form. Normally people run kinda slow and awkwardly on four legs. Added strength and flexibility from Lycanthropy...? Perhaps he's just a REALLY intense furry and has trained meticulously. No shade - that's impressive

Remus was attacked around the neck and clawed at by Sirius Black, enough to scare him off from a bunch of human prey - but shows no injury the next day. Maybe Sirius didn't break skin. Maybe accelerated healing is just a Transformation thing. Maybe... Lycanthropy wants to help keep it's host alive.

What do Remus and Fenrir have in common...? Grey hair. What colour is werewolf fur? Grey. Could this just be that Fenrir is old/used to be stressed, and Remus is so stressed now that he is going grey? Yes. But honestly if most werewolves go grey early from the stress of life... that's kinda a symptom by itself anyway.

4. Polyjuice Polyjuice is a dangerous potion - as we saw with Hermione. Cat fur messed her form up and prevented her from shifting back easily, because it was a different animal. It seems the only way to cleanly shift your physical appearance is with 'matching' species DNA or whatever.

Hagrid would be the same: he is a different animal. If Hermione became part-cat when she had cat fur and got stuck… I think if someone had Hagrid's hair they would become part-half-giant and get stuck. (same for Hagrid into a full-human, his Giant genes wouldn't know what to do.)

Remus is full-human. I don't think there would be any issue.

Whether or not someone disguised as him would have Lycanthropy symptoms… I'm not sure, but I don't think so. The potion takes into account physical damage and deformities. It copied Harry's eyesight, Alastor's amputation and disfigurements… but copying an infection? If you took hair from someone who had the Flu, would you feel the Flu when you turned into them?

I don't think so - because things like infection and viruses are living creatures in their own right. Like you wouldn't sprout head lice if you turned into a kid with head lice. (Whether virus' are 'alive' is debated a bit, though I see no reason not to consider them alive just because they need to be parasitic to cells to function.)

If Lycanthropy is more like a curse than alive - does a curse transfer through Polyjuice? I doubt it. No curse on Alastor is injested by Barty through his hair. Magic is very intent-based, and the intent of Lycanthropy is spit-to-blood.

Also I just think its more interesting if, like personality and habits, you had to pretend to be sick to pass at the person you disguise as.

HOWEVER - if you took werewolf FUR… Polyjuice takes into account ones current physical state, right? Remus' physical state changes dramatically, painfully, magically - into a wolf-like creature.

A change has happened that is different to what a non-infected human can experiences. Taking werewolf fur, I think, would result in a cat-Hermione that gets stuck in a non-human shape. Same with Animagus fur/feathers/etc: they are humans, but they are in a shape and size that is not what a human that hasn't magically trained their body through the procedure can mimic.

The question I want answered is whether Minerva can have cat-fur Polyjuice and turn into a different looking cat. She's on the registry as a tabby, so she sneaks around disguised as a Calico…

Wolf Magic Magic isn't just latin words and wand sparks. Wands are a European thing - they aren't used much in Africa etc, where they use their hands more. We even see that, as a Wizard becomes more skilled, they don't need to say anything. Wandless magic is advanced. it seems wand movements, words and even wands themselves are just tools to aid in learning, to focus ones magic.

You can follow a recipe to bake a cake - but if you're good at baking, you can just throw that shit together, experiment on the fly.

Since Werewolves are a very old phenomenon with a magical root - whether that be some ancient curse, or Lycanthropy is some sort of magical creature virus - magic only available to Werewolves sounds pretty cool.

I don't like how it further differentiates werewolves from other humans, because the theme is that they ARE humans like everyone else and are being treated as 'other'. I wouldn't want to make them superheroes by accident, yknow?

But like… there's a million cool ways to take werewolf magic. I like the idea of utilizing the magic within the virus/curse itself. It's evidently incredibly powerful, physical, draws and stores energy from the moon, using a human as its puppet to spread itself... What if there were ways to utilize parts of that…? A symbiotic relationship with ones parasite, for better or for worse?

6. Biological changes of a Werewolf - headcanons B^)

I'm a big fan of the idea that Remus is living unhealthily by stifling his Lycanthropy while Fenrir is living healthy by indulging it. Remus is thin, pale, bags under his eyes - despite being young. Fenrir is rangy, tall, heavy, strong - despite being older.

It is a negative experience to take Wolfsbane and stifle the transformation - it is a positive experience to run around with Animagus friends and embrace it.

Lycanthropy is a severe thing. Once a month, EVERY month, you go through a complete physical change. It is painful to endure, you get into fights or self-harm - and Remus at least comes out thinner. There's no way that doesn't do anything. Especially as you get older.

So, my HC, is that Remus - being unhealthy - gets a lot of aches and pains. His body doesn't transform well. + He doesn't eat enough because he wants to be as weak as possible. It's safer. + His fatigue afterwards is worse. His small bones like his fingers sometimes don't set right, costing him more in potions... unless he just puts up with it. + His Wolfish-Form looks like shit. Patchy fur, thin, always panting... + He looks a little wonky from a childhood spent transforming every month - on less food than he should have had. Like he is on the short-average side, but has a stretched spine that makes him look a little taller. Nothing much visually - but can give him joint pain.

Fenrir DELIGHTS in his form. I don't think he has aches or pains much at all - his body transforms well. He encourages it so much, as he gets older, it's leaking into his Human form. + He is described as having 'whiskers' - and I take that literally. Nobody else has their facial hair described in that way, and he is a hairy man with long unkempt hair - he aint shaving... and somehow I doubt he has a patchy enough beard to be called 'whiskers'. I kinda think he straight up has whiskers. + Hairy. He has enough hair to be called fur. + Wolfish form is epic. Strong, noble, heavy, vicious, huge... + I can accept he sharpens his nails - but his teeth? He sharpens his teeth? I think they're natural, because sharpening teeth makes them weaker. His body is getting used to biting outside the Full Moon. + His fatigue afterwards is better than most, but his pre-Full Moon symptoms are stronger, his body AMPED UP in anticipation. + His body is more flexible, more used to different movements, that biting, scratching, prowling, walking on four limbs... its easier. + His voice is ravaged. A unique coarse, rough, barking voice.

Fenrir is a chad who can chase down a rabbit on all fours and catch it in his teeth - while Remus grunts a few times trying to tie his laces. Fenrir shows the signs of his Lycanthopy outwardly as he gets older, while Remus shows them internally as he fails to look after himself.

Regardless of how 'healthy' a werewolf is: + Snarling, growling, whining... all something you get used to. Deep chesty rumbles. A few years of being a werewolf and you're so practiced at it it's second nature. Fenrir embraces it - Remus takes careful control of his emotions so he NEVER slips up. + Hairier in general. Even Remus. They just have more body hair. Because I am biased towards typically masculine traits? Yes. + The bloody meat thing. A heightened desire for protein, better at tasting different things in meat and blood. Safer to eat, too.

[touchyourthighs]

Set list (pt 2)

I finished the rest 😟

WC: 4.7k

General warnings: raw, premature ejaculation, fem reader

“Hey are you hungry?” He says looking down at you curiously.

“I ate before I came,” you say looking up at him.

“Oh, come on, come try this place with me I promise it’s worth it,” he says jumping in front of you hurried near pleading.

You sigh a deep sigh. You honestly just want to go home you don’t want to sit down in a restaurant. You don’t want to stand if it’s a food stand you want to go home.

