#not that I don’t self indulge. it definitely started for the purpose of me wanting to draw my faves chilling and being domestic.

[doodledrawsthings]

I was watching another playthrough of nine sols and after the fengs fight with Nuwa hugging her brother, yi could’ve saved her from getting impaled if he pulled her away fast enough. Which is my proposal of how she could live to see the light of day in the dwabi au.

I think Nuwa is a very fascinating character and I like her and I love other AUs that save her, but I’m quite satisfied with the cast I have, currently. For the sake of the stuff I’m trying to explore, right now, I will be leaving it at Yi, Kuafu, Goumang, and the maybe less than 100 surviving solarians they were able to salvage from the empyrean district.

If you’re looking for an au where Nuwa sticks around, may I suggest @/gensational’s corruption of the innovator au? @/shentheauthor is also working on a swap au between Nuwa and Yi.

[cheolhub]

11:59 P.M. — CHOI SEUNGCHEOL࿐

summary. cheol offers you a striking incentive to help you turn in your assignments due at midnight.

wc. 2.1k

warnings. soft service top!cheol but also soft dom (?), so much praise, cockwarming, cheol w/ a BIG [redacted], dumb!fication, pet names [princess, baby, pretty, good/smart girl], unprotected s2x, creampie (yum), desk s2x <3 both of them are very desperate ><

note. happy belated birth 2 me ^^ to celebrate, i’m posting my first (100% self-indulged) cheol fic (it’s long overdue, i know.) reblogs are greatly appreciated mwah!! ily all sm <3 [ not proofread ]

“cheollie…” you whimper softly, eyes fluttering close. “please…”

seungcheol smiles, lips pressed to your ear. “did you finish, baby?” he asks with a voice barely above a whisper. when you shake your head, muttering out a soft ‘no,’ he simply hums. “how much more do you have?”

“i-i only have 150 more words to write,” you tell him breathily, hands tensing up as you think about how full you are of his cock. “but i can’t focus anymore… i dunno what else to say.”

“oh, maybe i should take you–”

you cut him off with a desperate cry before he can even suggest taking you off his cock. “no! no, don’t– but…maybe i should turn it in as is?”

“you’re doing so well, though, baby. i know you can do it, you’re my smart girl.” he coos. “plus, that wasn’t our agreement.”

right, you think. the stupid agreement. 

seungcheol saw how much you were dreading your school work so, naturally, he offered to let you sit on his cock while you did your assignments. you both agreed– him more than you– that as soon as you turned in all of your work, he’d then treat you just the way you needed. 

but now the only thing you can think about it is his stupidly big cock and his buff arms wrapped around you and the stream of arousal that pools at the base of his length. it’s almost overwhelming how he’s filled your senses. 

“i know, cheol, but i’m tired– i wanna fuck.” you whine and he chuckles at the vulgar words. 

“i’ll only fuck you if you finish your work, princess, you know that.” he reprimands. “c’mon, it’s 11:23, start typing.”

you groan, hands falling to your keyboard. you do your best to come up with 150 more comprehensible words and, for the most part, you’re doing well. you easily write two sentences of 53 words, but when cheol accidentally shifts under you, your hands freeze and you let out a soft whimper. 

when you clamp tightly around him, the softest sigh slips his lips. “‘m sorry, baby, keep going.” he says, trying to control himself. 

“you’re teasing me on purpose, cheol,” you whine, eyes fluttering close when you feel his cock twitch inside

“‘m not, promise.” he whispers, hot breath fanning against your neck. “just feel s’good, can’t wait to fuck you.” 

you gasp, brain going haywire at the words. a soft moan slips your lips and a lightbulb goes off in cheol’s head. 

he knows exactly how to get you to finish your work. 

he smiles cheekily, “you want that, right, princess? you want me to fuck this pretty lil cunt full, yeah?” his voice is low as his lips trail up to the shell of your ear. 

you huff. “fuck… yes– i want that.” 

“i know, baby,” he murmurs against your ears. “just 97 more words ‘n i’ll let you turn off that big brain of yours and fuck you stupid– you can do that for me, can’t you?”

you shudder, nodding your head incessantly. you take a deep breath and let your eyes refocus on the screen at your desk. seungcheol proudly hums, chin resting on your shoulder as he watches you type. 

it’s obvious you have no idea what you’re talking about. your trigger fingers clack against the keyboard as if your life depends on it, but your sentences are nearly incoherent. you forget your commas and apostrophes and proper capitalization, but he can’t find it in him to correct you. he knows how badly you need this and he also needs it just as bad.

when you type your last period and press submit without proofreading the work, you let out a cry of relief. it definitely wasn’t your best work– probably your fucking worst– but you’re nearing the end of the semester and you could truly care less about what your professor thinks of you. you let out a sigh, instantly grinding down and clamping around seungcheol’s cock as soon as you see the ‘submitted’ sign on your computer. 

“so good,” he moans, hands guiding your hips. “my smart girl, you did so well, fuck.”

“oh my, god.” you whine desperately. “cheollie, y-you’ll fuck me right?”

“god, yes.”

unbeknownst to you, too caught up in your own desperation, seungcheol was needy. probably just as needy as you. you wrapped around him so nicely– you always fucking do– and it has been driving him up a wall for the past hour. he wanted, so badly, to buck his hips up to fuck into you, but he had to control himself. he had to let you finish your work before you could finish in the way you deserved. 

but now, you’re done and he plans on ravishing you till the only thing can say is his name. 

his hands grip your waist tight, halting your movements and ripping a loud whine from your throat. 

“up.” he demands softly, pulling you off his cock. 

you pant, “but cheol–”

“promise i’ll give you what you want, baby— told you i would—  but not like this, yeah? let me take care of you.”

you nod dumbly, lifting up and whining in the process at the emptiness. seungcheol grunts, already missing the tightness of your pussy, but he quickly moves to spear you back on to him. he stands to his feet and pushes the chair back before roughly spinning you around and pressing his lips to yours. you melt in his calloused hands, your own flattening against his hard chest. 

your mouth cracks open on a moan and cheol takes it as an opportunity to shove his tongue inside. your knees give out at the feeling of him invading your mouth and your fingers grab at the loose grey shirt on his body to keep from falling over. you fist tighter and tighter as the seconds pass, arousal leaking from your bare cunt. 

he presses you against the desk, blindly sliding your laptop out of the way. when he groans into your mouth, you hoist yourself on to it with his assistance, sitting on the edge and spreading your legs for him to stand between. 

panting, seungcheol parts from the kiss, “hold on to me, baby.” he says, words rushed and a bit whiny.

you eagerly nod, wrapping your arms around his neck and leaning back so he can easily press into you. his breathing is shaky as he aligns his cock with your hungry, drooling hole and when he slowly pushes in, he lets a loud moan out– one louder than the whimper that escapes your lips– while huffing out a curse. 

your head falls back and your eyes roll when you feel his cock fill you up again. even though he was inside you a mere three minutes ago, his girth is still so much to take. so much in a good way, of course. the burning stretch is one you miserably crave throughout the day. 

“still so tight, fuck,” he sighs, basking you in. you look so fucking beautiful in his loose t-shirt alone and, even with the tiny dark circles under your eyes and your hair slightly disheveled, he still thinks you’re the prettiest thing in the world. his pretty fucking girl. 

a choked sob dies in the back of your throat as he bottoms out. “ch-cheol.” you manage to get out, a pained expression falling over your face.

he shushes you softly, “just breathe, baby, you’re takin’ me so well, but you need to breathe.” he urges, words strained as he’s fighting the impulse to moan again. it’s nearly impossible, though, with how fucking amazing you feel. 

you nod profusely and take a shuddered inhale followed by an even shakier exhale allowing your body to adjust to his intense size. when the pain finally subsides and you can nearly taste the pleasure on your tongue, you softly moan out his name. 

he asks if you’re good and that raspy, deep voice fills your ears, sending shockwaves to your messy cunt. you clench again but ultimately tell him, “‘m okay– s’okay. y-you can keep going.”

he grunts at this, pulling his cock out– eliciting a whine from you– before gently pushing back in. he gives you a few experimental thrusts, listening to the way you moan for him prior to setting a steady speed. 

“how’s this, princess?” he pants, large hands still roughly grabbing at your waist. “too fast?”

you shake your head, looking at him with teary, doe eyes. “faster? please?” 

he moans, nodding his head. “tell me if it’s too much, okay? know you’re tired ‘n i just want you to feel good.” he reminds you sweetly, voice cracking as the tempo of his thrusts increase. 

even if it was too much, you wouldn’t tell him. you love his cock– love the way he makes you feel– and you would spend days fucking him if you could. you nod anyway, though, giving him peace of mind. 

the desk under you wobbles a bit with the rapid speed at which he fucks you, but it’s very obvious that the unsturdy object is the least of both of your worries. your mouth is hung open, moans and soft cries drooling out while cheol watches completely enamored of you. 

it’s right when he gives you a sharp thrust, hitting the spongy spot in your pussy, that he sees your brain shut off. he sees the way your eyes glass over and hears how your pleads and cries have slurred. he’s already fucked you stupid. 

“that’s it, pretty baby, don’t need to think anymore. so pretty ‘n smart. so fuckin’ perfect. just for me.” he moans breathily, grip on your body somehow tightening. he’ll have to remember to apologize and dote on you a little more when you wake up with bruises in the morning. “oh, shit— you’re doin’ so well, baby. always so good f’me.” 

his cock stirs you up and it’s hard to stop your orgasm from brewing in the pit of your tummy. “cheol!” you gasp, tightly wrapping your legs around him. you pull him closer to you and he feels like he might let go too soon if you don’t ease up on him.

“‘m here, right here. all yours, baby.” he promises. “gonna let go for me? make a pretty lil mess all over me, huh?”

you nod, tears of pleasure soaking your lash line and getting ready to spill down your face. “uh-huh! ‘m so close.”

you just need a little bit more and you’ll surely soak him in your cum. luckily, seungcheol knows exactly what you need. 

“rub your clit,” he tells you, a loud grunt following his words at the thought. “rub your clit and cum all over my cock, princess.”

a broken moan slips out and you nod weakly. one of your arms leaves his neck and snakes in between your bodies. your nimble fingers find the puffy, untouched bud, rubbing uncoordinated circles into it.

seungcheol finds the sight so alluring and when you clamp around him, his eyes nearly roll. he can’t stop the way his hips pick up in speed as his own brain turns to mush. your jaw goes slack and your eyes squeeze shut at the onslaught of pleasure. you don’t even get the chance to warn him when he gives you another sharp thrust and the tight coil in your tummy suddenly unravels. 

your cries die on the tip of your tongue as you release with an inaudible squeal, body jerking under his. tears begin to fall, painting your heated cheeks as you’re overwhelmed by the immense gratification. 

“that’s a good girl,” he groans, feeling how you trap him in between your tight, gummy walls. “fuck, fuck, fuck– you feel so good.” he tells you, eyebrows knit together as he wears the sexiest face of pleasure. 

you sob as he fucks you through your orgasm, body slumping in exhaustion. “cheollie,” you mewl, still trembling on top of the desk. 

“i know, baby, ‘m gonna cum… w-where–”

you cut him off, “inside.”

he grunts a curse, “shit– gonna fill you up, gonna give it to you, princess,” he babbles, thrust growing sloppy. “take it all for me.”

it happens before you can reply. his hips flush against yours, cock stilling before he empties his load into your cunt. he whines softly, mumbling out more words of praise. 

he stays nestled inside of your cunt, holding your body up with his hands while he peppers kisses all over your face. 

“did that feel good?” he whispers, unable to trust his wavering voice. 

“so so good,” you sigh. “thank you, cheollie.”

he smiles, humming, “you deserved it, princess.”

© cheolhub — all rights reserved, please refrain from copying, reposting, modifying or translating my work on any platform.

taglist 🔖: @roe-sinning @hyuk4ngel @bowmonde @rckwithyou @5xiang @ttyunz @lunaofthelake @girls4cheol @miriamxsworld @enhacolor

[thefangirlfever]

"Good morning" (a Miguel O'hara NSFW story, 18+)

(yes, I like this GIF of him)

Summary: Since you and Miguel had been married, he’s been rocking a dad bod, not that it bothers you…

Tags: NSFW, fingering, PIV penetration, squirting, that sweet marital life, married couple, dad bod, may be out of character, very self-indulgent smut, doggy style, size kink, this one is for all my girlies with a flat chest (I see y’all), oral sex (F receiving), cringe dialogues, breast and nipple play, no mention of condom use but trust me they do use one, unshaved female protagonist (again, let’s normalize body hair on women), aftercare, not proofread

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

When you met Miguel, he used to be quite the defintion of a wet dream. Athletic, tall, a chiseled physique… he was quite the peak definition of an athlete and anybody would agree on that. But as time passed, his body started to change. He started to develop what one would call a “dad-bod”. His hips widened, and so did his chest. His toned thighs and arms remained, although they seemed to have gotten thicker, just like his lower back. The sharp angles of his body softened and you could easily see how plush he had gotten, especially on his belly. Miguel had never had a ‘tummy’ in all his life and it was definitely something new for him. Anyone would have thought that these changes would have bothered him, that he would cry the loss of his former physique… but it was quite the opposite. Yes, his body had changed but that was life and he took it rather philosophically. He was also carrying himself with such confidence that it was impossible to not find him as attractive, if not even more, as when he was younger.

And you were no exception to that. Being his wife, you had the chance to admire him in all his glory, meaning when he woke up. You’ve never been a morning person, but damn, was it worth the sight. This morning was no exception. Miguel was already awake as you were just slowly emerging from your sleep. He was standing in front of the dresser, only covered by a towel when he noticed you waking up. Even with your blurred vision and your groggy condition, you were watching the object of your affection as if this was your last minutes on Earth.

“No one ever told you that it’s rude to stare?”, he asked you playfully while getting a new shirt from the wardrobe.

You didn’t even proceed to reply and instead you just laid back against your pillow, a content smile on your face as you watched him. Small droplets of water were dribbling from the tip of his hair down his shoulders and his tummy was slightly bulging from the top of of the towel, highlighting the shape hidden underneath. His hairy chest was on full display as well as his love handles to you not-so-subtle gaze.

“Are you going to keep watching me like that?”, he asked with a little grin.

As if he hadn’t done it on purpose, like every single time… After all these years married to you, he knew what effect he had on you, whether it was his eyes, his smile or other things… Just the idea of him crushing you under his weight, of his sheer body size engulfing you was already a turn-on for you.

“What? Don’t tell me you don’t enjoy the attention?”, you replied with the same playful tone while crossing your arms. You were determined to enjoy the show, whatever he was about to show you.

Miguel’s smile widened at your comment and he brings his hands to the hem of the towel, not removing it yet. He let the moment last a little, not giving you what you wanting yet. You were past the time in your relationship when you had to act all coy and shy around him and so your eyes roamed his body without any restraint. Your gaze stopped under the hem of the towel, noticing that what was a slight bulge was now turning into a raging hard-on. You’ve never understood the meaning of the expression ‘morning wood’ until you’ve met him. And now the sense was quite jumping to your eyes.