“Paul, please I just want to go fucking home right now dude,” you say crossing your arms frowning at the boy that’s blocking the way from your path to your sanctuary.

“We can take it to go I’ll call right now and we can go,” he says pulling his cell from his pocket dialing holding his hand in front of you. The only thing you can see right now as you see this man standing in front of you with his hand to your chest is a privileged white woman calling the police on some random for existing.

You sigh a deep deep sigh, why the fuck are you entertaining this bastard. You’re on the verge of screaming at him. Any thoughts of him being attractive have gone out the fucking window. You stare at him blankly exhausted already from his man, not even a you only live once moment this is a take me home or I’ll rip your balls off moment.

“Okay we got it, we’ll pick it up by the time we make it by the train it should be ready.” He says giving a thumbs up.

“Fuck off,” you say quietly to yourself and begin walking past him, annoyed tired, frustrated.

He’s running up-to you to catch up his shuffling of his instruments making it sound like he’s a work horse.

“Fine whatever let’s fucking go then,” you say increasing your pace and wrap your arms around yourself your skirt providing minimal warmth to the rising wind speed. He remains nonverbal till you see the train station and pulls your arm to the side.

“This way,” you follow his words, and his motion letting yourself being dragged by the blonde. He pulls you to the side of the street and you both keep walking for about a block more and he stops Suddenly. “We’re here you can wait here, I’ll be 5 minutes,” he says before you get to say a damn thing and turns around running into an old Chinese place. You put your hands on your face, In disappointment. It’s okay free meal, free CD, it’s okay. You’re thinking about how you’re gonna kick your shoes off and get butt booty ass naked and take forever to get dressed again, and just like that he’s back breaking your concentration holding up a bag of food. Looking pleased and smiling a satisfied and happy smile. Makes you mad.

“Fucker, you don’t listen lets go” you say turning on your heel, huffing like a child you honestly can’t help it at this point.

“Drama queen much? You’re gonna fucking thank me watch,” he says snapping back. Food in hand he’s practically skipping, you’re just excited to go the fuck home. You guys enter the subway and that’s that.

(Not writing TS again)

Your stop is announced and you stand to exit and Paul follows, you notice and make sure to walk ahead of him, till you’re home at least. You walk maybe a couple blocks more and see your apartment ahead you smile at the sight. Thinking about the bed you missed so desperately. It wouldn’t have been such a bad night if it was Kate instead of Paul. You sigh realizing you probably have to let him in. Fuck you feel bad.

“Alright I’m gonna let you in. Do not touch a damn thing,” you say to him annoyed beyond comprehension.

“You act like I’m a bull in a china shop, don’t fucking patronize me,” Paul says leaning against the railing. As if he has the reason to be mad, unlocking the door you hold it open for him enter as he does you lock the door behind you two.

“Third floor,” you say pointing up the stairs. Following behind him not realizing how huge his fucking case is. Damn you feel bad now maybe you’ll let him hang, fucking maybe.

“Excuse me,” you say scooting to the side of him pushing him politely to the side.

“Oh sorry, I wasn’t sure,” he says moving out the way, making room for you to unlock the door. As you push the door open you smile at the sight of your apartment. Finally, you throw your bag on its hanger in the doorway. Kicking off your shoes and throwing your keys on the counter, you wasted no time. You hear him close the door behind you forgetting he was. Ever here for a moment.

“Just leave me a place and you can go,” you say moving into the kitchen to get a plate out the cupboard.

“Wait hold on what,” he says setting the takeout down, and setting down his guitar with a thud and the rest of his guitar stuff.

“I said leave me a plate and you can go,” you put the plate down crossing your arms.

“Dude, thought we were gonna hang a bit I gotta know your thoughts,” his mouth is ajar you notice him more in the lights of your apartment.

“Are you serious?” You stare at him deadpanned, unable to take him seriously in this moment.

“Yeah come on you I gotta show you how to eat this I’m a fucking professional,” he says smiling at you.

You sigh.

“Fine, lemme change then,” you say turning to your room and close the door behind you, you lay in your bed for a moment and turn to scream into a pillow annoyed that his still fucking here. You try reach for your phone realizing it’s in your fucking bag, the night got worse. You get undressed quickly undoing your bra and putting on some comfortable clothes putting on pants and a shirt and calling it a day you give your scalp a massage and grab your brush to leave as you slide on your house shoes so you can take off your socks.

You take a deep breath before leaving your room, you open the door and see Paul sitting where you were previously sitting earlier today with his sweater and tie off a couple buttons undone and his sleeves folded up to his elbow. He even took his shoes off. At least he’s house trained.

“Damn, I kinda miss my pjs too,” he says taking a gander at you patting the seat next to him.

“Alright prepare for amazement then,” he says softly prepping a fork of the rice and offering it too you.

“Yeah probably should’ve gone home then just a thought.” You say faking a smile at him. As you put it in your mouth and begin chewing. You take out the clip and take a chunk of hair combing through it with your hair brush. Damn he might be right, it’s good as fuck, you think to yourself smiling a Defeated smile.

“Yeah, yeah I’ll leave soon,” he says taking another bite with a different fork, looking over to you noticing.

“Yeah I got your fucking ass I see your smile,” he says with a partially full mouth laughing a bit at your expression. Maybe you were just hangry insane. No way thats possible.

“Oh my god, what ever” you say grabbing another bite from the container as he brings out another smaller of small beef and broccoli.

“Here, try this I’m gonna run out for a smoke break,” he says pushing the container towards you feeling his pockets for his carton. You nod checking the time on the stove, damn its kinda late.

“Yeah sure,” you say reaching your fork into the container and put it in your mouth. You consider letting him sleep on the couch not wanting him in the dark with all his equipment late at night even tho he’s tall enough his delicate ass face. He slides his shoes on and leaves closing the door behind him you hear the clicking of his shoes down the stairs. You get up from your seat and run to your bag grabbing your cell to text Kate an update, and grab your CDs from your bag. You walk to your room and put the CDs in the rack and decide to put in a CD

You take a peek out the window Thought your living room at the boy who’s Smoking his cigarette. He looks much nicer from a distance without his fucking sass. You return to your room digging around for some clothes for him to wear you know you have clothes big enough to fit him somewhere just cause you like shit three times to big. You find some stuff a shitty graphic and some old sweat pants. You nod yeah this shit is fine who cares, you say folding it up and bringing them with you placing it on the seat in front of you where you return to the food taking a couple more bites before you hear the clicking of Paul’s hard ass shoes come up the stairs once more.

“I’m back,” He says taking his shoes off once more and closes the door. Returning to his seat he sees the folded clothes.

“Shit is this for me?” He says putting up the clothes and assessing them looking at you. Whose mouth is full you nod.

“You don’t have to stay but the option it there,” you say as you return to the rice calling it quits.

“Are you sure? You were so against it.” He says looking at you running his hands through his hair.

“Yeah you’re good, it can be my thanks for your gifts” you say motioning towards the general vicinity of the food.

“Alright lemme eat then and I’ll change,” he says placing the clothes on the counter next to him returning to the food. You pat his shoulder standing up going back around the bar and into the kitchen to put the plate away and wash the dishes you left there. You grab a couple of cups and put them in front of Paul going to the fridge and pulling the water pitcher from the shelf you fill his glass first pushing it towards him and fill yours, returning the pitcher to its place in your refrigerator.