You watched him making his way toward the edge of the bed, his playful smirk still on his lips.

“Do you plan on getting up at some point?”

“I have a better view from where I stand.”, you replied in the same tone.

“Sure.” Miguel just chuckled at your words and finally stopped in front of the bed. For a moment, none of you dared to move as the tension filled the space between the two of you.

“You know, I don’t think it’s fair… why should I be the only one exposed?”, he asked with his most sultry voice before removing the bed sheet covering your legs. You squirmed as the cold air of the room hit your legs and soon Miguel’s fingers were brushing gently against your bare legs. The hair on your legs started to stand from this gentle touch so familiar. It was so familiar that you could already guess where this was going and the rest of your body was already reacting to it.

Miguel watched you from the foot of the bed. You were wearing one of his shirts and boxers. The oversize piece of clothe made him almost lose his composure as he could picture himself wrapping himself around you the same way the drape of the fabric was.

“I must say the view is still very nice from where I’m standing there too…”, he whispered before kissing one of your ankles. His lips kept kissing your leg, moving up higher at each little peck. He slowly followed the curve of your calf, dragged his tongue along your tibia and nuzzled it behind your knee, almost tasting the soft skin under his mouth. This send a few tickles up your whole lower body and you couldn’t help but giggle at the sensation, and at the same time feeling slightly aroused. Your eyes couldn’t stop watching his mouth exploring your body. His beard pricked against your skin, tickling you even more, especially when he finally reached the plump flesh of your thighs.

He was now moving down the bed, between your legs like a snake. His massive body still moved quite graciously as you watched his back muscles ripple under his skin and flex from time to time. His grip on your thighs was gentle but you found yourself unable to move. Miguel kept kissing your inner thighs until you finally lifted up the hem of your shirt, giving him a better access to your skin.

“May I?”, he asked even though he already knew the answer. A breathy ‘yes’ from you was all he could hear before he tugged on the waistband of your underwear.

He had already discarded his towel somewhere on the floor and the sight of his naked body had made you even wetter. Coupled with the teasing and the sight of his own arousal, it was no surprise that the first thing he saw was a white, almost creamy substance staining the inside of your underwear. Miguel’s grin widened at this sight and he began to tease you. His index slid down your slit and when he pulled it away from your lips a string of cyprine was still attached to it. He greedily licked his finger clean, tasting your juice. The sound he made let you know that so far, he enjoyed it. As if you didn’t know it. At this point, you were pretty sure that if he could just keep his head buried in your pussy all day long and only sustaining himself with it, he would do it.

He gently pinched your labia, using his index and his thumb to rub them together. Your wetness was spreading even more on your thighs, his fingers and you found yourself leaking on the sheets. You felt incredibly hot, in all the senses of the term, as he kept toying with you. Soon after that, his fingers spread your lips apart and he delved his tongue between them. He first proceeded to explore your insides but soon he found himself lapping at your juice, practically tongue-fucking you. In the meantime, his nose was rubbing against your clitoris. The small bud was growing painfully erect, red and swollen and you cold almost feel it throbbing.

Your hands grabbed some strands of Miguel’s hair and moved his hair according to your wants and needs. He was a moaning mess, half-kissing your pussy, half-eating it. The sounds he was making clearly showed his appreciation for you. He was like a fly trapped in a web, except the web was your thighs squeezing his head, not allowing him to leave yet. You were also quite vocal about the sensations you were experiencing and you felt clearly awake. When his lips circled your clit and sucked on it, almost as if it was a pacifier you completely lost it. Miguel’s chin was covered with your juice but he couldn’t care less. You were crying his name out loud and that was the best ego boost for him. With one last movement of his tongue on your throbbing sex, he tilted his head up, looking at you as you were clearly still riding the wave of your orgasm. Your flushed cheeks, your half-closed eyes, your uneven breathing… everything was calling him, telling him to keep going.

“I think we should remove this.”, he teased you while his hands played with the hem of your shirt. Your only response was to stretch your arms so he could pull the top off from your chest, which he did with much enthusiasm. And there you were, completely exposed, every mole, hair, stretch mark, exposed to him, unable to hide yourself, and he was living for these moments. His strong hands were moving up from your hips to your ribs. When he felt them under your skin, he felt his heart skip a beat. You were there, so real and he had the chance to feel every part of you, every single day of his life.

His eyes trailed up toward your chest. He knew that one of his hand could easily cover your whole breast, wrap itself around it but he had some other plans. Your chest may have been small, one would even say flat, he couldn’t stop himself to admire it. The feeling of your squishy, perky breasts on display was to die for in his eyes. Every time he was holding them in his hands, he just felt like he was directly holding your heart. And he couldn’t stop touching them. You may have just been dressing yourself in the morning before going to work and he appeared out of nowhere and slips his hand in the cups of your bra, giving them one loving squeeze before you started your day, all while kissing your neck. You could be cooking in the kitchen and suddenly his hands were under your shirt, playing with them, all while talking to you as if it was nothing. He would usually keep this going on until you were a mess, begging him to make you finish. And of course, he couldn’t help himself but indulge into some fondling while the two of you were sitting on your couch, watching TV. Sometimes, he would even lay his head on your lap and held one of your breasts in his mouth until once again, you were just a moaning mess. It was simple, since you married him, you were not feeling insecure about the modest size of your chest.

Your nipples were particularly poking out after this teasing and Miguel found himself unable to resist their appearance. His lips were now sucking on the small nubs, covering them in spit and sometimes flicking them with his tongue. Once again, you felt yourself growing wetter, hotter and your arousal was leaking down your thighs. You felt the sheets under you getting wet. The only thing that could make it worse -or better- would be…

One of his fingers inserted itself between your folds, not moving yet. He was waiting for you to make the first move, and so did you, all horny and needy that you were. When he sensed your despair, Miguel finally pumped his finger into, adding the pressure of an other digit. And you quickly came once again, all over his knuckles.

That’s when he released your nipple and looked at you with the most adoring eyes.

“I just know you’re going to take my cock so well…”

And indeed you took it very well, despite its size and girth. You were now on all-four on your shared bed with your husband just behind you, rubbing the tip of his cock against your aching pussy. His hands were holding your hips in place as he stood steadily on his knees. He would give your ass a few squeezes from time to time, especially when you would find yourself unable to answer to one of his questions. It was quite hard to focus, even on his dirty talk, as you felt your own legs shaking with movement of his member along your folds. When he finally penetrated you, you couldn’t hold back a breathy moan.

“You’re so wet, damn…”

Miguel was moving back and forth, pushing deeper into your cunt with each thrust. The room was filled with the noise of Miguel’s grunt as he kept moving behind and inside you, your own moans and the bed squeaking under your combined weights. As he kept moving faster, you could hear something else. It was nothing else than the sound of your skin slapping against one another. Since Miguel had gained some weight, the back shots were sounding quite louder, and heavier and in this moment you wished you could have hold his ass in your hands. If Miguel had a thing for your breasts, you clearly had a soft spot for his butt and it was one of your habits to give it a few squeezes or playful slaps, either during your most intimate moments and even outside of the bedroom. The image of his cheeks clapping made you moan louder. Taking this as a sign of your arousal, one of his hands circled your waist and soon rested on your mound.

On his side, Miguel was feeling it more and more difficult to control himself. He wanted to cum so bad, but he had to tease you one more time first. He knew there was something he wanted to get from you and he would get it, as always. With your back arched in front of him and your rear pushed against his crotch, you looked like the most erotic, the most sensual thing he could ever witness. It was too good to be true. His fingers were flicking your clitoris once again and with his other hand he was applying a firm pressure on your lower belly, now holding with his arms.

You were overflowing with desire and...something else. Something that could spill out of you at any moment.

“Miguel...if you keep doing that I will…”, you whined helplessly but there was no use reasoning him.

“Please baby, please. Do it. Come for me. I want you to soak my cock with your juice.”

His dirty words and the growing pressure on your lower abdomen made you lose it and you came once again, feeling more sensitive than ever. Only this time, you ended spraying your cum in a hot, almost streaming, pouring jet. You were squirting all over his hands, the sheets and his cock.

“That’s it… Good girl…”

Miguel was licking his lips in anticipation, already thinking about the moment he would drink it up from you and he finally came.

Your bodies were covered in sweat and your own arousal as he finally let you go. You limp down the bed, still shaking from the explosion of your desire. Miguel grabbed his towel that he had discarded earlier and gently began to clean you up. The smell of sex was still filling the room but there was nothing sexual in his actions anymore. He was just helping you, caring for you and your comfort. He then laid by your side, holding you between his arms. You could feel the plumpness of his body, its softness, all while hugging him. With one kiss on your forehead, he gently whispered:

“I love you…”

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

Notes: I’m finally free from my exams and as a reward I wrote this. Since it’s cuffing season, I’m giving you ‘big boy Miguel’. I’ve recently been obsessed with the concept of Miguel rocking a dad bod and I decided to write something about it.

I hope you enjoy the product of my febrile imagination. Here's your cookie for reading this🍪

Edit: Thanks for the 300 likes

Seeing your reactions, I think I will write a part 2 of "Dad Bod Miguel does naughty things to you"™

[bookshelf-dust]

the hurt is good

part i part ii part iii part iv part v part vi

billy hargrove x fem!reader

word count: 4,398

warnings: swearing, smoking, mentions of neil, reader has insecurities/social anxiety/anxiety in general, billy’s anxiety, descriptions of a wound, fluff, comfort

a/n: hi! so i worked on this for a couple days and i’ve kind of been wracking my brain with trying to figure out where i want to go, if that makes sense, but i think maybe i’ve gotten somewhere with this part. there’s definitely more opening up on both billy and reader’s side. there’s also one bit inspired by good will hunting, incase anyone catches it. anyways, this has been very self indulgent for me, and i hope that maybe you might find something in it. enjoy!! <33

before you read, listen to: fade to black by metallica and/or don’t dream it’s over by crowded house

————

It’s cloudy this morning, and you can feel the cold metal of your car door against your back, despite the layers you’ve got on.

You can feel Billy’s eyes on you too, so you focus on the details of his car rather than on him. On the shimmer the paint has in it when the light hits it the right way, the little scuff at the bottom of the driver’s side door.

You give in and turn your head to look at him, meeting his pretty blue eyes.

Billy takes a drag from his cigarette, assessing you.

He watches you pick at your nails, mess with your hair. Then you finally shove your hands in your pockets, though he thinks there’s probably lint in there you’ll play with too.

You watch him turn his head and blow the smoke in the other direction, like he does every time he has one near you.

Billy realized fairly quickly that you got to school earlier than necessary because you wanted to beat the rush of kids, spare the anxiety that came with parking.

He wasn’t really aware that parking is something that stresses people out. But it stresses you out.

And Billy has anxiety. He knows that. He feels it everyday. When people watch him in the halls at school, when he’s at home. Shit, it never stops at home.

But yours is different. You’re different than he is. He hides his well, and you don’t. Though maybe, he thinks, that’s because you never had to.

So he started getting there earlier too. Max would’ve complained, but she could skate around until the rest of the party got there. She found that she liked it that way.

Now, in the mornings, Billy pulls into the space next to you, tears you away from your book, and spends the rest of the time until you actually have to go into school talking to you—or not talking.

You’ve found that though it’s easy to talk to him, it’s also just as easy to be around him without speaking at all. You’ve found that his company is enough. His presence.

Billy notices, when you’ve turned to look at him, that you’re biting at the inside of your lip. He notices because he recognizes the movement, because he does the same thing. It’s rare that the inside of either of his lips aren’t sore because he’s chewed them raw.

“It’s going to be fine, you know,” Billy tells you. He stomps out the butt of his cigarette.

“You always say that.”

And truly, you know he’s got a point. You’ve studied your ass off for this test, have even had him look over your outlines for the essay portion too. You feel prepared.

But there’s always that voice in the back of your head, telling you otherwise.

The voice that clouds your mind like a shadow, that wraps its arms around your shoulders and squeezes.

It moves your hair to the side and whispers in your ear.

You’re not good enough. You have no purpose. You’re nothing. What are you doing here?

And more often than not, you believe it.

Billy walks toward you, adjusts the collar on your jacket, straightens the pin on the front pocket. He stares at you, a stern look on his face.

“And I’m always right, aren’t I? You’re going to be fine, in the end.”

You nod, and his mouth ticks up at the corners.

Billy bends the middle finger on his right hand and drags his knuckle across your cheek. It’s what he does now when he wants to offer you comfort.

You know it’s in place of a hug, or a kiss, or some passionate string of words that he can’t bring yet himself to say.

It hasn’t been but a couple weeks since that day at lunch.

He’d sat there, stealing food from your lunchbox and reading some book for English class. Something he’d never have picked out for himself and certainly wasn’t enjoying.

After that Billy found himself looking for you in the halls, just wanting to know you were there. It’s like when you’re a kid and your seat mate doesn’t come to school, and you feel this ache for them.

He’s not what it is, but he likes you. He likes your company. He likes that you don’t pester him or try to stomp all over his ego.

Billy Hargrove aches for you.

From then on, it’s been quiet conversations whenever you see each other, joining him for a walk when he’s outside. Sometimes he strolls down your driveway to wait for you.

It’s been nothing more than two lonely people finding solace in one another, in realizing that either person will understand whenever the dam breaks.

Billy might not know all the inner workings of your soul yet, but he feels like he does.

It’s when he asks you a question he hasn’t ventured to ask yet, though, that he realizes he wants to know more.

He wants to be your friend.

You watch the carline for the middle school pick up, listen to the shitty country music that the kids who live further out from town play on their way into the lot.

Billy knocks his ankle against yours softly. You look down, realizing that you’ve both got on the same pair of shoes: converse that look like they’ve seen much better days.

You look up, thinking he wants something. “Hm?”

“Would you want to go somewhere tonight? I don’t know,” he trails off, unwrapping a piece of gum and popping it into his mouth, “the record store? Or the bookstore, if you’d rather that. We could get something to eat.”

You feel yourself get warm all over and straighten from where you’d been relaxed against your car.

Billy senses that what he said set something off in you, and he starts to worry. “We could do anything you want.”

You inhale, avoiding eye contact with him.

“Uh, I don’t know, Billy. I’ve got to study.”

He scoffs. “For what? Your test is today.”

“Yeah, we’ll I’ve got another one next week,” you say.

“So you’re going to start studying a week early?” He asks.

“Yeah.”

You don’t sound so sure of yourself. It’s like you’re scrambling for a way out of this, for an excuse as to why you can’t spend time with him.

“My mom might need me tonight or something. I’ll have to ask her.”

Billy almost makes a quip about you having to ask your mommy’s permission to go out, though he decides against it, because you’re shrinking before his very eyes.

“Yeah?” He inquires.

You nod, shouldering your bag.

————

Billy calls you after school. Your mother picks up.

“Hi! This is Nicky. Who’s calling?”

He takes a deep breath. Your mother sounds kind, which he isn’t used to.

“Hi. This is Billy. Billy Hargrove. I was trying to reach Y/N, is she home?”

“Oh, hi, Billy! Yeah, she’s home. I think she might be asleep though.”

“That’s okay.” He tries to call her by your last name, but she insists that Nicky is just fine.

“Can I ask you something?” He continues.

Your mother doesn’t know a whole lot about your budding friendship with Billy, but she does know that you’ve seemed a little less…empty.

At least she thinks so. She thinks he might be good for you, and based on the fact that he’s calling, you might be good for him too.

“Sure, hon. Shoot.”

“Do you need Y/N tonight? Do you have plans?”

Your mother hums. “Nope to both. Any particular reason why you’re asking?”

“I wanted to see her tonight, but she said she had stuff to do.”

It clicks for him then, all at once.

“But now that I’m thinking about it, maybe she’s nervous? To go out and about? I’m sorry for saying all this, really,” Billy covers.

“No, sweetheart it’s okay.”

That almost does him in. No one parental has ever spoken to him this way. Not since his mom.

“Y/N has pretty bad social anxiety, so oftentimes she gets nervous about going out in public where there are loads of people. Does that make sense?”

“No, yeah that totally makes sense. Thank you for telling me.”

He’s silent for a few seconds, thinking. “Do you think you could check on her? If she’s asleep don’t bother her though.” He finally says.

“Hold on just a second, okay sweetie? I’ll go see what she’s up to.”

Billy smiles, and he’s sure your mother can hear it in his voice when he responds. “Okay.”

The line goes quiet on her end, and he can hear what he assumes is the sound of your mother setting the phone on the counter. He can also hear some muffled voices.

He really wants to see you, but he understands if you’d rather stay home. He would try and invite you over to his, but he’d also like to avoid that.

There’s s a large part of Billy that wants to be there for you and learn what it is that you’re feeling. He can’t say that he doesn’t get nervous to be the center of attention in crowded places, because he does, but he’s never felt like he couldn’t go out like you do.

There’s a shuffling over the phone that brings him out of his stupor.

This time it’s your voice that he hears, and it’s calm, sweet, just like your mother’s had been. You’re not upset with him. His shoulders relax at that realization.

“Hi, Billy.”

“Guess you weren’t sleeping then, huh?”

You laugh lightly. “Nope. Just wallowing in self pity. What’d you wanna talk about?”

“About what I asked you today. I’d really like to spend a little more time with you, but I don’t want you to do anything you’re uncomfortable with, you hear me?”

“Yeah,” you say. “Let me think for a second, okay?”

“Only for a second. I don’t want you to psych yourself out.” Billy can hear you sigh heavily, and he rolls his eyes. He can practically picture you, standing there.

“Um, okay. I’ll-I’ll go. Yeah, I’ll go. I haven’t been anywhere besides school in a long ass time.” That bit seems directed more at yourself than at Billy.

“Okay, little honeybee.” He’d heard your mom call for you and he was saving that one up.

“Fuck off,” you start, though there’s no malice in your voice. “Also, we can go to both, by the way.”

“Huh?” He questions, caught off guard.

“The record store and the bookstore. You offered the bookstore and I’m not letting it go.”

“Stubborn ass,” he mumbles.

“Can it, Hargrove. Are you picking me up? If so, when?”

He knows you could just walk down the street and go wherever with him. But he doesn’t want that. He finds that he’s kind of excited to see you.

“Yeah I can pick you up, your highness.”

————

Billy reaches across and pushes the passenger side door open when he sees you patter down the sidewalk.

“Thank you,” he hears you mumble, pulling the door shut behind you.

“Mhm.”

The both of you are silent for a moment, and you watch houses flick by outside the window. You wonder what people are up to. If they’re comfortable in those houses. If they’ve got carpet or hardwoods or stairs.

The radio volume is shockingly low you notice, but high enough that you catch something you recognize: the beginning of “Fade to Black.”

“Is there a reason you’re keeping the music so quiet?” You ask, and Billy glances at you for just a second.

“I was trying to not be an asshole,” he smirks, but it turns into a full, swoon-worthy smile when he sees you do the same at his remark.

“Well, you can turn it up, if you want. I like this song.”

Billy laughs. “Don’t fuck with me like that, Y/N.” He reaches for the dial and turns it up anyways. “Are you trying to tell me that you like Metallica?”

“What the hell is that supposed to mean, Hargrove?” You sit on your hands, the leather seat cold on the backs of your fingers.

“I don’t know, I’m just not used to people liking the music I like.”

You laugh.

“So which one is it?” Billy asks.

You ignore him, pretend you don’t know what he’s asking.

“Is it James?”

Your grin is wide.

“It is, isn’t it?”

“Maybe. But Kirk is pretty too. Not that I don’t think they’re all pretty, because they are.”

“Pretty?” He snorts.

“Yes, Billy.” You’re feeling brave, happiness spreading through you because you got to talk about something you like—so you go for it. “You’re pretty too.”

Billy coughs, and you pat him on the shoulder. “That’s a new one,” he tells you.

“Well get used to it, pretty boy.”

————

You’ve only been in the record store for five minutes, but Billy can sense that you’re nervous. There’s a pretty good crowd meandering through the aisles, and it’s a Friday night, so that’s no surprise.

You keep close to him, and you worry that he’s bothered by it, but you really do feel better when he’s right there.

Billy watches you flick through a set of Journey tapes, notices when you seem to panic a little if he goes too far away.

“I’m sorry,” you say, your eyes downcast at a stack of magazines.

“For what?”

“Being a buzzkill. I doubt I’m very good company.”

“Don’t say that.” His voice is serious enough that you look up at him. “You’re not a buzzkill. And you’re the best company I’ve had since I got here.”

You keep eye contact with him for a few seconds, realize he’s got freckles. That’s enough to straighten you out.

“Can we go to the back? That’s where they put the random shit they find and then it’s usually like fifty cents.”

He smiles.

“Yeah, come on.” Billy holds out his hand. He wiggles his fingers when you don’t immediately take it. “So I don’t lose you in the crowd,” he says.

You feel yourself burn, but take his hand, and his palm is rough against yours.

He leads you to the far end of the store, and you find exactly the thing you were looking for. You walk around awhile, looking at everything and nothing.

You see something, and when you go to grab it, you let go of Billy’s hand and move your own up to his bicep, where you hold on to him instead.

Billy likes you holding his arm better, he thinks. It feels more…intimate. Like you trust him. He’s not used to that.

When you catch him looking at where you’re grasping him, you squeeze his arm a little, just above his elbow. “So I don’t lose you in the crowd,” you say, giggling to yourself. You say it the same way that people day “duh,” and that makes Billy’s heart skip.

You pick up what it was that you saw: an Ozzy Osbourne bobble head.

“What did Ozzy do to them? This is fifteen cents, Billy.”

“Maybe they really like bats.”

That does you in, and the both of you start laughing, enough that you get looks, but neither of you care.

You set it back down and move on, though there really isn’t that much more to look at. Billy buys a Tank tape, and that’s all.

He tosses his bag in the backseat of the Camaro so that he doesn’t have to hold it, and then walks you back down the street towards the bookstore.

You lead the way through the aisles, through fantasy and then romance and then mystery.

It’s obvious to him that you’ve been here loads of times and that you have a plan. You also seem much more comfortable here—like it’s your kind of atmosphere.

It’s in the mystery section that you linger, though, and he watches you pick up the same book, read the blurb, and then put it back three separate times.

“Y/N,” he says.

“Billy.”

You crouch to look at another shelf.

“You should get that one you just put back.”

“I have plenty of books.”

Billy rolls his eyes and reaches for it. “This one, right?”

You look up, nod.

“I’ll get it for you then,” he states.

“Billy—” You start, but he cuts you off.

“Can it.”

“Janet,” you say under your breath.

“What was that?”

“Guess that means I’ll have to make you watch Rocky Horror.”

“I’m buying you a present, and you’re going to punish me by making me watch some chick-flick?”

You grab for his arm again, and walk towards the register. “It’s not a chick-flick, Hargrove.”

“Whatever you say.”

You watch him pay, and he hands the paperback to you on your way back to the car.

“Thank you.”

“No problem.”

You both get in, and he sits a second to let it warm a little. “Dinner?” Billy asks.

“Sure.”

————

Your mother is leaning against the counter, making herself hot chocolate when you get home. “Want some?” Her smile is contagious.

You accept, and she spins back around after turning the stove back on, realizing you’re holding something.

She wiggles her eyebrows, which she should really refrain from doing.

“Billy bought me a book,” you tell her.

“He’s a keeper.”

————

It’s been a couple days since your not-date with Billy. That’s what your mom is calling it, much to your dismay.

She’s gone out for a little while, and you’re reading that book the pretty blonde bought you.

You hear a knock and panic, because you don’t do well with unannounced visitors, but you go to the door anyways.

A look through the peephole tells you it’s Billy.

You pull the door open, and panic a little more because his eyes are glassy, though you can tell he doesn’t want them to be.

His hands are clenching and unclenching, and he’s not wearing a jacket, so he’s got no sleeve to mess with either.

“I’m sorry. Your mom’s car wasn’t here so I thought—it doesn’t matter. Can I—”

“It’s okay,” you stop him. “Will you come in please?”Something is wrong, clearly, and frankly, he’s freaking you out.

He doesn’t say anything, just follows you inside, lingering in the doorway.

“What’s wrong?”

“I need you to promise you’re not going to flip out on me if I tell you.”

Your breath catches. What the fuck?

“Are you a murderer or some shit? Because I can clean things, but I am not that good.”

“Oh my god, Y/N, no.” Billy runs his hands down his face. “I need you your help. There’s a cut on my back, and I can feel it bleeding, but I can’t clean it up myself. I was going to ask you to look at it.”

You take a deep breath, start thinking about if you’ve got anything to fix him up with.

You turn around and walk towards your bathroom, leaving him there. “I’m assuming you’re following me,” you say.

You want to ask him what happened, but you don’t want to push either.

Because he came to you. And maybe that means something.

You crouch, opening the cabinets under your sink. You gesture vaguely behind you when you wear Billy stop in the doorway.

“Sit down for me, please,” you tell him.

“Yes ma’am.”

You roll your eyes, and though he can’t see your face, he can most definitely feel it.

You push the door open wider, and you come into view for him. You’re sat cross legged on the floor.

Billy watches you pull out a washcloth, some q-tips. A messy assortment of other things.

You look up at him. “Can you show me?”

He nods, and you stand, kicking the cabinets shut. You try not to stare as he unbuttons his shirt and slips it off of his shoulders. He turns so he’s sitting sideways on the toilet.

You bend to look at it.

It’s not horrible or anything, but you know it has to hurt. It’s more of a bruise than anything, starting to get purple around the edges, but he was right about the blood—though it wasn’t a lot.

There’s a thin gash above his shoulder blade. It looks like the kind of thing you get when you bump into something wrong and it scrapes you, leaving a cut just deep enough to draw blood.

“You’re not bleeding anymore, it’s all dry now. I’m gonna wipe it off, okay?”

Billy sniffles. “Okay.”

You turn the tap on and wait for the water to get a little warmer, not wanting it to be too cold for him. You wet the rag and then wipe the dried blood clean from his skin, rinsing the fabric and then repeating that process until it’s clean.

You feel like you need something to put on it. The placement is bothering you and feels more susceptible to getting irritated. You really don’t want it to bother him.

With a little more rummaging, you find some antibiotic ointment that you’ve used for knee scrapes before.

You put some on the tip of your finger. “This is probably going to be cold, I’m sorry.”

Billy nods, and is quiet the entire time you rub it over the cut. You try not to notice how warm his skin is under your finger. Or how his bare back looks.

“You haven’t asked,” he finally says.

You wash your hands. “I didn’t know if you’d want to tell me.”

You pull out one of those oversized bandaids. “It’s my dad.”

Your fingers freeze where they tear into the packaging, but you calm yourself before sticking the bandaid on him.

“He got pissed at me today, and there’s a bookshelf in my room. He slammed me up against it, and my shoulder caught on the edge of a cassette tape.”

You move in front of him to drop your mess of supplies into the trash and sit on the edge of the tub to listen.

“It’s not the first time, and it won’t be the last. He’s fucking hated my guts since my mom left. But I guess I’ve never had someone I felt like I could come to about it.”

You feel that everywhere.

You reach out and push a curl out of his face. “I’m sorry, Billy.”

You move to get on your knees in front of him so that your faces are level and take his hands. “It’s not your fault.”

His brow furrows. You say it again.

“It’s not your fault. I’m sure you think it is, but it’s not.”

His eyes are getting glossy again. “It might be though. If I’d just been different—”

“No. Don’t say that. You’re doing your best, Billy, and that’s enough. He’s an asshole and you deserve better.”

Billy nods again and again as if reassuring himself, as if trying to absorb your words.

“Hug?” You ask.

He nods again.

And you just hold him for awhile. He doesn’t cry, but you can feel him relax in your hold, feel him melt into you.

You think about how much it means to you that he feels comfortable enough with you to share this. That you’ve never felt this way before. This ache and this sincere passion for the well-being of another person.

You also think about how he smells like cigarettes and something fruity, which you assume is in his hair, and like his cologne.

Billy thinks about how he hasn’t been hugged like this since his mom. He thinks about something else he hasn’t felt in a really long time too. He wonders how long it will take for him to get the courage to tell you. If you feel the same.

Eventually, you pull away, and Billy pulls his shirt back on, grinning at you when your eyes linger on his chest as he buttons it up.

“Would you want to stay for awhile? Maybe for dinner or something?”

“Yeah. I’d like that.”

————

When your mother comes home, she’s not surprised that Billy is there, nor upset by his presence. She’s happy to see you with someone.

She may even have wiggled her eyebrows at you both.

But now, the three of you have not only eaten dinner, but heard every bit of gossip that your mother had to offer. It was after the bean spill that your mom dugout your very worn in copy of The Rocky Horror Picture Show for you to watch.

“You know,” she’d told Billy, “when Y/N was a kid, I left her with her with Wendy and went to see a midnight showing of this. It was so beautiful, all of these people dressed up in this room just to watch a silly film.”

Billy hasn’t ever felt this welcome in someone’s home. Never even in his own.

He’s sitting on the floor in between your legs while you braid his hair and he watches Dr. Frank-N-Furter dance around with Columbia.

So, come up to the lab

And see what’s on the slab

You’ve been quiet mostly during the movie regarding talking, though Billy revels in your laugh each time Brad says something stupid—so it’s pretty damn often.

You’d also told Billy he’d look spectacular in a corset, and that was after he agreed to let you practice the makeup someday. He’d hidden his blushing cheeks from you.

“I see you shiver with antici…pation.”

Your mother is sitting in an oversized chair across from the two of you.

“She does that every time,” she tells Billy with the sweetest of grins on her face.

Billy’s hand slips under your thigh and holds on to your knee.

“Done?” He whispers.

You tie the braid off. “Yep.”

When he leans his head back in your lap to look at you, you can’t help but feel like you’re the only girl in the world.

And when he leaves that night, you miss him. You miss Billy Hargrove.

It’s been a long time since you missed someone.

You watch your mother clean up the kitchen before bed.

“He’s a grump, but I like him,” she says suddenly. “I can’t believe he let you braid his hair.”