“Here try this” he says holding out his fork with a sauce you hadn’t seen before, you lean in for a bite and catch whatever drops with your hand. God damn it he was right. He notices your smile and laughs in return.

“Didn’t I tell you. But no you didn’t wanna believe me. Look at you,” he says returning to the food taking a sip of water While you stand there watching the boy eat while you drink your water. You notice his hair looks a little stiff without thinking much you reach over at him and play with his hair casually feeling its texture, taking a strand in your fingers bending it hearing a soft crunch from remnants of product . He freezes kinda in shock.

“Do you want to shower? Your hair is like sticking to itself. Did you have like gel in it or something?” You say fondling his head more obviously than before you snap your hand back in surprise. Covering your mouth in shock, as he looks up at you still in shock contemplating what just happened. He smiles fighting a laugh? Is he laughing?

“I’m so sorry, it was kinda a reaction I’m sorry,” you say putting your face in your hand putting you cup down.

“It’s fucking fine just say you want me, I can shower if you’re offering,” he says smiling at you winking unbuttoning more of his buttons.

“Fuck you I’m not One of those desperate groupies,” you say looking at him upset at the fact he would suggest.

“Nothing wrong with being a groupie, besides no damn harm in flirting.” He says closing the take out containers putting his fork in his glass of water that he finished. Frowning a bit standing walking around the counter and putting his glass in the sink to wash it, as you stand there preparing to put the container in the fridge.

“Thanks for washing it,” you say annoyed moving past him to put it away in the fridge.

“No worries,” he says moving past you again to go sit in the couch. You go to the room to grab a decent towel that’s not bleached or dyed in some way. ‘Damn they all have some kind of dye’ you say sighing and take the one that has the least amount of dye. It’ll have to do, you take the towel and leave the room putting on another CD after the other had ended.

“Cool music,” he says laying back looking at you hes seemingly made himself comfortable. You toss the towel at his head. Which he catches letting out a chuckle.

“Thanks, it’s right there don’t take too long,” you say nodding your head toward the door in front of Kate’s room. He stands and takes his clothes from the counter, to the bathroom.

“Yeah I’ll be quick,” he disappears into the bathroom and you sit on the couch his spot still warm, you take the controller on the coffee table that controls your sound system. Raising the volume just a bit, and close your eyes.

“Your shampoo smells really nice,” Paul says quietly leaving the bathroom. He notices you dozed and walks over to you gently patting your hair combing his fingers through it.

You open your eyes surprised.

“Freak. What the fuck?” You say staring up at him with your heart skipping a beat.

“Your shampoo smells nice,” he says again.

“Thanks,” you say softly looking away, he doesn’t take his hand away. You don’t mind much in that moment the way he smells like your body wash somehow it suits him more. You two stare at each-other briefly. He leans down and gives you a soft kiss. A droplet of water hitting your forehead. He wipes it away, and you smile.

“Sorry, you’re so pretty,” he says softly tracing your eyebrow, along your cheek, the corner of your mouth.

“I’m not a groupie,” you say fighting the urge to kiss him again.

“I don’t want you to be, I just want you.” He says whispering an inch from your face he’s hovering above you. You smile at the thought you feel your heart beating in your chest to the back of your ears.

“I’ll think about it,” you say lifting yourself up to meet his lips. As he returns the kiss you feel his wet hair tickling your cheek. He lifts your head pulling you by the neck gently sitting on the couch so he’s sitting on the couch. You pull away to look at him fully.

“We can do this here if anything, Kate will hang me,” you say standing pulling him to your room. He looks around and you hear a snort coming from him. You turn your head.

“Your room is so-“ you drop his hand and cut him off.

“I’ll fucking kill you right here watch yourself.” You say messing with him.

“It suits you I love it,” he says pulling you closely for a kiss closing the door with his foot. You kiss him back softly pinching his stomach Playfully. Pulling away you turn off Your stereo and go sit on your bed. He winces looking around the room and smiles taking a look around the room to sit in front of your collection.

“Is all you listen to rock?” He says touching all the CDs stopping when he gets to his demo.

“Mmm yeah mostly, it sticks so well.” You say peeking to see what he’s looking at.

“Kate gave it to me. A while ago,” you say smiling to yourself.

“Cute,” he says standing pulling out a CD holding it up, shrugging to the stereo.

“Can I?” He says walking over as you nod yes. It doesn’t matter. You smile and lay back watching as the blonde boy smiles at you walking over to lay next to you. You turn to face him and he to you. Both your faces inches from each-other, he plays with your hair as you lay you hands on his chest feeling your shirt that he has on. You laugh to yourself, he smells like you from the hair to his skin.

“Yeah, yeah,” he laughs as if reading your mind. Which makes you laugh harder, he laughs with you pulling you close. In a hug he kisses your forehead, locking his fingers in your hair rubbing your scalp in all the right places it’s orgasmic.

“Fuck yeah,” you say as he lets out a breathy giggle, looking down at you.

“You’re so cute,” he says softly putting his lips to your forehead resting them there.

You grab onto his shirt sliding your hands up slightly. You feel him smiling as he pulls his hands away. He lifts your chin up to look at him, kissing your lips once more softly. You inch closer kissing him again not wanting to stay away from him. You pull him in by the back of his head into a deeper kiss, that he returns pulling you closer to him. Your heart beating out of your chest. You play with his damp hair pulling him closer gently, as he moves his hands away down to feel you. Arousal rises in your chest you feel desperation building.

“Please closer,” you say near climbing on top of him. As he turns on his back as you put one leg between his straddling him. He pulls you higher on his lap cupping your face to pull you into a deep kiss.

“Anything…” he says Breathy as he sits up pulling you as close as possible you feel his heart beating and are sure he can feel yours. He grabs your thighs and runs his fingers through your hair as you sit chest to chest thin fabric the only separation from two restless bodies. Your breathing and his unsynchronized but desperate. You pull his hair sliding your free hand up his shirt. You pull away from the kiss leaning on his shoulder breathing heavy, as he leans his head back pulling your hair to the side. You grip your sheets fighting against something inside you.

“Paul I don’t think I can go slow,” you say covering your face sighing deeply untangling your hands from his hair to put it to his face giving it a soft squeeze. You feel him grip your hips tightly needing a little moment of friction.

“Fuck taking it slow then,” he says Pulling you into a sloppy kiss, grinding you on his lap moving his hands to your waist reaching up for your breast rubbing your chest desperately. You grab his head whining into the kiss grinding your hips down on his dick. Pushing your hips down onto him with one of his hands gripping the back of your pants guiding your rhythm. He’s whining into your sloppy make out session. You pull away stopping your movement to lift his shirt over his head to take it off, which he obliges swiftly taking it off and you run your fingers down his chest looking at him. He smiles at you breathing in deeply, you see his chest rise and fall. Paul tugs at the hem of your shirt, you take it off swiftly.

“My fuck. Look at you,” he says lifting you and laying you down tracing your collarbone down to your bellybutton. He leans in leaving kisses and marks on your collarbone. Paul slides hands in your pants and past your underwear.

“Yeah and right back at you pretty boy, come on,” you say giving his face a small playful slap. He buries his face into you inhaling your smell.

You laugh a whiny giggle, you move your hand to his waistband pulling it. He takes the hint and slides his pants down. As you do the same, you’re both naked giggling you take in the sight of the boy. You scoot over happily and he lays next to you touching you gently. You feel like an animal because he’s so polite. He pulls you in for another kiss deeply running his hands up and down your back you wrap your arm around his shoulder hugging him so you’re chest to chest. His hands pulling one of your legs on top of his you whine feeling annoyingly desperate. He’s teasing, you pull his hair as you feel him at the entrance. He pulls you closely burying his face into your chest leaving a hickey on one of you’re breasts. You rest your head on his, heart beating out your chest needing some sort of release. He pushes his tip inside you slowly going inside and out slowly entering little by little. Making you both whine choking on the lump building in your throat. His grasp tightening on your waist you feel him twitch his face looking at you deepening his gaze on your body.

“I-I’m sorry,” he says grabbing your waist, leaning into your neck grunting. You feel warmth inside you. You’re taken aback you pet his head, in shock as you feel him convulse curling up into a ball with you.

“Did you just-” you say quietly to him looking at him in shock. Unknowing what to do, unsure what to do you sigh and push him away softly so he’s arm’s lengths away.

“A-ah I’m sorry it doesn’t usually happen,” he says choking on his saliva Out of breath.

You lean in to kiss him, still inside you. You push him down and kiss him deeply once more.

“You can go again still?” You say pulling away straddling him, looking down at the man before you. He’s flushed slightly sweaty panting, rubbing your thighs smiling.

He nods looking up at you desperately, this look in his eyes driving you crazy wanting to stay here forever. You feel him stiffen once you shift your hips, you drag your thumb across his lips. You feel the warm dribbling of his remnants from inside you as you move yourself up. Slowly you move down, smiling at the boy below you. He grabs your thigh roughly putting the other hand on his mouth furrowing his eyebrows at you. Paul gasps deeply feeling you move your hips. Gasping as your feel him deeply, taking in every inch you slam your hips all the way down unable to restrain your movements or hold back your desire.

“Fuck,” his eyes are shut closed he's open mouth heavy breathing. You’re not close but fear he may be. You lean down over him putting your forehead to his closing your eyes running your fingers through his sweaty hair.

“Cmon, not just yet,” you say softly almost whispering into his mouth before pulling him into a kiss you feel his tongue against yours. Paul’s humming panting thrusting upwards into you causing you to collapse into the boys desperate arms. You feel him release the grip he had on you, he moves to sit up chasing your lips to get completely sitting.

“I got it,” paul says laying you down by the foot of your bed, never removing himself from within you. He thrusts inside you deeply causing you to swallow your voice. Paul runs his fingers through your hair while smiling down at you. Gripping the sheets you choke on his sudden certainty of his movements. Near unbearable, you reach for his neck pulling him to your chest he doesn’t deny your request. You kiss and bite on his shoulder and collar bones leaving marks on his pale skin. Hearing his groans push you further and further over the edge the pressure building more and more in your stomach. He slides both his hands under your waist pulling you closer to him his sloppy thrusts causing more and more disoriented pleasure. Paul’s hugging You tightly deep inside you, his sloppy breathing drooling on your chest. Hearing leans closer to your face as you feel his lips kiss your cheeks.

“Paul,” you say near shouting putting on of your legs on top of him, pulling at his hair nearing orgasmic completion. Paul’s pace remains steady taking one of your his hands to massage your clit with steady strokes, pushing you completely over the edge. One final thrust, leaves a warmth within you. Feeling Paul collapse next to you, pulling out gasping for breath.

“You did so good,” you say turning to Paul whose face down on the bed looking at you through a side eye. Smiling at him you blow him a kiss, to which he smiles. He pulls you into a tight hug kissing your lips and playing with your hair.

“Thank you beautiful,” Paul says softly as you return the embrace of the blonde, you smile at him as he buries his face in your chest.

“It’s quite late. We should go to bed,” you sigh at him grabbing your blanket throwing it over you, tired and cold from the air in the room. Paul snuggles up with you you never thought he’d be the one to cuddle but you’re not complaining he’s warm and sweaty. You both are very happy to be here laying together.

An alarm blaring. Ringing in your ears you awake feeling sticky you’re naked and the boy next to you is tangled in yours. You slide out of his embrace to turn off your alarm, you sit at the edge of you’re bed groggy, watching as the blonde shuffles around in your bed. You guys fell asleep at the foot of the bed surprisingly.

“It’s so early,” Paul says whispering reaching out for you somehow pulling you closer to him you groan.

“I know.. I’m so tired I need to get ready though,” you say not minding his touch just trying to wake up fully. Prying his hands out from you’re stomach, you run your fingers through his hair once again kind of crunchy. You sigh leaning over to kiss him, he kisses you back sitting up and playing with the ends of your hair. “Should we shower then?” He says kissing your back looking up at you. As you lay back on the your pillows you smile at the boy who lays down on your thighs running his fingers up and down your legs tracing circles looking up at you.

“Yeah gimme some time,” you say playing with his hair as looking into the boys eyes. You wipe the sleep from your eyes fully awake once more and sit up fully smiling at him patting his cheek for him to get up. Paul gets up and watches as you stand to grab a towel to shower and throw the one he had previously at him.

Paul jumps out of bed and follows suit kissing you’re face clingy and giggly he moves his hands to lift you up running with you down the hall to the bathroom. You giggle at his expressions and you both shower as normal, you was his hair and he washes yours. When you finish you leave the bathroom running to your room to get dressed with Paul Following behind you. You begin getting dressed Paul in the clothes he had on the night prior and you in some simple jeans and a shirt.

“I have something for you,” Paul says leaving the room quickly, returning to you putting on socks grabbing a pair of shoes from under your bed he sighs holding out a piece of paper, he saved the set list from last night. You smile at him giggling to yourself, looking at him and taking the paper feeling it in your hands as you smile at the blond you place it in the bed and stand up kissing him.

“Thank you didn’t think you remembered I’ll cherish it forever,” you say playing with his moist hair. His hands travel to your waist.

“Will I see you later?” He says softly looking down at you as he kisses your forehead.

“Maybe it’s quite a big school Paul,” you say pulling away. As he looks at you, seeing his expression take over his face seeing him smile knowing he will for sure be Seeing you later. Giving his a kiss deeply whatever you’re not opposed to seeing him later.

Woo hope you enjoyed this last one I like writing it!

[nice-bright-colors]

Sunday Seven: June Ed.

Today I had to write actual, physical, paper checks for my estimated 2025 tax payments. I can’t remember the last time I did that. Adulting is hard.

I’m so sick of being in a frazzled state, and then she’s on egg shells asking too many questions. Are you hungry? Do you want stir-fry or tacos for dinner? Do you want these pants in the dryer? I don’t fucking care, make a decision without me.

I’ve had either severe heartburn, indigestion, stress pains in the chest, or a myocardial infarction occurring for the last 3 days. I’m beginning to think being home is causing me pain. As are shitty contractors. My life is pain.

The Wife™️ will be taking a couple trips this month also. So there will be days when we get home and I’m all alone, just like when I get back to my hotel…all alone. That is except for those of you here.

Another aspect that is stressing me the fuck out is the current status of our country. It’s all so exhausting to watch everyday. Then be somewhat surrounded by the same idiocy at the Texas project. I can only hope the New Orleans project isn’t the same way.