You hide a smile, not quite believing it yourself either.

“I like him too.”

And she knows you feel more than that for him. She can see it.

————

please let me know if you liked this! feedback is always appreciated!! comments and reblogs mean more than you know. <33

[silveryclear]

LIMBO

Friend belongs to @stnaf-vn

NSFW MDNI all content regarding STNAF and this blog is strictly 18+

Pairings: Friend X GN! Reader

CW: Suggestive themes | Grinding | Dirty dancing | Obsessive behavior

Summary: You and Friend go to a gay club and dance real dirty together

A/N: This song has been stuck in my head for months and I can’t listen to it without imagining Friend dancing and singing the chorus to SH, and this was the end result. Enjoy my self indulgent writing. Happy Pride Month! 🏳️‍🌈

I know you want some more

Bend over baby, touch your toes

Wanna see you drop it low, limbo

The way she look over her shoulder drive me loco

You didn’t know what the fuck you were expecting when you finally agreed to come to the club with Friend, but it sure as hell wasn’t this.

There was Friend, in his pink crop top and short glittery pink skirt, grinding his crotch against your clothed ass while he held onto your waist.

How did the two of you end up like this again?

“We should totally go to this new gay club that opened recently, it’ll be fun!” Friend says with a look of excitement on his face.

You, however, are not as excited. “I don’t know… I’m not the type of person that goes to clubs a lot, y’know? It’s just not my scene.” You say, unsurely.

He smiles softly at you and grabs your hands in his. “That’s okay. How about this, we can go have a few drinks, dance a little bit, and as soon as you get uncomfortable, we turn back. How does that sound?”

You ponder over it for a few seconds. “Do you promise not to leave my side?”

Friend smirks mischievously. “Oh, sweetheart…” He purrs in a low voice. “There’s no way in Hell I’m letting you out of my sight~” He winks. Before you could even attempt to ask what he meant by that, you were being gently pushed into your room to get ready.

An hour later you come out of your room with the best club outfit you could conjure form your closet, only to be upstaged by your smoking hot friend who’s sitting on your couch, casually scrolling through his phone as if he didn’t just make you ruin your underwea-

“Sweetheart! You look amazing!” Friend exclaims while his eyes run over your body with a wide grin, making you blush in embarrassment.

“Look who’s talking…” You chuckle, slightly bashful.

Friend raises his eyebrow and smirks arrogantly. “Oh yeah~?” He approaches you slowly, his eyes trained on your fidgeting form. “You think I look good, baby~?” He says in that flirty, teasing tone he always uses when he wants to get a reaction out of you.

And you can’t help but give him exactly the reaction he was expecting as your eyes widen and you start blushing profusely. “S-Shut up! Anyways! Aren’t we going to the club? Let’s leave already!” You don’t give your best friend any time to respond as you march right through the door.

Friend grins and chuckles in amusement as he watches you leave. For a moment, his intense gaze focuses on the way your hips swing slightly as you walk away flustered, and he can’t help the way his cheeks flare up and mouth waters at the sight. He manages to break free from his trance before following right behind you with renewed purpose, anxious to get to the club and use this as an excuse to be as close to you as possible.

The club is in full swing by the time you guys arrive. The place is dark with a very colorful theme as neon lights drowned the room in an array of colors. Music is blaring through the speakers as a crowd gathered on the dance floor, sweaty bodies swaying and grinding against each other to the rhythm. You blush as you realize you had been staring and ask Friend to take you to the bar for a drink. You’re definitely way too sober for this at the moment.

After the first few drinks, you finally feel some of your anxiety slowly begin to fade as you welcome the warm haze and feeling of lightness that the alcohol brings.

“Okay! So, first impressions of the place?” Friend asks you as he sips on his cocktail.

“It’s a little bit much for my tastes, but I like it! It’s actually really nice, and I’m having fun!” You yell over the music, leaning closely towards Friend. You take a quick whiff of his scent as you do and your mind begins to wander off to the same place as it did when you first saw Friend’s outfit.

Friend grins and blushes slightly at the closeness, placing his hand on your waist to keep you close. Your heartbeat picks up. “I’m glad! I knew you’d like it!” He looks over to the dance floor and leans closer to you. “Do you wanna dance~?” He asks into your ear, his warm breath making your shiver.

You snap out of your daze and chuckle. “I’m drunk, but not that drunk!”

“There’s an easy solution for that, sweetheart~” Friend winks before turning towards the bar and asking the bartender for something. Soon, Friend stands before you with a large grin on his face as he holds a shot glass in each hand. “Do you dare~?” He wiggles his eyebrows, teasing you.

You laugh at his goofy behavior and take the shot from his hand. “I dare~” You wink at him.

Friend’s face brightens and he links the arm he’s holding his shot with, with yours. “Ready?”

“Ready!” You exclaim as you both down your shots with your arms linked, hissing as it burns your throat slightly. “Man, I can never get used to that.”

Friend laughs as he grabs your hand and pulls you to the dance floor with him. You tense up as the atmosphere begins to feel rather suffocating with other people’s sweaty bodies bumping into yours and the music blaring loudly from the speakers. Friend notices your discomfort and grabs your hands and pulls you close to him, shielding you from the other dancers.

“Are you alright? Do you want to leave?” Friend says soothingly in your ear as he rubs your back.

You blush slightly at his concern and shake your head, leaning towards his ear. “No, it’s okay. I guess the shot hasn’t kicked in yet.”

Friend chuckles and smiles at you. “Then let’s get you warmed up, shall we~?” He winks before grabbing your hips, a safe distance between the two of you. You can’t help the warmth that grows on your cheeks as he does. Thankfully, it’s just dark enough for it to go unnoticed. “Is this okay?” He asks, making sure you are comfortable with it.

You nod your head and place your hands on his shoulders, not knowing where else to put them. Friend chuckles and looks at you affectionately. “Just follow my lead, yeah?”

Friend begins by moving his hips to the rhythm of the music and gestures for you to do the same. You tense up at first, moving almost robotically, hyperaware of your surrounding. “Just focus on me…” Friend’s smooth voice breaks you from your thoughts. “Don’t look at anyone else, just look at me.” You blush and nod as you let Friend take the lead. His hands on your hips guide you into moving your hips slowly, just enough to get you comfortable with moving them. Soon enough, you’re swaying to the rhythm, giggling as you begin to feel yourself get lost in the music. Friend grins widely as he sees you start to enjoy yourself. He lets go of your hips and watches in awe as you let yourself go completely.

Feeling the effects of the alcohol coursing through your veins, you begin to dance like never before. It’s as if your body is on autopilot. It knows where you should place your hands, traveling up your hips, waist and sides as your hips loosen even further. It knows when the beat is perfect to shake your ass to, and when to drop it down low and pick it up slowly, sensually. And it knows when someone grabs you from behind to join you.

Friend had barely danced himself when he became enthralled by your display. Eyes glued on your ethereal body, he felt himself grow hard at the way your body moved perfectly to the rhythm. There is something so raw and enticing about watching the person you’ve been obsessed with for most of your life, who rarely relaxes, just cut loose completely. Friend felt that he was gazing at a new side of you, one that is vulnerable and so unapologetically you that he couldn’t bring himself to tear away from you. With this realization, his possessiveness grew, and he knew that if he could be absolutely mesmerized by you, then so could others. Other people were already staring and looking to approach you. Before any of them had a chance, he takes a hold of your hips and pulls into him, letting out a growl and glaring menacingly.

Absolutely consumed by the music, you barely reacted when you felt familiar hands grab your waist from behind, thumbs rubbing circles on your exposed skin. He growls lowly, pressing his front against your back as if to exert his claim over you to the rest of the gawkers. He leans his head forward, his voice low and sexually charged as he whispers in your ear, “Is this okay~?”

You can only answer with a nod as all words had died in your throat as soon as he grabbed your waist. Your body pressed against his toned, strong one left you breathless as you become hyper aware of your best friend. Had Friend always been this strong? The way he held onto you only spurred your body further as you take the initiative and move your body against his. You blush once you heard him chuckle in amusement as he began to move against you.. You gasped, holding onto his bare thighs as he slowly ground his hips against your ass. His skirt and your bottoms skimpy enough to feel the outline of his half hard cock brushing against your cheeks over them.

Oh fuck. You were in trouble. With the last thread of self control snapping from the arousing sensation of his dick grinding on your ass, you grabbed onto the nape of his neck as you ground your ass back onto him.

I know you want some more

Bend over baby, touch your toes

Wanna see you drop it low, limbo

The way she look over her shoulder drive me loco

Friend let out a low groan behind you and whispered seductively in your ear. “That’s it, baby… Just focus on me…” You couldn’t help the shiver that coursed through your body as you recall the words he had whispered soothingly before are now being uttered in such a lustful way that they changed meanings completely. You let out an involuntary moan.

Friend grins widely, your sounds and movements only feeding into his obsession for you. “You like that, sweetheart~?” He chuckles darkly. “Follow my lead~”

As soon as he said that, you were bent forward as one of his hands held onto your shoulder and the other one gripped your hip tightly. The new position had you feeling flustered and exposed, but all worries were washed away as soon as Friend’s hips ground against your clothed sex. You bit your lip and moved your hips in sync with Friend’s, the sexually charged atmosphere only fueling your bodies into becoming more daring.

Friend was already going crazy with the way your body desperately grinds against his, as well as your eagerness to follow and please him. He was already thinking about taking you home, let the drive over sober you up before finishing what you both started. But when you look over shoulder, lips parted and panting heavily, and half lidded eyes filled with lust trained on him as you kept moving… he almost came right there.

He growled and pulled you back against him, turning you to face him, his lustful gaze hiding something more primal in the depths. “Is there something you’ve been meaning to tell me, sweetheart~?” He says in your ear, holding you tightly against him as if you have no other choice but to answer.

With liquid courage still coursing through your veins you blurt out, “I like you.”

This surprises Friend as he didn’t expect you to admit it so easily, but he doesn’t complain and instead, leans closer as he holds your chin. “I like you too~” He places a soft kiss on your lips and pull back, grinning at your flustered expression. “I really want us to finish this dance… alone~” He purrs and whisperers in your ear. “Can we~?”

Your frantic nods aren’t enough to express just how much you want this to happen, how much you’ve been craving your best friend since this afternoon.

You didn’t know what the fuck you were expecting when you finally agreed to come to the club with Friend, but it sure as hell wasn’t this~

[my-humble-abode]

This is for @heir-of-the-chair​, who was curious about my RwD binder!

It’s all digital for the moment, because a) I don’t want to print out new versions of all the character stuff after s3 comes out, and b) I started it right at the end of the school year, and I don’t have a printer, so I’m going to have to wait until school starts again at the end of January to be able to print anything on the school printer anyway.

Let the tour begin, I guess

This is the whole folder - we’ve got extra little folders for analysis and breakdowns of things, character profiles of NPCs and PCs, folders for my silly little sketches and fics (both of which are so self-indulgent that I probably won’t share them tbh, but honestly? who knows. also maybe i’ll draw/write something that i’m more inclined to share at a later date), then you’ve got theories, which is currently empty, but will probably be filled very quickly the second the first episode of s3 drops, and then the final folder is the in-progress transcripts of all the episodes.

There are also just some documents with my personal favourite moments from the show, the descriptions of their gala outfits (for possible drawing purposes later, especially Dani), an incredibly quick domino effect meme I made (which I’m happy to share if someone wants it) and then my personal modern headcanons for the crew (which I may also share if anyone is interested).

These are all the NPCs that I currently have profiles for - either because they’re really interesting, I love them, we have a lot of information for them or they’re somewhat important to any of the characters. You can see that some of them (Cressida and Elyse, my beloveds) have had more work done to them than others and that is because a) we have a fair bit of information for those two and b) I love them. There are a couple of important NPCs that aren’t here, mostly from s2, and the reason for that is because we don’t really know a whole lot about them, and definately not enough to fill a profile with. Mystra isn’t there yet, and neither is any of VR-LA’s old crew, because anything on any of those is entirely reliant on whatever happens in s3.

NPC character profiles include the character’s name, their race, their resident wierd little dude (if they have one - this is basically just Cressida and also maybe Hira? undecided on whether to count the frost salamander as a wierd little dude or not. also not 100% on if Lula counts, so), their appearance, personality, any character arc they may have (this one is particularly for Ione and Elyse, both of whom have some fairly major events and changes that we see), any relationships they may have with the rest of the crew or other characters, any noteable magic items/characteristics/quotes and, if known, their plane of origin, max HP, AC, alignment and age.

The character profiles for PCs are broken down further into one-shot PCs and guests, and the crew of the Per Aspera.

One-shot PCs and guests includes exactly who you thought it would: the Curse of the Amulet gang and our boy Hans. Yes, the Curse of the Amulet gang have last names, no, none of them are there, yes that is because I both keep forgetting to write them down and also I don’t know how to spell some of them. Also, yeah, most of the Curse of the Amulet crew haven’t been worked on yet, this binder is still a definite work in progress. I will get there though, I swear!

The crew of the Per Aspera is also very self-explainatory regarding who it includes, it is our main four PCs. Dani’s is the largest so far because her’s was the first one I made, and so, while it is also unfinished, it has had a bit more work put into it than the other three.

PC profiles include the exact same information as NPC profiles, but they also include who plays a character, a character’s class and a lot more detail, especially in the backstory department.

Like I said, the drawing and fic is just for me, and the theories folder is empty, so I’m not going to be putting screenshots of those in.

The transcripts folder is very organised, with a folder for level-ups, one-shots, Q and As and a folder for each season (although s3 is obviously empty right not). Each transcript includes a description of the episode up top, as well as a list of NPCs that make an appearance. In terms of completion, s1 ep1 is the only one with any real progress made, I’m about half an hour in, and it is taking approximately forever.

There’s the beginning of ep1, if anyone is curious as to how I’m formatting those.

But yeah, that’s basically the whole will-be binder! (I do have a physical binder to put them in, it’s just not with me right now, so no photo of that, I’m afraid). Happy to share specific things or give more detail or any of that jazz if people are interested, but. Yeah!

[talenlee]

2023, The 10th Year Of Press.Exe

New Post has been published on PRESS.exe: 2023, The 10th Year Of Press.Exe

Hey, it’s January! That’s an odd-numbered month, which means there’s not going to be a theme here. It’s also the start of the year and there’s going to be a bunch of stuff getting cleared out from 2022 so it’s not going to have a proper theme but it’ll definitely have something… themey.

What’s coming? Well:

February is a month of Smooches!

April is a month of Self Indulgence!

June is a month of Pride!

August is a month of Tricks!

October is a month of Dread!

December is a month of ‘Ween!

Then, each month, look forward to

A How To Be article talking about a character in 4th edition D&D

A worldbuilding article talking about building my setting of Cobrin’Seil, or building settings in general

At most one article on 3.5 D&D, one on 4e D&D

Each month I’ll show you at least one article on Magic: The Gathering, where I’ll show you this month’s daily custom cards, and well, we have a big special project for that, which we’ll talk more about soon.

An article talking about an OC, usually from City of Heroes, but hey, wide open world.