I’m about to do the right thing and figure out how to pay myself as a W2 employee. So I can contribute my fair share into Social Security. It hurts doing the right thing because: A) chances are good that will become null and void….OR…. B) I’m going to flat out die somewhere between Denver -San Antonio - New Orleans, or in an airplane. Therefore I will not get to use any of the money I’ve paid into SS for my entire working life.

I’m coming up on another trip around the sun as well. I’m in a much better state than last year, but change is hard. Being agile is hard. Juggling everything in our finances is hard. Being the only source of income is hard. Trying to figure out how to balance everything in my world is beyond my comprehension.

[osameru]

Safety Things I’ve Scripted for my Teen Wolf x Hogwarts DR!

This is all subject to change and only posted for a reference for myself to use here and there.

🖇️🖇️🖇️

—> I handle gore and fear very well; there will usually be a big bad to fight, in hogwarts or around beacon hills or even anywhere I’m summoned as the acting Mother of Magic. This means I might have to see, smell or hear things that might terrify me, but being able to handle witnessing things like these would make my life a hundred percent easier and less stressful.

—> I am not easily scared nor do I feel the feeling of all consuming fear; again, if I come across something terrifying, I don’t want to lock up and see which one I am from freeze, fawn or flee. I want to be brave and be able to seek reassurance from myself and my own personal strength.

—> I do not easily get traumatized, I handle trauma very well, and I can process things healthily and easily; shit’s scary during a magical war and any supernatural battle! Even with my previous safety features, things can happen, and just in case, I want to be able to heal quickly and process/handle the things that happen to me.

—> I can protect myself and others easily, and I’m never gravely injured or hurt beyond repair; i’m shifting to hogwarts x teen wolf… i’m shifting to battle, no matter how lowkey I’ve made the ‘plot’ and ‘enemies’. I need to make sure in case of anything, I can use my magic to protect myself from danger, and my friends and family. Also, this is hand in hand to the regular precaution of ‘i can’t die’.

—> I can put together context clues easily, solve cases quickly and figure things out almost immediately; i want to be in the know! i need to know actually, to be able to protect my territory. Stiles won’t be the only one making connections and solving cases.

—> I’m not really put in difficult positions, such as having to kill, having to make huge ethical decisions for others, given extreme responsibilities from the ministry; self explanatory, to be honest. Yes, I’m important to Beacon Hills and magical society, but I don’t want too many responsibilities, which will crush my free time and emotional well-being.

—> I don’t accidentally harm others when I don’t mean to, physically, emotionally or even with my magic; magic might be hard to control with how much of it I have! I don’t know yet, so it will pay to take precautions. Also, I hate hurting the people in my life emotionally, so this a major precaution for me.

—> My sense of pain is more muted and easy to control; while I can feel pain, it’s not too intense and painful. It’s mostly a warning for me to know where my body is hurting.

—> I have great comprehension, understanding, communication and listening skills; so many things in life can be avoided if you simply communicate and COMPREHEND. My life isn’t a fanfic, so I would rather avoid these tropes and not have to endure a fall out or fight over a misunderstanding!

—> I’m never EVER cheated on, physically or emotionally or anything of the like; you got me fucked up if you think I’m shifting somewhere to be CHEATED ON. And no, I don’t gaf about your ‘anything can happen once you shift!!!’ Hey, ever considered thats because YOU believe that? Lydia and Allison’s stupid petty drama can stay far away from me as possible. Everybody can see through your narcissistic good-girl not-like-other-girls attitude, Allison. And Lydia’s not even that bad, but her TV show character development is going to take a while in real life.

—> I’m incredibly good at (defensive and offensive) magic; a war is a war. I’m going to survive no matter what, and I’d rather win. I also don’t want to face intense magical exhaustion or have the Nemeton seep or give me too much magic.

—> I’m great at seeing through lies and reading between context clues; again, no misunderstandings!

—> Anyone who has ill intentions towards me and actively acts about them is divinely punished and then goes through a long lasting period of karmic retribution/suffering; UNLESS I don’t wish them to AND they have apologized enough for it.

—> People do not have any gossip on me that is bad or smears my image; as a popular media figure, and someone who’s gone to school/is going to school in a small town, gossip is huge. With so few people in the Hogwarts year and less in Beacon Hills, I refuse to be used as a pasttime conversation piece. The media can report factual things on me and minor unharmful rumours, but nothing that can deface me or ruin my public image.

🖇️🖇️🖇️

[lgbtkendricks]

who else decodes you? (mitchsen fic)

Beca Mitchell was the editor-in-chief of the Barden Music Journal, and she loved it. She got to interview bands, write up reviews, and work with her best friends. She was pretty good at student journalism. Her readers loved her. The problem was, her readers were also Aubrey Posen's readers. Aubrey Posen, editor-in-chief of The Barden Gazette, and ex...person...in Beca's life. High school was a long time ago, but unresolved feelings had a funny way of coming to light through damning articles and meddling friends.

read chapter one on ao3 here, or below.

BARDEN MUSIC JOURNAL

You ever stop and think for a moment – what the hell am I doing?

When you’re lounging in the library in the middle of the night, the god-awful coffee from the vending machine on the third floor already cold by the time you reach your desk, a couple equally unlucky souls hanging around the desks nearby, all dutifully typing up their assignments whilst you’re struggling to focus. What the hell are we doing?

What is it about the world that forces us into these situations? Capitalism, obviously, but beyond that. Why do we need to work on assignments about some fucked up centuries old King of England when what we really want to do with our lives doesn’t concern royalty at all? At least, not the generational kind.

It’s really no secret that I – being this journal’s editor in chief – want to work in the music industry. I want to work with music royalty. I want to earn music royalties. It’s all rad being a college student and getting a degree until that degree drives you further and further from your dream. It’s no longer rad then, it becomes trite. Exhaustive, a waste of time and energy and brain power.

That’s when music brings you back to life.

That’s what music is for, really.

The assignment is long forgotten, buried in a sea of tabs and documents that I have no desire to revisit. Spotify opens (for the tenth time today), and all liked songs are shuffled. In the dead of the clinically lit night, music is the only thing that can bring me back to life. It doesn’t matter how many times we try to convince ourselves that what we’re working on is worthwhile, it can’t be, not if it isn’t electrifying. The first song that plays will determine my mood for the next several hours. Will it be some sappy love song, forcing me into a well of yearning and heartache, allowing me to consider King Henry’s tragic love life in a new (still clinical) light? Or will it be heavy metal, screamed lyrics bouncing around my brain so fervently that I scrap my assignment on the King altogether and instead focus on the extreme anger half of his ex-wives must’ve been in by the end of his reign?

The Way – Ariana Grande feat. Mac Miller.

Okay. I guess it’s time to write about the only good relationship he had? Jane Seymour it is.

Music governs my life. It would be impossible to do anything without it. I don’t know how they coped in the 1500s. Heads being chopped off left, right, and centre, and no Spotify to numb the pain. Sounds like hell.

By Beca Mitchell

THE BARDEN GAZETTE

Some students at this college feel as though life is an endless, meaningless array of pointless assignments and lacklustre library trips for degrees that don’t matter in the grand scheme of life.

How wrong those students are.

They are even more wrong to write about it.

Attempting to convince college students that they’re wasting their time and money on a degree as if it won’t increase their job prospects, credibility and comprehension of the world is ridiculous. A degree cannot make you famous overnight, it’s true (unless you have an exceptionally high GPA, and a near-perfect essay paper worthy of publishing). But what BARDEN MUSIC JOURNAL fails to reconcile with is that hard work is what leads people to working with royalty, however that royalty may come.

One does not simply snap their fingers and find their way into their dream profession. If I were to do that, I would be the worst lawyer on the planet.

Barden does not prepare you for dreams, it prepares you for reality.

Statistics state that 61% of employees with degrees advance to higher ranking positions within 12 months of beginning their careers outside of the academic sector. It is statistically proven that those long nights in the library pay off in ways that governing your assignments on whichever song blares into your headphones cannot. If I were to argue a case based upon the plot of the last fiction book I read, I would fear for my client. It is highly unlikely that my book would relate to the international, criminal, property, or even environmental law I may be practising.

We as journalists have a duty to tell the truth. First person pieces are great, but no reason to pass by objectivity. Objectively, every assignment set at Barden is set for a reason. Every hour you put into your studies will pay off in the end, no matter what you decide to do with your degree, your time will not have been wasted at this university. I for one am sick of people pretending otherwise. Through all the complaints, we’re all still here. Thousands of students graduate Barden every year.

As my father always says: A school of fish is no school at all if they all drown.

Study hard. Don’t be distracted by the fool’s paradise of flimsy dreams. Don’t leave your assignments to the point of all-nighters with undesirables, like those who allow algorithmic playlist shuffles to control their GPA. Take it from the editor in chief of the award-winning Barden Gazette. Take control of your own life.

By Aubrey Posen

“What a fucking bitch!”

“Beca. Not cool.” Cynthia Rose frowned at her from the desk across the small office. She swore all the time, but she didn’t tend to appreciate when people called women bitches for malignant reasons.

“This calls for some fucking profanity, dude. Look at this.” Beca stood up, snatching up the paper she had just angrily tossed onto her desk and stalked over to her friend, throwing it down in front of her. The small brunette waited with a deep scowl etched onto her face, tapping her fingers against her thigh as she watched Cynthia Rose skim the article on the front page.

“Shit,” Cynthia Rose’s eyebrows raised in surprise. “This feels…uncalled for.”

“I can’t believe she’s starting this again. We had a truce. Where the fuck does she get off?”

“Probably at her typewriter,” Amy sang from the corner of the room, where she was busy scouting the internet for some fresh talent. Or so she said, but her friends knew that was simply code for online shopping.

“This is low. Even for her.” Beca fumed, grabbing the paper again and skimming until she found the right quote. “I mean, she basically called me a ridiculous liar who can’t write an assignment on my own. What the fuck?”

“It’s a lot,” Cynthia Rose said.

“It’s fucked up. I’m not standing for this. She thinks just because she controls that fuckass gazette that she should control the minds of everyone at Barden.”

“They get more readership than we do.” Amy mumbled.

Everyone turned to her incredulously, as if she was poking the bear. Beca glared daggers at her across the room.

“We’re a specialist journal!” Beca snapped. “Of course the gazette which publishes boring ass shit about the new paint in the Chemistry lab gets more readership than a journal aimed at one group of the student demographic!”

“Didn’t you write that everyone listens to music, so everyone should care to read about it…”

“Shut up, Jesse.” Beca shifted her glare to the boy reading a sappy fiction novel in the bay window.

“Why don’t we just…go over to the Gazette and talk this out with Aubrey?” Benji asked gently. He was seated next to his boyfriend, being the only other person in the room actually working on the layout of their next issue.

“If I see that fucker’s face I will punch it in.” Beca growled, scrunching the paper up in her hands and throwing it aside. She needed to get out of there, right now. It didn’t help that her friends weren’t as angry as she was. It made her feel like she was overreacting. She tore her jacket from her desk chair and stalked out. “Be back later.”

The journalists were silent for some moments after Beca left.

“Yeesh,” Amy said, trying to diffuse the tension. “Hasn’t it been like, a whole semester of their truce? I thought she’d be kinda over it by now,”

Cynthia Rose shook her head immediately. “It’s too deep for that. You know they went to the same high school.”

“I actually cannot imagine what Beca and Aubrey would’ve been like in school.” Benji looked uncomfortable. “They’re at each other’s throats now without all the high school stuff to deal with.”

“I bet they were homoerotic.” Jesse said, making Amy bark out a laugh and Benji stare at him in surprise. “What? You think two gay girls on the same newspaper was wholly platonic? Why do you think they hate each other so much??”

“Nah, you’re right,” Cynthia Rose nodded, leaning back in her swivel chair. “I’ve been thinking that. I mean, no one else gets B so riled up. And she claims to hate half the people here.”

“There’s a fine line between love and hate,” Amy grinned. “Are you all thinking what I’m thinking?”

“We are never thinking what you’re thinking.” Jesse gave her a pointed, but amused, look.

“Duh! Get them together!”

“Hell no.”

“I don’t know about that…”

Jesse spluttered, “you want us to get in the middle of the crossfire? Are you out of your mind??”

“Awh, come on, it’ll be just like that movie! With the ginger twins!”

“The Parent Trap? That’s a pretty good movie,” Benji perked up.

Jesse turned to his boyfriend with a disapproving glare. “Pretty good? Benj, that film is a masterpiece. It’s right up there with Ferris Bueller.”

“Debate your movie preferences at the movie journal.” Cynthia Rose said, not wanting to have to hear yet another spat between the boys about the colour grading of one scene out of an entire film. “Ames. Meddling is fun but this shit is too deep to meddle with.”

“The parents in the parent trap had literal twins across the ocean. That was deeper than a potential high school breakup,” Jesse pointed out. “I’m in. Beca needs to get laid, anyway.”

“She never wants to date any of the girls who hit on her. Maybe she’s saving herself for a special blonde someone,” Amy waggled her eyebrows.

“How do you propose we do this, Amy?” Cynthia Rose sighed. “I’m not agreeing. Just curious.”

Amy stood up and paced for a moment, biding her time as she made an exaggerated thinking face. The other three watched her in anticipation. Eventually, she clapped her hands together and grinned. “We need to infiltrate the gazette.”

“The gazette would never let us inside their office.” Cynthia Rose shot back immediately.

“I don’t mean literally. We need to talk to someone on the paper. Boytoys. Which one of you has a class with that fashion editor? Stella?”

“You mean Stacie? She’s in my labs,” Benji said cautiously. “But I’m not really that close with her…she also does astrophysics. And I look at 3d models, so it’s not really compatible-“

“Apples I don’t need to know your life story.” Amy rolled her eyes. “Okay. Try and get the downlow from Stacie on what Aubrey’s like. If she ever talks about Beca. You know…”

“Why would she tell me? She knows I’m from our journal.”

“Bribe.” Cynthia Rose shrugged. “Obviously. Offer her something.”

 Benji’s eyes lit up. “Oh, I could show her-“

“Not magic.” Three voices chorused, making the curly haired boy blush lightly.

“Sorry,” Jesse chuckled, nudging him.

“We need a backup plan.” Amy continued. “Because no offence, Apples, but I don’t trust you to complete this mission.”

“That’s fair.” Benji said quietly.

“Cynthia Rose. You’re in charge of online stalking.”

“I never said I was in.” Cynthia Rose huffed.