One piece of graphic design for a t-shirt, mask, or sticker

A story pile article each monday, with at least one anime a month (loose target)

A game pile article every friday, with at least one video a fortnight (harder target)

Each month I’m going to present at the end of the month, a summary of the game dev I’ve been doing that month, which is also going to be built out of articles posted on other social media spaces.

Ah.

Yes.

Other social media spaces.

You know, like Twitter, where I used to do this all the time.

I’m writing this back in December, of course. I don’t know what’s going on with Twitter. But I think it’s probably bad, and I think I’m enjoying not having to be on a space that predominantly is known for everyone on it screaming about how bad it is. So what I’m going to try and do going forward is do things like dev threads over on my Mastodon, which lets me do long-form threading with graphics, and search my own history. That’s what I really liked about what twitter gave me. I’ll also be presenting things on Cohost and Patreon to see what the audiences there want to say.

Basically, what you’ll find where:

Drafted article ideas where you can comment and give me direct suggestions where I’ll be able to meaningfully engage? Cohost.

Threads for showing ongoing progress on projects where I’m primarily taking notes on my own work? Mastodon.

Places for answering polls and questions about the game development I’m doing where you get to provide meaningful input into things I’m doing? Patreon.

Just the video articles? Youtube!

Each of these platforms is going to do a different job, and that’s important. I need to stop treating you as if you’re going to different sources for content firehoses. What I want you to do is come to my blog to look at the best of my material, and look at those other platforms as places you can go if you want more. This blog hosts articles. Those places are for social interaction, in different ways.

Particularly, this plays into the new way I’m approaching Brainstorm posts. Instead of having each month open with a post explaining that month’s game project, which can feel a bit like an open space, my intention is to present a link to the month’s brainstorming thread on Mastodon. Mastodon serves a purpose that the blog doesn’t necessarily, where it allows for lots of small additions, maintained in reverse chronological order, threaded on one another. At the start of each month, there’s going to be now, a post summarising that thread. This also stops cutting off a bit of extra time, where scheduling meant sometimes a month was more like three weeks of working on something rather than 31 days.

Below the fold, though, there’s some reflection on the history of this blog, why we have ten years of Press, and how I feel about realising this is now one of the longest ongoing projects I’ve ever had.

Goodness me

This blog started out as a byproduct of a change I wanted to make in my life when I was 29, turning 30. I realised that I’d spent my twenties trying things and starting a dozen projects but finishing nothing, which meant that all the ideas I had and all the concepts I was sure of had resulted in a lot of incomplete things. I’d had it in my head that I’d write a book or become a videogame maker or something like that. I felt, in the back of my mind, that I was always working on a thing, and any day now I’d make the thing.

I hadn’t.

I mean, there were things I made! I made things like a D&D setting and outlines of ideas, and D&D prestige classes and feats and magical items, I had been working on these small things but I’d never internalised that ‘small things’ and ‘big things’ were still just things. I mean I had a whole D&D setting, which one of my friends had printed out and put in a book, but that wasn’t a thing for people to read. It was a thing for me to be happy I had (which is noble enough on its own).

This blog is a thing that charts to my life, and now it charts to this particular period of my life. The year I turned 30, I made a plan. I would write one thing a week, a short story being the aim, and at the end of the year I would have 52 things that were made ‘together’ and that would count as a book. It had no option but to count as a book. Fox made this blog, which I think was her idea and it was a good one. Give me a place I had to put things, after a period where we once shared a blog on another site.

I wrote that first book. I’ve told this story before – about midway through the year I realised just how much I wanted a plan, how I wanted structure. I was using the blog in a very random way, and there’s probably a bunch of stuff back there that’s a big bad or meanspirited in ways I’d probably not be wild about now. I think I should keep things up, generally speaking, to make sure I’m accountable for things I said and so that if I did something that deserves an apology, I can actually do that. But I did write that book, The Sixth Age Of Sand.

It’s not great. I mean I like some of the ideas in it a lot, I like the way that it built bits of a world. I kind of like the idea of how a modern setting becomes a magical setting, with the idea of it being like buildups and thresholds and I liked the idea that the previous civilisation that we never knew about on earth was entirely made up of crabs.

In the November of that year, of my first year of university, while studying for my first exams, I wrote my first book for Nanowrimo – I wrote Immortal Engine, which was much smaller, tighter, and built out of a burning desire to finish a story that I could make with a structure. I like that book, not because it’s amazing writing or because it’s very good, but because it was my first book, and that book required a world that then became the setting for my next book, One Stone.

One Stone is a book that even now I’m proud of.

When I started this blog, I started making this blog because I imagined I would become a videogame journalist who wrote books on the side. Those were two things I liked, a lot, conceptually. Still kinda do. But what happened along the way was being believed in by teachers, and guided by friends and enabled by an audience. To shift from I think games doing this are bad to the next level of well why don’t I do things differently to suddenly… there are games. We made games. We made games, because again, Fox has been instrumental to this.

It’s been a weird few years. I became a game maker. I grappled with the challenges of self-identity. I started a youtube channel, because I was intrigued by the different ways you could use video to explain ideas. I acquired a stalker at one point. I got a dog! I progressed through multiple types of conceptual rage and started writing about my material conditions. I became an anarchist, which I’m still cautious about saying because I’m afraid the boss of anarchism will find me and yell at me for saying it and I know that’s dumb.

There’s a sort of soppy inclusivity that internet content creation wants to induce you to, the ‘we’ did it, you did it with me, you, the reader, you helped, and you totally did! I really like to imagine that someone is reading what I have to say, and that alone is enough to make sure I do it. I remember someone letting me know they laughed at something I said about Touhou predating Dark Souls and…

I smile.

I throw a lot of words out there and they wouldn’t be here if not for Fox. I press post because I imagine my audience, I visualise people who are interested in the kinds of things I want to talk about in the way I want to talk about them and bless, some of you are out there and have found it.

This blog does give me stressful nights sometimes, when I feel I haven’t done enough, written enough, worked enough for the Patreon dollars I receive, and the inherent anxiety of knowing the Queue Hungers. but I still love this feeling, this moment, when I’m able to bring my focus to bear, and let words spill.

Thank you for showing up, and thank you for telling me what you think about what I do.

Hey, wanna know why the blog is called press.exe?

I’ll tell you at some point this year.

Check it out on PRESS.exe to see it with images and links!

[cruelset]

I FOUND THESE in an old chat, and i really want to have this documented in order to expand on nines’ replicant verse. pls don’t correct me on replicant lore if u know more than me i am sensitive LMAO (meaning it’s been 3457 years since i’ve played it, so if anything doesn’t make sense/goes against canon, then close ur eyes pls . . . . . . . . . i’m sensitive)

but one thing i hc for this verse is that nines (named kurou) is considered to be THE first replicant to gain sentience; he likely carried over some traits from the original soul that was separated from him that ultimately caused him to deviate (immense curiosity, intellect, etc). I say this also because of my self indulgent need to connect this to the reason why yorha scanner types are modeled the way they are in the future :') 

he was still young when Gestalt was put into place- naturally bc of the class war thrusted upon Japan in lieu of civil wars and Gestalt itself, he was far from the first to go through with the process but was eventually put through as many others did.

His "gestalt" wasn't really anyone important, he was just some rowdy kid who always stuck his nose in other people's business lol so I would say it was more of a spontaneous miracle that his replicant had gained sentience before anyone else.

 As a vessel, they're not exactly made with the knowledge of a higher purpose. They aren't exactly equipped with the means to wonder what the meaning of life is. It began as an observation made by a single replicant. Soon, it became a thought. Then a voice. Suddenly it was a pandemic of consciousness. This was something that was unknowingly bound to happen, especially as empty bodies going so long without souls. 

This calls to question the end of Project Gestalt since now that PG was in complete ruin since vessels were able to QUESTION THEIR REALITY, there was no longer the ability to rejoin souls back to their bodies. 

I would say it was definitely noticed by observer androids too, which eventually led to making scanner models in his likeness. It was discouraged to get rid of him because of that since it went against the ultimate purpose of saving humanity, but the existence of a sentient replicant itself went against PG in its entirety- but again by this time, PG was doomed to fail and so raising these replicants within their own societies and communities designed after already-extinct humanity was best choice after PG came to its end.

 And as they start with a blank slate, Kurou was "reborn" so to speak, in the outskirts of Façade. There were many village units in the desert that didn't quite follow the practices of the Kingdom but lived closely to the culture. 

 As he grew older, he kind of moved away from that part of home and decided to expand his horizons a bit and now resides at the Seafront. Spends his days fishin n getting in everybody's business LMAO

TLDR; mans just opened his eyes one day and thought about "society"

[brokenbeskar]

uh...Woops!

Hey friends! Just wanted to apologize for the accidental hiatus. I didn't even realize it had been a year since I've posted until the new Mando S3 release date was announced. Truth be told, I kind of lost sight of why I began writing in the first place, and was more worried about getting chapters out in a timely manor than the original vision for the story. Memories Reforged is a really important story to me and truthfully, after rushing through ch 10, which was supposed to be one of the MOST important chapters for setting up the rest of the story, I completely lost interest and was feeling rather discouraged about my abilities as a story teller. I read it back a few weeks after posting and was really upset because i feel like it completely missed the mark and wasn't at all what i envisioned originally.

I went back and forth several times about rewriting it or abandoning the story altogether, but ultimately decided that it didn't matter. I'm writing this story for ME based on how I envision it to be, regardless of how cringey, cheesey, or self indulgent that is.

SOO with that said, I am very happy to announce that I have been very busy writing the start of arc 2 when I have time( sneak peak under the cut), but i'm making a point not to rush myself and take the time I need when I need it.

I appreciate all of you who have stuck around, believe in my vision, and are willing to be patient for future chapters!

The Mandalorian notices your shift in tone and pauses what he’s doing again, but when he turns to face you this time it’s gentler, nearly laced with concern if you didn't know any better. He leans his back against the side of the locker and tilts his helmet, as if investigating you for a moment.

“Don’t want it?”

“No. I hate caf.” The words come out too sharp, too bitter, “They wouldn’t let me leave without it though.” You add on lightheartedly, trying to correct your tone. The Mandalorian clearly doesn’t buy it, he watches you silently as you set the cold cup down on a crate and saunter over to your own supplies to rummage through your own things and pack for the trip, purposely forgetting the awkwardness in the air. 

You try to ignore the feeling of his lingering stare, it’s clear he wants to press the issue further, investigate your sudden change in tune, but he won’t. You know he won’t, and he knows you know that. So instead he lets it awkwardly hang in the air, hoping you’ll open up on your own accord, but that's definitely not happening.

“How many nights do you think we’ll be out for?” You try to change the unspoken subject, but he doesn’t reply, and you can still feel the irritating presence of his visor burning into the back of yours. You let out an irritated huff and turn to glare at him over your shoulder. 

“What’s your deal?” 

He still doesn’t answer, just stares at you, and you can feel the irritation starting to bubble up in your gut. 

“What?!” You snap at him when he still doesn't answer, “I already told you that you can have it. Get a damn straw if you’re worried about your helmet.” 

He doesn’t say anything. Just sighs and decides to leave it, turning back to his own packing when you angrily turn back to finish yours.

“And choke on it.” you mutter to yourself quiet enough he can’t hear you.

[the-dalseum-duet]

cra-chea-ing out

i’m. actually tweaking.

also on my period so that’s probably why I’m on the fucking verge of tears over this shit.  funny pun title tag (brief Kai name drop tag too) : @svwhssftr

Adrienne Lenker is an indie artist who does very much sad soft teenage lesbian music. The Phoebe Bridgers type. But GOD. SHE IS A LYRICIST. They’re very simple but so damn effective which is what always gets me good. It will kill me every time. I haven’t heard a lot of her discography but rn. But Always is getting to me

I tend to focus on a lot of the very flashy and entertaining aspects of Dalseum and I do this on purpose. Because I physically cannot bring myself to think about the more domestic aspects without FUCKING CRASHING OUT. kai must be there to soften the blow or else i physically cannot finish writing it because i will break down. i will hysterically sob. but I heard the lyrics

“I don’t want to be the owner of your fantasy, I just want to be a part of your family”

 and I was just like “sonnit che…” so. here we are. a spiel abt sonnet and noeul’s relationship bc i do not write nearly enough abt them

and the rest of her songs are VERY sonnet coded I just cannot bring myself to write abt it. cannot. I will sob. anyway. I very violently paced circles in my room over “I could be a good mother, and I want to be your wife. so I hold you to my knife and I steal your letter”

NOT A LOT. JUST FOREVER. INTERTWINED. SEWN TOGETHER I’M CRASHING OUT OVER THESE TWO I’M CRASHING THE FUCK OUT 

so of course. we gotta start w sonnet’s past. grew up very sheltered in a monastery and went to an art school in Britain where they met Adam and realized all that was out there in the world. something abt sonnet choosing to abandon their monastic practices for the glamour of Dalseum… something abt becoming someone who could never return to your family without them seeing you as a moral failure… hashtag relatable. back to sonnet 

so they’re desperate for human connection with people their age. which is why I think they get so attached to Noeul. he makes them feel special and physically loved even though he treats them like shit outside of their hookup sessions. bc sonnet doesn’t understand this yet. they just see the part of him that cherishes what they offer him.

sonnet’s also definitely has some form of personality disorder. theeeeere is something VERY wrong with them. probably bpd if I’m being honest but I’m just not educated enough about it. their behavior toward noeul is very similar to having a favorite person though. 

and ofc the whole Blaire thing happens after Sonnet leaves the Council to focus on healing after what happened with Adam. this really gets me tbh. bc they tried to fix what was wrong with them. they knew they could do better. they TRIED to do better so fucking hard but the life of the council was too enticing. and they gave back in. and they just… do whatever noeul tells them bc it’s easy and they don’t have to worry about being a good person anymore. they don’t have to focus on healing when they can just keep destroying their self image because it feels so much better to indulge in whatever Noeul does and his praise than to face the implications of what they’re doing 

and Noeul knows sonnet is doing this. and he really doesn’t care because it’s easier for him, too. he doesn’t have to think about what might have been if he tried to better himself for Charlie. (SPOILER: SOMETHING HAPPENS APX. NINE MONTHS AFTER THIS THAT FORCES HIM TO DO EXACTLY THAT FOR FIFTEEN YEARS!) but people know Sonnet, and Sonnet knows how the Council works and all the ways they bullshit their way to seem prestigious. They were who a Sang man was meant to marry, and Noeul is no better than the thousands of men who came before him. No matter how much he tried to change that. They both gave in to the easiest option. 