“Don’t give me that bullcrap, like you don’t want to get people off your back about how you and chief should be an item.”

“Why do people think all lesbians are in love with each other!?” Cynthia Rose slammed a hand down against her desk. She and Beca were best friends, but that was all. She hated the insinuation that they were more, especially when she was in a perfectly loving long distance relationship with a girl from her hometown. “Fine. I’m in.”

“In for what?”

The four of them nearly jumped out of their skin at the sound of Beca’s voice wafting in from the hallway. Seconds later, Beca appeared with an iced coffee, looking decidedly calmer than before, but still frowning. She shrugged her jacket off and threw it to the side, revealing a vintage Lauryn Hill hoodie which she hadn’t been wearing earlier. She pushed her headphones off and walked back over to her desk, before eyeing her unusually quiet friends. “In for what?” she repeated herself.

“Sushi.” Benji panicked. “And-and fries.”

“Sushi and fries?” Beca asked, her mouth forming a disgusted line. “What?”

“We’re hungry.” Amy nodded. “I want fries. Benj wants sushi. Jesse suggested both. CR’s in. You in?”

“We haven’t done any of the lay in. I know you dopes haven’t been working whilst I was gone. And you’re talking about food?” She narrowed her eyes at them. Beca loved to slack off when she felt it appropriate. But she wasn’t in the mood today. Especially not after the barrage of insults the pristinely perfect Posen threw at her in the paper today. Posen with her big team of journalists and editors, ultra-organised.

“It’s not due to publish for another three days.” Amy whined. “Come on, Bec,”

“No!” Beca snapped. She tugged her laptop out of her backpack and grabbed her headphones again. “Don’t disturb me unless you’re dying.”

Once they were sure Beca was lost in her computer and listening to music loud enough to blare them all out (they could hear it bleeding from her headphones), Jesse turned to Amy dully.

“Great. Now she’s mad at us too.”

“Don’t blame me, blame your boyfriend!"

[hold-him-down]

Write a scene of dialogue between your main character and a younger version of themself.

Leo

-💩

this ask game [takes place parker's contract]

“Wh–” Leo whispers, blinking hard. 

The boy kneels in front of him, red backpack and black sneakers, clear blue eyes and an expression so completely shocked that Leo almost feels a sense of shame for what he’s become. He’s been hallucinating for days, in and out of reality, drugged beyond comprehension while they figure out what to do with him. So this, he thinks, tracks. 

“Are you me?” the boy asks, his eyes narrowing. He shrugs out of his backpack, pulling it to the front of him and opening it up. Leo nods. “I let this happen to me? Are you fucking kidding?”

Leo coughs, pushing himself up to sitting. He’s in a white tile room, his wrists and ankles bruised, his head pounding. He closes his eyes.

“I’m sorry,” he whispers automatically.

The thirteen year old boy in front of him scoffs, and Leo says, “I don’t remember being this mean.”

The boy ignores him, pulling out page after page after page of crinkled up homework until he finds what he’s looking for. “I swore this wouldn’t happen to me” the boy says, brow tight and angry. And then, his voice turns acidic, and he levels his gaze on Leo. Leo shrinks back. “How could you let this happen?” 

“I–” Leo starts, but then stops.

“Nevermind,” Young Leo says. “It doesn’t matter. Do you have an escape plan?” Young Leo holds out the picture, and Leo looks at the last picture they had as a family of three. Leo, one year old, his mom, and his dad, seated around a sandbox. Leo had almost forgotten what his father looked like, but now, looking at this picture, something gnaws at him.

He closes his eyes and shakes his head. “No,” he says. “There’s no escape plan.” He can hear the exhaustion, even in his own voice.

Young Leo starts to fade, but as he does, he says, “I’ll figure one out. I’ll never let them win.”

And then, Leo’s world goes black. When he awakes, Young Leo is gone, and the social worker stands above him.

[omkdear]

So, tldr, in the last decade I've been stalked and doxxed twice. Once made me leave tumblr in 2017 originally, and the other started in 2020 with the pandemic--my mother in law, no less. During the first instance of stalking and harassment, it was my ex-best friends wife. After yesterday--today I learn that another really good friend of mine has been doxxed and threatened by her ex-boyfriend. I worked with her, and the ex at the same non-profit, and this non-profit broke the law, and refused to accommodate me when my mother in law was actively threatening me and my family with violence. I don't disclose these things to generate sympathy, I'm just stating facts. I've been through a lot in my almost 35 years and... Suffice to say, I'm really fucking tired y'all. The level of entitlement it takes for people to stalk, doxx, or weaponize personal access like that... it's beyond comprehension sometimes. It’s like some folks see boundaries as a challenge, not a basic human need. Like they get off on constantly pushing and then turn around and play victim when you finally push back. Some people cannot handle being disliked. They can't stomach the idea that someone might think they're annoying or abrasive or wrong without it being a moral indictment. So instead of sitting with that discomfort and maybe growing from it, they go full-on crusader mode. Suddenly it's not “we had a falling out” or “we aren’t aligned,” it’s “you’re a bad person, and I’m going to make sure everyone knows it.” It’s not a crime to be annoying! It’s human. We all have sharp edges. We all clash with people. That’s life. What actually matters is whether we’re self-aware enough to own what we do, when it’s real, and move on. Not every conflict is abuse. Not every vibe mismatch is betrayal. And I've been radically honest about my flaws in ways most people can’t even look at in the mirror. The real kicker? People like that don’t want accountability. They want control. They want an apology on their terms, for something they invented, and they want to feel powerful because someone made them feel small.

But I'm not obligated to do emotional labor for someone weaponizing their fragility. I'm not their therapist, not their punching bag, and definitely not a scapegoat for their spirals. It's a zero sum game it feels like. People complain about being lonely, but can't be honest with one another. And God forbid you expect them to learn, when it is a very clear pattern of behavior. And the worst part is, you never come away unscathed. People make judgements about you, you lose people you thought were your friends. Let them go. If folks want to think I'm a cunt, and unwell, fine. It's disappointing, but not surprising in the least. I may not be able to respond to someone *immediately* but I am always available to talk and hash shit out. It just makes me really fucking sad. This is why people don't talk about genuine abuse because trivial shit gets blown up. We live in such a dysregulated, reactive ass society and I am just exhausted beyond belief.

[terminus11]

BAM HITS YOU WITH THE LOOK AT MY OC EXPLOSION GUN

CALEB MY BELOV💥💥💥💥💥💥💥💥💥

Anyways also edgy lil angsty short story below if that's your cup of tea >:]

A Confession Made, For Once, By My Own Will

In which Caleb reflects on the lord, the cruelty, and the attempts to escape it; and why he won't again

TW for focused discussion on suicidality, familial abuse reflections, coercion reflections, and vampire typical angst

I have attempted once. I have considered it twice, but I had only ever attempted once.

I considered it first at 12. I knew I was never going to be the child my parents expected me to be. I saw it in the broken skin of my forearm, hit one too many times for my fragile skin to handle. I could never see myself in my mother. I deplored how much my father and I shared. I felt hate-- only hate-- as I reflected on my expectations, and how, in some cruel act of our Lord, I was doomed to never be that. It was especially cruel knowing my parents, the aggressor and the submissive, and how my story was written out to be as the next submissive, kind, witty Mother. I don't know what is wrong that that was always so deeply revolting, but my rage only enflamed my father further.