But here’s the kicker. Neither of their strategies work. Sonnet doesn’t fill the void that Charlie was, and Sonnet fucking knows this. THEY KNOW THIS. THEY KNOW THIS. DO YOU HEAR ME RN THEY KNOW THIS. THEY KNEW THEY WOULD NEVER BE NOEUL’S FIRST CHOICE. SONNET KNOWS THAT NOEUL PRETENDS THEY’RE CHARLIE the shotgun is in my mouth right now actually 

And they know that everything they do is for show. they’re Charlie without the rough bits. without the arguments. without the social awkwardness. without the small, unimpressive body. without the longing for more. WITHOUT THE LONGING FOR MORE!!!

and Sonnet is fine playing this part for a few years until Marie starts getting a little older. they see her love for her family and her love for them. and suddenly Sonnet has a purpose again, and that’s to be Marie’s parent. like, they enjoyed taking care of Crow as a baby bc that’s just the way sonnet is. they’re naturally VERY empathetic. they ALWAYS put others above themselves. which is incredibly tragic considering they’re the main antagonist for half of the entire plot

but Marie was different because Marie was their daughter. ofc they don’t really have that initial biological connection the way Noeul connects with Crow (and i could absolutely talk abt sonnet’s distress over their own inability to carry children. for a very long time. but not now) but Marie is the closest thing they’ll ever get. and by God is she more than they could have ever wanted and hoped for. Marie makes Sonnet feel like Sonnet again and not just some stand-in for some girl Noeul never got over

and Noeul and Crow have this parallel connection for a while. Crow makes Noeul realize that he’s more than just his job and that he can have meaningful connections with others that are just. meaningful connections. and not just business transactions. even if that comes in the form of his illegitimate son

(and yeah I could also talk abt Noeul always seeing Charlie in Crow and Sonnet doing the same seeing how he connects with Crow more deeply than connects with Marie but the gist of that is self explanatory. very angsty! but age old trope there)

But this is the key difference between them:

Sonnet raises Marie to be Marie.

Noeul raises Crow to be Noeul.

And this is evident over the course of Blackbirds and how Sonnet and Noeul react to Crow betraying the Court’s values. Noeul thinks Crow is just being immature and isn’t a legitimate threat because he assumes Crow has the same thought process he did at that age. He only takes him seriously when he realizes Charlie is with him.

But Sonnet sees Crow for all he is. They see that yes, he is just a scared and confused kid, but they know he doesn’t want to inherit the role of his father. He sees how his loveless marriage and alcoholism has destroyed him. They know Crow’s smart and driven as hell. They know he’s just like his dad at that age. 

That’s why they only intervene when Marie gets involved. Because Marie is their heart and soul. Marie is the good they gave to Dalseum. As the Court proves to be less and less stable, they confine themselves to their sacred room just. to get high and play music and shit. because they know everything around them is collapsing and there’s nothing they can do because their role on the Court has been reduced to Noeul’s arm candy. Marie is the only person left who truly sees them for who they are. 

and once Noeul announces that Marie is going to become empress and Sonnet will no longer have any say on the Court, they disassociate entirely. like the entire week before Marie’s coronation they just get stoned out of their mind and. I’m actually debating having them attempt to overdose on Crow’s leftover pain meds bc damn that shit has to mentally kill someone. they just fully embrace their dehumanization. but after none of that works they launch Operation Doehunt with Gale and we all saw how that went (spoiler alert: gale had a closed casket funeral)

I had a point here. Oh yeah.

Sonnet didn’t care that Noeul didn’t find them specifically attractive. They just wanted someone that made them feel important. They jumped through the hoops he told them to jump through to prove to him that they were EVEN WORTHY of his time and attention… even though Sonnet was worth so much more than that. But, after all the dust settled, they just wanted Marie to be happy. That was all they cared about once their entire life as they knew it was jeopardized. 

They didn’t want to be a part of Noeul’s fantasy. They just wanted to be a part of his family. 

Tune in next time for a potential “not a lot, just forever” analysis. that’s it for now. 

update: wrote this like a day ago but you called me in the middle of my crashout so I had to put it on hold. so here is the finished product that’s literally unintelligible bro what does half of this mean

[linkablewritingadvice]

Anxiety and perfectionism make it hard for me to write - how do I overcome this “internal editor” or fear of my writing not being good?

I love this quote from Ira Glass:

“Nobody tells this to people who are beginners, I wish someone told me. All of us who do creative work, we get into it because we have good taste. But there is this gap. For the first couple years you make stuff, it’s just not that good. It’s trying to be good, it has potential, but it’s not. But your taste, the thing that got you into the game, is still killer. And your taste is why your work disappoints you. A lot of people never get past this phase, they quit. Most people I know who do interesting, creative work went through years of this. We know our work doesn’t have this special thing that we want it to have. We all go through this. And if you are just starting out or you are still in this phase, you gotta know it’s normal and the most important thing you can do is do a lot of work. Put yourself on a deadline so that every week you will finish one story. It is only by going through a volume of work that you will close that gap, and your work will be as good as your ambitions. And I took longer to figure out how to do this than anyone I’ve ever met. It’s gonna take awhile. It’s normal to take awhile. You’ve just gotta fight your way through.”

― Ira Glass

Seen this way, that anxiety is actually proof that you have what it takes. You care about your work being good, and you have a natural aversion to work that is “bad,” for whatever definition of bad is most important to you. 

Early on in your drafting, do not imagine anyone else reading your work. Get out of other people’s heads. Do not picture another person’s response to your writing. Keep it private. Don’t research agents or publishers or awards you’d like to win. Write for yourself and only yourself. There will be plenty of time to get feedback later, once you’ve polished it up as best you can.

ESPECIALLY don’t worry about the potential responses of your friends, family, classmates, etc. It is unlikely that the people who happen to be close to you in your life will be on the exact wavelength as you in terms of literature and creative vibes. Do not try to predict whether your mom will like it, or try to picture your buddy reading it. You are writing for yourself, and the right audience for your work. 

Read. A lot. Read in the genre you’d like to write. Read with a curious learner’s mind. Notice how they do things on a structural and stylistic level. Read interviews with authors you like, and check out books on craft. Don’t indulge in thoughts like “I’ll never be this good” - instead, focus on what is working, and why, and how. 

It might help you to give feedback on other people’s writing, on sites like Scribophile and Destructive Readers. You can get a sense for what works and what doesn’t, and how to understand and explain it. You can also see that other people are figuring this out, too, and you’re not the only person working on writing at this level. However, if you find that this does not help your anxiety, don’t do it. 

Give yourself permission to suck. Understand that the sole purpose of a first draft is to exist, so it can be polished later. Focus on word count or time spent writing rather than whether your work is “good.”  Find whatever works best for your anxiety overall. It is unlikely that substance abuse is a solution. The whole “write drunk, edit sober” thing is romanticized, and if you are self medicating your anxiety, this will ultimately cause more problems than it solves. If this sort of perfectionism and fear of not-good-enough is holding you back in other areas of your life, talk with a therapist. Try exercise, meditation, calming music, tidying your workspace, and spending time outdoors.

Do it. Write. Do it anxious, do it scared, do it before you’re ready. Don’t let anxiety become an excuse that convinces you that you can’t write or that you need to solve some nebulous problem in your mind. Don’t wait to feel completely confident before you bother trying. 

Alternatively, if it is really causing you a lot of distress, you don’t need to write. If you don’t enjoy writing and it just triggers anxiety and frustration, that’s okay - it might not be for you. Spend time doing things that you actually enjoy. If you don’t feel a strong desire to write and are just trying to force it, ask yourself why you’re doing that and what your other options might be. 

5 ways perfectionism sabotages your writing

7 ways to silence your inner editor

Writing With Anxiety

Overcome perfectionism to meet your writing goals

Why the internal editor is a problem and what to do about it

[soc449blog]

Sugar Babies, Why Don’t They Claim the Suga ?!

My blog is about sex work, specifically Sugar Babies. Sugar babies are women or men, but primarily women, who have sexual relations with older men for money. Being a sugar baby has various criterias to it and is not always sexual, it just depends on the agreement that the client and the consumer come to. 

Sex work itself has a long history and various jobs and roles that fall under the umbrella. Sex work is criminalized in a majority of places. In our Teacher Assistant (TA) Victoria’s lecture titled Sex Work 101 she talks about how many sex workers do not have access to financial services. Victoria says “banks are well known for discriminating against sex workers and will arbitrarily shut down accounts, services like Paypal ban the sale of anything sexual on the platform, even sex toys and crypto currencies were thought to be a saving grace for sex workers, but over time crypto wallets have also started excluding sex workers” (Victoria 2023). This is one reason why sugar babies are technically considered sex workers, many do not claim this title.  They are excluded from the working class community in many different ways and financially is the biggest one. Sugar Babies tend to have large sums of money coming in often consistently and if they are not able to obtain secure financial services then how are they supposed to keep their money secure ? While this is a main concern for me, many people do not think being a Sugar Baby is a legitimate form of work. This is supposed to be the land of the free where one is able to do what they want with their body whether for money or not yet folks are being discriminated against. 

A primary question that comes up when discussing this topic is “does sex work reinforce the modern heterosexual orthodoxy?” I say that even though there aren’t many male strippers or sugar babies out there, because they definitely do exist, when you think sex work you think women. This idea is reinforced strongly by these two positions of sex work. With these jobs most of the time it is younger women using their bodies and sexuality as a way to earn money from usually older men. This is further backed up by the Mann Act of 1910 which “criminalizes the transportation of “any woman or girl for the purpose of prostitution or debauchery, or for any other immoral purpose” (Victoria 2023). This law literally states that it is for women which is a direct reflection of my point. With reference to our lovely guest speaker, Katerina spoke about how the mens and womens brothels in Prague are separated and not mixed. Men come into the women's brothels and the other brothels are male and for gay men. Whether or not there may be brothels for straight men to work where women can indulge she did not mention. With these companies being split in this way it perpetuates the heterosexual society we live in because when asked if women often come into these brothels to have sex with other women I was told no. These brothels seem to be strictly heterosexual, not by anyone's ill intent, but by the nature of the society around them. 

Gale Hawkes in her book titled A Sociology of Sex and Sexuality says  “This new conceptualization of behavior can be read as one index of the emergence of the notion of the “social individual” as we understand and experience it in the Modern era” (Hawkes pg 19). This chapter is about the concept of civilite which in short, means “manners”. In this time manners determined your place in the social hierarchy and a civilite encourages your self worth not based on tradition, but based on self control and managing your own individual behavior. Bodily functions such as sex, are seen as less civilized in this time which in correlation means you aren’t well mannered. The outcome of all of this increased the lines between public/private and mind/body, placing sex and other bodily functions at the bottom of the hierarchy, meaning you are not considered less than/lower class for partaking in such actions. With all of this being said, this shows Hawkes standpoint on sex workers such as Sugar Babies. By partaking in this line of work, you are not upholding your self worth and are making yourself seem less than for not living up to the respectable standards and social norms of society. 

[andwhentheangelscome]

*entering session, already in progress*

m: and so, I guess I trusted her, not just to take good care of herself emotionally, (which she didn't do), but also to love me. dm: you described this issue earlier as 'having been betrayed by someone who loved you' - do you think that she didnt actually love you?

m: ...

m: ... I think that it depends on what definition of love you’re using. If you use the one preferred by bell hooks, which I also often use, which is, “the will to extend one's self for the the purpose of nurturing one's own or another's spiritual growth,” then I think the answer is that...

m: she didn’t always love me. there were many times when we were still together, where her pain, and her anger, and her self-hatred were much more important to her than whatever love she felt for me.

m: and so. I don’t think that she never loved me. I even think that she might still love me now, using that definition. But that's still - there were still many, many times where she made it clear to me that her love for me was less important than her rage at... everything, it felt like.

dm: do you think that that rage has become a part of you now?

m: what do you mean?

dm: i mean that, people in your situation often develop within themselves - they internalize - the negative emotions of their partners, in an effort to defend themselves from the repercussions and their effects. in order to 'prepare' yourself, you begin to see yourself, and indeed, your entire world, through the lens of their abuse, and in doing so, you think yourself to be "getting ahead of the curve" -

m: !!! DONT BE AFRAID OF THEM?? ARE YOU INSANE?? !!

m: - when what you're really doing is making their worst habits into your reflexive ones.

dm: exactly.

m: fuck me.

dm: it's okay. it's okay. this process of talking it through, of making it visible, is how you start to meaningfully undo the patterns that the initial trauma caused you to develop.

m: ....

m: I want to hurt myself.

dm: don't do that, dylan. don't. it's okay to hold space for those feelings. it's important even, to be able to hold space for those feelings, because what's really happening there is that you, like so many of my patients who struggle to allow themselves to simply feel their feelings, are simply looking for a way to materialize the pain that was inflicted upon you in a way that will be unavoidable. and beyond the fact that harming yourself will never help you to progress in your healing, it ultimately distracts you from the fact of the matter, which is that your pain is already unavoidable. you yourself have proven that by being driven here, into my office, by these feelings themselves. i don't want you to give into them. but i also don't you to be afraid of them.

dm: no, im not insane. it's gonna be okay. take a deep breath.

dm: im not saying that you should give them any power over you. im not saying that you should indulge in them, or their answers for how to live your life. what im saying is that these feelings that you have - these impulses to punish yourself, to punish anything, to break anything, just something, just so long as it's disruptive - are not, as you might first assume, arising from a place of disloyalty.

dm: the feelings that you're having are your body's way of telling you that something is wrong. and something is wrong, dylan. listen to me: your entire parasympathetic nervous system - the system responsible for telling you when you're in danger, and when it's okay for you to sleep - has been on an all hands, red-buzzer-flashing, all-systems-go, high-fucking-alert, nearly constantly, for what has been nearly six years now. and what's more, the very first thing that your protective, inner, most originally traumatized part of your self did - in order to protect you, in order to protect her, and in order to protect that unstable-yet-stable life that you had built together in that tiny, one bedroom apartment - was try to make you somehow fucking forget that any of this was ever even happening.

dm: and now, it's six years down the road, and youre digging up the alarm bells, and you're finding that they hurt to stare at, and you're finding that they hurt to try to rest in the light of, and you're finding that - what's more - the alarm bells going off isn't even your only problem anymore. you have a new problem, one which is perhaps even more concerning than the original problem that brought you here, which is that your conscious sense of self has been nearly fully disconnected from your inner, psychological, and physiological sense of self, for years now.

m: ....

dm: and so you have a body that's telling you that there's a lion in the room that wants to eat you, and a heart that feels much too weak in its current state to pick up that message and do battle with it, and a mind which was itself - until very recently - all too willing to play along with the fiction that this was all somehow even remotely a tenable long-term situation for you to try to be successful at living a life within.

dm: and so you actually need to stay in touch with those parts of yourself that feel like the best solution that you have is for you to toss yourself out of the nearest window. I'm not saying you should let them dictate what the meaning that they have in your life is going to be.

dm: but you can't put any more distance between yourself and them than you can between your own two feet.

dm: and what's more important, Dylan, is that the truth that I know,

dm: and the truth that you know, in your heart, because it's the truth that you came in here so that I could help you find again, is that you don't want to go out that window.

dm: you don't want to die. you don't think you deserve it. and that's why you're so god damn angry.

dm: because there was someone in your life, who was important to you, who treated you like maybe you didn't deserve to live a life that was filled with joy and peace.

dm: and when the time came in the argument for you to tell them to fuck. right. off., because they were worth more than that, and you were worth more than that, and quite frankly, none of this was actually a situation that called for a sudden and abrupt change in altitude,

m: i instead chose to try to absorb all of that rage, and all of that pain, and all that confusion and hope and despair into some secretive chamber of my heart, so that i could try to somehow convince myself, that maybe i would never have to knock on its door again -

m: and yet here it is. in all its glory and all its madness, in all its clarity and all its impotent rage, in all its love, and in all its hopeless hope.

dm: yes.

m: ....

m: it hurts.

dm: I know it does. I'm sorry that this happened to you. i hope you know that no one deserves to feel the way about themselves that you have felt for the most of the last five years.

m: ...

dm: These feelings are yours though. No one else can claim them. And there's no good way for you to rid yourself of them -

dm: exactly.

m: - except to love them, right? until they've finally been brought to see that -

m: that they no longer need - so badly - to fling themselves against the sharp corners of this world.

dm: ...

m: ...

dm: do you think that you can do that? do you think that you can learn how to honor your past, and to build your life again, and to somehow - despite and in spite of what happened - to ease your own pain?

dm: ...

m: ....

m: I don't know.

m: ...

m: I don't know.

m: ...

dm: ....

m: ....

m: I -

m: ...

m: I do know -

m: though...

m: that I am

m: never,

m: ever,

m: EVER,

m: going to be able to convince myself

m: not to at least try.

dm: ...

m: because...

m: because I do deserve to live a life that im

m: happy to be living...

m: a life that i can be proud of.

dm: :')

dm: that's my boy. <3

[americasass91]

Need You Now

Hello, my lovelies!

So listen….this is completely self indulgent and is all Mr Evan’s fault. He just had to go and win Sexiest Man Alive and have a sexy fucking photoshoot. And those pictures just had to make me feral.

This is definitely not the best thing I’ve ever written. Threw it together in about an hour. Again having nobody to blame but Christopher.

I mean how could I not after I saw the above picture? I couldn’t not write something.

Well anyways, I hope you enjoy it!

*DISCLAIMER, if you’re under 18, just go away. This isn’t for you! Kindly fuck off. Thanks!

Words: 2.4k

Rating: Explicit

Warnings: Language, unprotected Smut, P in V sex, Breeding Kink, talks of trying to conceive, husband and wife kink if you squint, Chris in that picture, I think that’s it

😮‍💨😮‍💨😮‍💨😮‍💨😮‍💨

“Why did you agree to this again?”

You rolled your eyes at your husband as you continued doing your makeup in the mirror. “Because Andy, it’s the last good weekend before the colder weather sets in and because we were invited and I want to go.”

Your grumpy husband lets out a sigh. “I would’ve much rather done our own thing than go to this cookout.”

You put the finishing touches on your makeup and turn around to look at him. “Why? It’ll be fun! They’re our friends, Andrew. We don’t see them very much.”

Now it’s his turn to roll his eyes. “But I don’t even like half of these people.”

“Oh, come on. It won’t be that bad. I promise. If we get there and you are bored to tears and hating life, then we’ll go. Scouts honor!”

He walks until he’s standing in front of you and puts his hands on your hips. “Okay, fine. I’ll go but only because you want to. But when we get back…” He starts trailing light, barely there kisses along the side of your neck until he reaches your ear..”You better plan to be up all night, filled with me.”

Before the shivers finish trailing up your spine, Andy steps away with a chuckle to go get dressed. Well shit. Now you aren’t sure you want to go yourself. You shake your head. No. You had promised your friends you’d show up. Plus you were already ready. And you thought you looked pretty cute in your yellow sundress.

You turn back around to face the mirror to double check your hair when your husband emerges from the closet. You do a double take as he sits on the bed to slip on his boots.

Jesus Christ you have forgotten how to breathe.

Your usually suited up, straight laced A.D.A., is sitting there looking like sex on legs.

He’s in a pair of black slacks and a dark green shirt. But that’s not what has you open-mouthed and drooling. It’s the way he only buttoned up the shirt about halfway and you have a clear view of the chain he always wears and the tattoos that litter his chest. Including your name he has tattooed over his left pec.

Christ on a cracker. You can already tell your panties have soaked through. This piece of shit is doing this on purpose. He knows the effect he has on you.

“Sweetheart?”

You shake your head as you close your mouth, stunned to see him standing in front of you. He reaches up and wipes some drool from the side of your mouth. “You, uh, got some drool there.”

You open your mouth to retort but realize your brain has short circuited from the beauty of the man in front of you.

Sure, you’re married and have been together for a long time. Doesn’t mean you aren’t still widely attracted to the man.

He gives your ass a smack. “We better get going. Don’t want to be late.”

😮‍💨😮‍💨😮‍💨😮‍💨😮‍💨

After changing into a fresh pair of panties, you and Andy head on over to your neighbor's house across the street.

You both head ou tback where the party is in full blast. “Well look what the fucking cat dragged in! The Barbers!”

Your eyes instantly spot the man yelling. “Hi, Mike!”

You let go of Andy’s hand and let Mike pull you into a quick hug. You’re soon pulled out of it by his wife Kate and pulled into her arms. “Oh my god! I can’t believe you actually showed up!” She pulls away and looks you up and down. “Cute dress! Come on, let’s go get you a drink!”

You turn your head about to see if Andy wants anything, but see a beer has already been put into his hand and is standing in a circle of the other husband’s chatting. Looks like he’s even enjoying himself. You knew he would.

Kate drops your hand after you make it over to the drink table. “So, what’s your poison?”

You eye the table and decide to play it safe and stick with an old fashioned wine cooler. Kate just rolls her eyes at you. “That’s it?”

You twist the cap off and take a quick sip. Just as good as you remember them. “I don’t want to get too crazy. Plus, it’s been forever since I’ve had one of these.”

Kate looks up after she gets done pouring an adequate amount of rum into her coke. “Well, they are delicious. So, how’ve you been? How’s, uh, everything?”

You take another swig before answering. Of course she’s wondering if you’d had any luck conceiving. You shrug your shoulders. “Nothing yet, but we’ve only been trying for a few months. Plus my doctor said it may take awhile since I had been on birth control since I was 15. Might take a little bit for all those hormones to leave my system.”

She nods. “Yeah, it took about a year for me to get pregnant. Don’t worry, I’m sure it’ll happen!”

You shake your head. “I’m not worried. It’ll happen if it’s meant to. And if not, then we’ll adopt. I’m not going to stress over it. The doctor said stressing about it can make it not happen so I’m going to stay positive.”

Kate smiles at you. “That’s a great mindset! Regardless of how it happens, you’ll make an amazing momma!”

“Thank you! I hope so! I’m sure I’ll be asking you for lots of tips.”

She takes a sip of her drink as she looks over at her kids playing around the yard with the other neighborhood kids. “Oh, I’ve got plenty!”

The 2 of you are soon joined by a couple other women you hadn’t seen in awhile either. You guys chat and gossip about everything that’s been going on lately. As the conversation turns to something you’re less than interested in, you can’t help but let your eyes wander over to Andy.

The men have migrated to a group of lawn chairs and are laughing about something. Andy’s eyes catch yours and he gives you a smile. God you loved him. You return it before getting pulled back into the conversation when one of the ladies asks how your job is going.

😮‍💨😮‍💨😮‍💨😮‍💨😮‍💨

About 2 hours later it starts getting dark out. All the women had rejoined their significant others at the lawn chairs.

You were currently laying against Andy’s chest, him leaned back with his arms wrapped around you. The fire had been going for a while now and you were all nice and toasty.

A few of the couples had gathered their kids and bid their goodbyes. That left only Kate’s and Mike’s kids and a few couples left sat around the fire.

You’re just enjoying listening to the conversations going on around you, letting the vibrations of Andy’s chest as he talks to Mike lull you to sleep.

You just get your eyes shut when your phone starts going off.

You quickly grab it and silence it. Kate asks if everything is okay. You wave a hand in her direction. “Yeah, just my mom texting me.”

But that’s a lie.

That wasn’t your text tone that went off. You knew that sound well. And judging from the way Andy is now practically squirming underneath you, so does he.

You have this app on your phone to help track when you’re ovulating. And anytime you’re in a peak ovulation time, an alarm goes off. The sound has lately made your husband feral. He’ll bend you over the nearest surface and stuff you full.

Speaking of.

He is currently subtly rutting his erection into your ass.

You hold back a whimper and grab onto his arm. “Andy, stop. Not here.”

He leans down to whisper into your ear, “Should’ve thought about that when you made plans to come here. You know what that fucking alarm does to me. Need to be inside you baby girl. Now.”

Oh, fuck.

You’re about to suggest going home when the rest of the couples, and kids, start to stand up and head toward the house. Mike goes over and puts the fire out.

Kate comes over to your chair. “We’re going to head inside and watch the new Halloween movie. You guys wanna come?”

You don’t even have time to open your mouth to respond before Andy does. “Nah, I think we’re going to head home. Both of us are a little tired. Aren’t we, sweetheart?”

You nod your head. “Yeah, the fire made me tired.”

She nods. “Okay, well let’s get lunch next week?”

You agree. “Sounds great! Thank you for inviting us.”

She waves as she heads inside. You go to get up but are forcefully pulled back down. “Just where do you think you’re going, baby girl?” He moves your hair to the side and starts kissing and biting at your neck, all the while moving his right hand under your dress.

“Well I thought we could head home and take care of-“ But you’re cut off when his fingers make contact with your clothed core.

“Too far. Need you here, now.”

You go to protest but he moves your panties aside and sinks a finger into you.

You smack your hand to your mouth to keep your moan in. Andy just chuckles behind you as he adds another finger and starts scissoring them around. “Need to keep quiet, baby. Don’t want the neighbors knowing what we’re doing out here.”

You clench down on his fingers. “Oh? Maybe you do, huh? Does my baby girl want to get caught?”

You can’t even respond. You start grinding against his hand. He indulges you for a few minutes before he pulls his fingers out and flips you around so that you’re straddling him. He pulls you in for a lust filled kiss before he grabs your hands and puts them at the top of his pants. “Go on. Take me out.”

You don’t need to be told twice.

Not wasting any time, you unbutton and unzip his slacks. You quickly find out he has gone commando this evening. You look up at him in surprise. He just gives you a sexy smirk. “Easier access?”

You roll your eyes and lean back in for a kiss, your right hand wrapped around his achingly hard cock, pumping it up and down.

Andy brushes your hand away and pulls your panties to the side. “Sorry sweetheart. Need to be inside you.”

Not wanting to wait any longer yourself, you grab ahold of his cock and hover over him and rub his tip along your soaked slit before sinking down on his length. You throw your head back and let out a sigh of relief. You love nothing more than to be filled by your husband.

Andy takes a minute to watch the pleasure on your face. It doesn’t last very long though before he grabs your hips and starts grinding you back and forth in his lap.

You don’t catch the moan that escapes you this time.

“Shhh. Need to be a good girl and stay quiet while your husband fills you up.”

You nod and place your hands on his shoulders as you take over the movement of your hips, picking up the pace. Andy releases his hold on your hips and smacks your ass before pulling the top of your dress down enough so your tits spring free. He pays extra attention to your nipples, knowing how much you like it.

After a few minutes, you change from grinding to bouncing up and down on his cock as best you can on a lawn chair. You can already feel yourself close to an orgasm. “Andy, please. Gonna cum. Need help. Please.”

He repositions a little so that his left leg hangs off the side of the lawn chair and plants his foot on the ground. He grabs the back of your head with his left hand and pulls you down until you’re chest to chest, pulling you into another kiss. He takes his right hand and moves it in between you so he can rub your clit.

He uses the little leverage he has with his foot and starts thrusting up into you, hitting your g spot from this position. You moan into his mouth.

“Fuck, baby girl. Squeezing me so good. Won’t last much longer after you cum. Need to fill you up.”

You’re both now just panting into each other’s mouths. “Please Andy.N-need it. Need your cum.”

“Yeah? Need me to fill you up, huh? Yeah you do. Gonna fuck a baby into you sweetheart.”

And that’s what does you in. You cum with a silent cry, your hands digging into his shoulders.

He only lasts a few more thrusts before he gives into his own pleasure. You can feel his warm spend filling you up as he slows his thrusts down, eventually coming to a stop. You both take a minute to catch your breath before you make eye contact and burst out laughing.

“Can’t believe we just fucked on a lawn chair in our neighbors backyard.”

He pulls you in for a sweet kiss. “I fucking love you, Mrs. Barber.”

You smile. “I love you, Mr Barber.”

He cups your face and brushes his thumb against your bottom lip, smiling when you press a kiss to it. “Think we better get home, sweet girl. Before I take you on this chair again.” As he says this, you can feel him start to harden inside of you.

Startled at how quick he’s ready to go again, you quickly get up and let out a hiss as he slips out of you.

You right your clothes as best you can before grabbing your phone and helping him up.

He tucks his cock back into his slacks as best he can with a hard on and zips and buttons them up. He grabs your hand and starts practically pulling you towards your guy's house.

“Hurry up baby. That pussy isn’t going to fill itself up.”

You were in for a long night.

Tags: @drabblewithfrannybarnes​ @harrysthiccthighss​ @patzammit​ @bluemusickid​ @wanderinglunarlights  

[phoenixkaptain]

Want to write the silliest, most self-indulgent thing ever and it will just be Qui-Gon, Obi-Wan, Anakin, Ahsoka, maybe throw in Luke and Leia to really make it overly obvious how indulgent this is, just hanging out, but all of them are like… seventeen.

Like, the chaos, right??? All of them being the same age at the same time and it’s a fucking nightmare and they would be so insufferable and I kinda want to make them even younger, maybe like fifteen. Twelve. Ten. Eight. Five. Just, I want Force Shenanigans tm to make these specific characters all pop into existence at the same time at the same age.

I admittedly don’t know how Qui-Gon acted as a padawan in canon, and I honestly don’t even know if he’s ever even been shown as a padawan, but I love imagining Padawan Qui-Gon. Look at how he is as an adult! He would be so much worse! The Council is over there, taking deep breaths and counting to ten, telling themselves “Younglings are like this. He’ll grow out of it. He will grow out of this phase, this is all just a phase, a phase he will grow out of, please, Force, let this be temporary-“ but he doesn’t grow out of it!

I like to imagine he can get away with so much because he was even worse, somehow, as a padawan, and Yoda is just thinking “Did not set anything on fire, on purpose, this time, at least. Well you did, Qui-Gon. The good work you must keep up.” I also really, really, REALLY like the part in Cloak of Darkness that says Qui-Gon’s go-to excuse for his own behaviour is “I can’t help it. I was made this way. The Force wills it, I can’t change.” It is so fucking funny and I think Qui-Gon probably started saying “the Force wills it” at ten when he snuck puppies into the dorms or something.

Obi-Wan as a padawan is just so, how to put this, sassy? But like, he is also so nervous, he is so nervous so much of the time and he reminds me of a kitten, I love him. He’s an absolute nightmare on the opposite end of the spectrum from everyone else. I think he follows all of the rules and I think he refuses to turn in reports if he finds a typo and I think he is the type of padawan who only sasses when overwhelmed with relief to be alive (which happens unfortunately very often). He just wants a pat on the head and to be told he did good, please.