Perhaps they were paying for sin from before I was brought into this world. Perhaps I had already been judged. None of us knew, but, either way, if my form was deemed so impure, perhaps it would have been good riddance.

I didn't behave on it. I couldn't think of any way, at that age, that wouldn't make more of a scene than needed or the wrong statement. It wouldn't be need, it'd be retribution, and even then, I knew existing would be more retribution than ending myself ever would have been.

I attempted two days after waking up from my... from the beginning of my... from being turned. I wasn't even alone, I didn't even hate myself the way I had. But there was something far more horrifying, far more revolting about the blood in my veins being from the very men who seemed to leash my existence now.

A comment from Michael sealed my thoughts, though its one of the few acts of stupidity that I don't really blame him for. We were both angry, and sick, and tired. I lashed out one too many times at another frail... another hurting individual. But he looked at me, with this exhausted, hungry, hopeless eyes, and said he saw them in me more than he or Anthony. He clarified it was the relentlessness, unchecked and unrestrained, but the insinuation was enough.

I spent that night with wires and a small generator. An idiot playing with something beyond his comprehension to anybody outside, but a very intentional act on my end.

If the Lord wanted me to break, to give my life to Him, to see my failure, this was His opportunity. I gave it to Him on a platter. Burn my nerves and my veins until I was nothing more than the shell that had been mangled, time and time again, from creation till now.

It wasn't hard. I just created a loop and cranked the generator until I knew with certainty that the lightning lapping out from the wires would be enough to hurt, to stop me.

And I simply... grabbed it.

I do not remember much from it. In fact, I only really remember two thoughts I had. The first was the realization that my hand was gripping it, even as everything in my being burned and spun with broken desperation. The second was the realization that it ended, and that I was still alive. That something, between the first thought and the second, changed. That I let go. Divine fate or not, I simply didn't care. My first thought, for once, wasn't even of the divine.

It was that my willpower was enough to let go. That there was an obvious desperation to live somewhere within me. That if I was leaving whatever twisted, fucked up role amd form I was given, I'd have to be ripped from it.

Anthony asked after me as soon as I returned. I remember not responding, and I remember how he looked at me as I dug around for some bandages to cover the scars that shot up my arm. Some of the saddest eyes I have just about ever seen from him, and that's saying... quite a lot.

I still am uncertain what provoked that extent of emotion from Anthony. Frankly, I am uncertain if it was even clear what I had just returned from attempting. But he still looked at me, biting back words that I still couldn't guess, and simply left me the privacy of the room to bandage myself.

[arwainian]

Reading This Week 2025 #10

I remain full steam ahead on reading a ton even while I am in training for me job. Less reading happening at home before and after work though because I am paying attention to my needy cat. Also letting y'all know ahead of time that next week's reading log is going to be late because I will be at a LARP over the weekend, and so coming home Sunday evening I might be too exhausted to function. wish me well and lots of fun putting on costumes and forcing the jocks of the nerd world to do improv games with me

Finished:

Ouran High School Host Club, Vol. 11-13 by Bisco Hatori, translated by Masumi Matsumoto so you know how last week I went "oh wow Tamaki is the first person to 'think i hauve covid'". well Haruhi has now been struck with the same phenomenon where when she realizes (with a lot of help) that she has a crush on Tamaki she ALSO comes down with flu like symptoms. she is not as deep in denial as Tamaki is and instead does Research on what love feels like thru girl's magazines and romance manga. also we're coming to a climactic point with the Tamaki/Haruhi/Hikaru love triangle, bc at the end of volume 13, Hikaru confesses! Haruhi's reaction to be found in the next volume i've hit a tipping point in the manga where despite still being a comedy, there's a much higher proportion of emotional/dramatic beats to gags & jokes

Oak King Holly King by Sebastian Nothwell, narrated by Gary Furlong serviceable gay romantasy, but i wish we dropped the mortal realm side of the storyline in favor of more fae realm stuff. i wanted to linger in the MCs decision to stage ritualized sexual submission in order to save both their lives, coup the fae queen, and have fun while doing it. instead we had an excruciatingly long scene of step by step learning that someone (a trans someone) might change their name (because they are trans) and that that would be mystically recognized as their true name, and a fist fight with a human dude that had next to nothing to do with our protagonists

Check, Please! #Hockey by Ngozi Ukazu the way this graphic novel is organized does a MASSIVE disservice to it. Who's decision was it to put all of Bitty's tweets in a separate section at the end, instead of interspersing them chronologically with the episodes they go along with?! That decision makes the comic much less comprehensible, means you miss out on jokes, the reader has to put together themselves when certain tweets were made in the story. It's such a shame bc it would be so fun to end each chapter with "this is what Bitty was tweeting about". i will never not complain about this bc its baffling to me as a way to print a webcomic with tie in tweets

Tomorrow Sex Will Be Good Again: Women and Desire in the Age of Consent by Katherine Angel, narrated by Cat Gould good pop-academic book about the current state of feminist discourse around rape culture/pushing affirmative consent models as the solution. ie. a lot of the affirmative consent model depends on Empowering Women to know and say what they want, and that has a lot of failure states because it's actually really fucking hard to know yourself and your own desires and express them and act on them, and even if you do, expressing them and acting on them can have social consequences AND we're presuming the person they're expressed to is going to respect that in the first place. also has a good break down on the assumptions that a lot of sexological research has that make it questionable in its actual applicability to life outside of a research setting

Frieren: Beyond Journey's End, Vol. 12 written by Kanehito Yamada, art by Tsukasa Abe, translated by Misa 'Japanese Ammo' *thumbs up* fun, though twitter discourse about it invaded my life this week bc my roommate came to complain to me about people criticizing the way demons are portrayed as ontologically evil in Frieren. i have Thoughts

What Did You Eat Yesterday? Vol. 12 by Fumi Yoshinaga, translated by Jocelyne Allen a volume of what did you eat yesterday is exactly long enough to read during my lunch break. I will be blazing through the rest of this manga very soon, right after I finish Ouran

Abandoned:

The Winter Knight by Jes Battis, narrated by Gabra Zackman, Nicky Endres, Gail Shalan, Lee Osorio, and Dylan Kiedman listened to a Lot of this for audiobook busy work time but never really enjoyed it. decided this morning that i dont have to finish it if I didnt like it, even if i got really far. i think contemporary/urban fantasy is not my genre. also its hard to make a fantasy murder mystery compelling bc you need to do fantasy worldbuilding at the same time as clues, and I think the assumption that the reader would be really familiar with Arthuriana and cared about it was where a lot of the play for reader investment was and I Did Not Care or know enough to care i read to 78% and then decided "actually i dont need to finish this" and returned the libby loan

Started/Ongoing:

Hammajang Luck by Makana Yamamoto VERY readable scifi heist caper with an entirely queer cast. i'm having a good time and my goal is to finish reading it today after i wrap up this post

Ocean's Echo by Everina Maxwell, narrated by Raphael Corkhill this book is going to make me ill (positive). the erotics of power dynamic at play here.....Surit could at any moment bend Tennal's mind to his will irreversibly, has orders to do so, and would be rewarded enormously for it. he categorically refuses to do so and is ready to go against all of his own interests to get Tennal fucking out of here because he is somehow the Most Honorable Man In The Galaxy. that's hot