I probably should have done more research before I started this idea but oh well— Anakin as a padawan is probably a strange mixture of Obi-Wan and Qui-Gon. Because as a teenager and preteen, he almost definitely goes through the phase most kids go through earlier in life, where he pushes his boundaries to see what he can and can’t do. He was thrust out of Tatooine and into a whole new environment and he probably spent at least a year waiting for someone to be cruel to him, and when they weren’t, he began pushing his limits more and more. And because his master is Obi-Wan and Obi-Wan is somehow the most patient but tired man in the history of the galaxy, Anakin pushes his limits and does something bad and then almost immediately feels guilty.

Yes, Anakin set the kitchens on fire because he was mad at someone. Yes, Anakin is also sobbing because he feels so guilty about it. The two co-exist.

We know how Ahsoka is as a padawan. She’s adorable and very skilled, if not a bit cocky at times. She’s overzealous and she pushes herself to reach upper limits because her master is the fucking Chosen One and that’s gotta put some pressure on you.

Luke and Leia, of course, were not padawans. Not ever, really, when you think about it. Like yeah, Luke went through a crash course, but he was basically handed a lightsaber and told “Congrats, you’re a Jedi Knight now, have fun.” Leia was kind of sort of trained by Luke, but in Legends’ continuity she never really learned all that much because she had a lot of pressure on her as a leader and in current contintuity Disney seems to have entirely forgotten that Leia could be a badass general and trained to wield a lightsaber, both at the same time.

All this to say, Luke and Leia are the odd ones out, both because they know even less about Jedi than Anakin does and because they aren’t Padawans.

Luke is a strange case, and maybe I’m reading his character wrong, but he seems to put things being fair above other motivations, especially when he’s younger. He isn’t obsessed with rules, like Obi-Wan, but he doesn’t really go out of his way to break them, either. Like, he didn’t stray too far away from the Lars’ homestead. He hung out with his friends only occasionally and worked on the homestead a lot. When Owen tells him he can’t leave Tatooine, Luke is disappointed but he tells Obi-Wan that he can’t leave because Owen needs him (and in the best (deleted) scene ever created, he tells Biggs that he can’t leave his uncle and aunt alone while they still need him, no matter how much he wants to). Luke is a rule follower, somehow? Despite being Luke Skywalker, he follows rules more often than not, and isn’t that weird???

Leia acts like an unholy mixture of her mother and father, where she sasses people and is disrespectful in a chipper tone and she definitely bit at least one person as a child, no one can convince me she didn’t. In Legends’ continuity, the book Heir to the Empire explains that people used to mistake Leia’s friend Winter for the “real” Princess Leia Organa. Which, they say it’s because Winter is very regal in bearing, but I can only imagine that it was also because Leia was definitely the type of kid to wander in covered in mud and offer no explanation whatsoever. (I like Leia being a bit feral, okay??? She is already so weird. She finds out Luke is her brother and her first thought is “we can hide you from the Empire forever, Luke, forever and ever” and in Heir of Darkness she’s upset because Luke is upset and there’s nothing she can do to help him because he won’t tell her what’s wrong but also Han is gone and Leia’s first response to loneliness is to get pissed that Han left in the first place. Leia lied to Tarkin’s face in front of Darth fucking Vader and she spoke back to Darth fucking Vader and she absolutely screams at Han during the first movie for being stupid and I’m telling you, Leia is the feral one. Leia Organa, Princess of Alderaan, the one who everyone expects to be refined and regal, is the feral twin, you can’t change my mind it’s canon-)

So, imagining Qui-Gon, Obi-Wan, Anakin, Ahsoka, Luke, and Leia, all being in the same spot at the same time, all being like sixteen. And I want to make it the Jedi High Council’s problem because I enjoy making things the Jedi High Council’s problem :)

Qui-Gon would absolutely convince Anakin and Leia to do something stupid with him. Obi-Wan would definitely be trying to be the mature one while also fighting the urge to follow everything Qui-Gon says (he likes Qui-Gon, and Qui-Gon may have led him astray many times, but surely Qui-Gon won’t again, righf???). Ahsoka would be off in the corner wondering why this is her life. Luke is sitting next to her asking her questions because he’s hoenstly curious, but instead of being about the way she looks or anything, Luke is like “Do you think they have lakes here? I’ve never seen a lake. Fountains??? What’s a fountain? Can I see one-? A thoUSAND!!!!??? :D”

Shaak Ti and Plo Koon are living their best lives. Plo Koon gets to spend time with Ahsoka again, and you cannot tell me he wouldn’t be utterly charmed by a young Leia who asks things very politely and stiffly one second and then kicks someone in the shin the next second. Shaak Ti is over there like “I should have stolen you from Dooku, Qui-Gon, and you from Qui-Gon, Obi-Wan, and you from Obi-Wan, Anakin, and you from, who did you say your teacher was, again?” Luke: “Ms. Apel, she teaches Survival School. She let me sneak in a womp rat and only looked a bit weirded out when I ate it :)” and Anakin, immediately: “You went to Survival School? What was it like?” And Shaak Ti just smiles while Luke explains and pats his head and thinks “I should figure out how to return as a Force Ghost…”

(btw I’m not one hundred percent sure, but the only time school on Tatooine is mentioned, in my memory, is in the 1976 novel and it was specifically called Survival School and I will not get over the idea of Luke being the one out of all of these padawans who inexplicably knows how to hogtie someone and/or survive alone for three weeks in the desert with no supplies, which is what they teach at Survival School, I can only assume)

Mostly just want Qui-Gon zoning out and Luke zoning out next to him. Leia and Ahsoka bonding over girly things, you know, like dresses and cute boys and cute girls and sharp sticks and big rocks and that cool lizard; girl stuff. Anakin is nervous but trying not to show it and so he’s sticking to Obi-Wan, but this just makes Obi-Wan nervous, and Obi-Wan’s fight or flight instincts are going to kick in at any second, so Anakin gets more riled up, which riles up Obi-Wan more, which riles up Anakin more, which-

Basically, I want the whole story to end with Qui-Gon, Obi-Wan, Anakin, Ahsoka, Luke, and Leia all standing in front of the Council. Qui-Gon is holding an armful of puppies. Obi-Wan is very tired and his sleeve is still on fire despite the fact that Anakin shoved him into a fountain and he wishes he ignored Qui-Gon. Anakin is soaking wet and trying to look angry instead of guilty. Ahsoka is hiding more puppies behind her back. Luke is zoning out, probably thinking about geometry or something, and he is covered in dirt and does not seem to notice. Leia is also covered in dirt, but she glares at anyone who looks at her or Luke for too long and is starting to growl whenever someone makes eye contact with Anakin and Anakin flinches.

Yoda: “Happened, what did?”

Qui-Gon: “:)”

Mace: “Qui-Gon.”

Qui-Gon: “:D”

Everyone: “Qui-Gon, please, tell us you didn’t-“

Qui-Gon: “I can’t lie to you, Masters, nor do I wish to. I can’t help what I did, Masters, the Force willed it.”

Everyone, including Obi-Wan: groans

Luke: “Can we name one of the dogs after my other dog?”

Qui-Gon, immediately: “Yes, of course. What was your dog’s name?”

Luke: “Fido.”

Everyone: “That’s a pretty normal name, I guess-“

Luke: “It’s short for Fighter Jet T-56.”

Qui-Gon: “Lovely name.”

Luke: :D

Qui-Gon: :D

Everyone else: “Oh no.”

And yeah, that’s my idea, to put it simply: Chaos Incarnate, Padawan Edition

[astxroiid]

meant to be yours // stalker!edward nashton

wc: 4.3k

Warnings: dark themes! Stalking, obsession, manipulation, screaming, murder, 1 mention of s*x trafficking (not Ed), mature themes! swearing, smut, 18+ content, oral (m and f receiving), implied inexperienced!Eddie, bondage, penetration, unprotected sex! Please be safe irl! dom!reader, sub!eddie, masochism, sadism, bondage, breath play.

Summary: as you start fresh in a new city, you hope Gotham won’t be the same as the town before. And after beginning a relationship with the cutest boy you’ve ever seen, you really hope things go well - but it all takes a turn when he leaves his laptop open and unlocked…

Author’s Note: I do not support any actions taken in this fic. This is purely for self indulgence - I do not condone these actions in the real world. Stalking is a real crime and a horrible thing to actually do. I’m just writing out my own sexual fantasy.

navigation ✩ part two <?>

Edward had frequented the café you work at almost immediately after you got the job. Granted, that wasn’t long, but seeing such a handsome man everyday gave you something to look forward to.

You’d been pretty down after leaving your hometown - your ex having ran you off. Edward already knew that, though. He also knew his name was Michael and he grew up in a wealthy family - but you hadn’t.

Typical, he thought, some big and rich town boy looking to use a pretty girl for a short time before discarding her and moving on like it never happened.

But - rather uncharacteristically - he didn’t move on as fast as they normally do. He held on, harassed you into quitting your job and losing your friends. That wasn’t enough for Mike though. He wanted it all. He continued with his tormenting until he was satisfied and you had fled town.

Edward made a mental note to compare this man to Icarus, flying to close to the Sun, too greedy for his own good. Edward would make sure his wax wings melted. But that was an issue for later.

Right then he was focused on getting your attention. At this point in time you’d never spoken to each other. At least verbally. In Edwards eyes he just knew the glances over your shoulder meant something more than seeing if he needed a refill.

It was a way of telling him you were interested, you wanted him - just as much as he wanted you.

To be fair, he wasn’t completely deluded. His creep-o brain hadn’t made it all up. You were interested. And you definitely wanted him. Your favorite pastime being filling up his cup, slightly bent over with your shirt undone. This gave Ed a complete face full of your chest.

The best part was watching his face go red but he’d never move his eyes, keeping them set on the one spot. You’d giggle, ask if he was okay, pretend you didn’t know. But you both knew you meant it.

One day you had purposely worn your skirt higher, bending over and letting Ed see your red laced thong. His eyes never left you after that.

Another day you had deviated from your schedule, requested off on a day you normally worked. This threw Eddie of his rhythm. You walked in wearing your normal clothes, one’s Edward never saw outside of binoculars, media posts, and long distances away.

A low-cut, v-neck shirt and tight jeans topped off with Vans and sparkling jewelry.

You scooted into the booth opposite him, smiling. The poor boys expression was one of shock and fear. Were you confronting him? Had you found out it was more than just coming into the café everyday? Did you find out his plans for Michael?

None of it made sense. Why would you be smiling if you had?

You giggled. “I figured since you haven’t asked me out yet we’d just have a date here. It’s long overdue, don’t you think?” He nodded his head excitedly.

Edward smiled at the memory, you’d always been so forward, choosing action over inaction every time. He kissed your forehead and tucked you in.

“Mmm. D’you have to go to work?” You groan from the bed, grabbing his face and pulling him in for a proper kiss. Ed hums and struggles to catch himself as you pull him down more.

He breaks free, panting. “Honey, I’ll be late.”

“I don’t give a shit,” you retort, pulling him on top of you. You wrap your legs around his waist and pull him in, grinding up into his hips. His head hangs between your neck and shoulder. He groans at the pleasure.

“Stay with me,” you plead in a sultry tone, rubbing him with each sentence. “I want to feel you again.”

Your menstruations start to work on Eddie, he’s giving in. He kisses your neck and you feel him harden in his pants. 

It takes you starting to unbutton his shirt to bring him back. “My love, I really have to get going. I’ll miss the train.”

You huff and roll your eyes.

“Wait for me?” He asks. It’s a simple question that highlights undertones of a fear you’ll leave.

“Of course,” your voice is so soft it melts his heart. He kisses you one last time.

━━━━ ✭˚ ? >

You’d fallen back to sleep soon after Eddie left. You’d definitely had a long enough night to put you out of commission for the whole day.

You woke to the sound of a notification dinging. You checked your phone to see if it was Edward, only to realize your phone was dry. You look around for the culprit, connecting eyes with Ed’s laptop.

You squint at it angrily, moving to shut the screen but your eyes glimpsed the text appearing. The notification.

‘Local Billion-Heir Dies in Explosion at His Own Estate’ It’s talking about Michael.

Your hand comes to cover your mouth gently as you click open the article. Someone planted a bomb in his house, timed it perfectly to catch him off guard. They also leaked a lot of terrible things Michael and his family had been involved in.

Were it not for his death, you’d say he deserved it. His dirty laundry being aired to the world. Serves an asshole like him right. But he died. You remind yourself. He didn’t deserve death. Even after everything.

You happen to look up and read the tabs open on Edward’s computer. Basic stuff. Netflix, YouTube, and Spotify filling all three of the notes. Opening Netflix brings you to the movie you were watching with Ed last night - interrupted by other activities.

You check Spotify, finding a couple of handmade playlists and artists you could easily guess he listens to. Moving to YouTube you keep the same curious mood, sure it won’t be any different than the previous two.

It’s a video of a man sitting behind a table, plastic and metal pieces of a device scattered before him. You read the title. ‘Bomb Building for Beginners’

You gasp and jump back, knocking over the desk chair.

No. No this couldn’t be right. Just a crazy coincidence. Something for work. He is the head risk analyst at Shuttle Co. Maybe that has something to do with it.

You need to look more. The video is pretty basic, the man states that the video is purely for viewing purposes and not to be followed.

You search his desktop, hoping to find nothing while your heart pounds in your chest and a voice in your head knows you’ll find more.

There’s a file. ‘M.C.’. Michael Collins.

“Please be wrong. Please be wrong,” you beg in a whisper while clicking it.

You’re not. It’s pages upon pages of information about Michael. His parents. Where he went to school. What his hobbies are. Every partner he’s ever had since high school - including you. There’s pictures here you’ve never seen from the press.

Did Edward take these?

There’s also diagrams of bombs, how to detonate them from safe distances, keeping them untraceable…

You feel like your going to faint. Or vomit. Probably both. But some morbid part of your brain is still curious. It still wants to look, see everything Ed has done.

You find more on what Mike and his parents got up to. The files leaked to the press. The Collins’ ran a sex trafficking ring as well as some other extremely illegal incomes of money.

Their story of wealth was bullshit.

Maybe it was deserved. The thought passes your mind for a millisecond before you correct yourself. No. Not good. No one deserves to die like that.

C’mon. You know you wanted Big Mike Collins to get what was coming to him. And based on the evidence, his family was long overdue for a reckoning. The voice in your head persists.

“No! Stop. No one should kill anyone. I’m not defending a murderer.” You hit your temple with the heel of your hand.

You freeze, looking at the clock on the wall, realizing Ed will be home any moment. You scramble around trying to figure out what to do.

Do you take the laptop? Turn it in to the authorities? No, surly they’ll kill Eddie for what he did. You don’t want another murder. Do you leave him a note? Ask him to leave you alone - don’t talk to you ever again?

Your thoughts are interrupted buy Edward’s apartment door opening. “Hey, sweetheart, I missed you.”

His eyes land on your worried expression before flicking to his laptop, open and displaying his plans for Michael. Fuck.

“S-stay away,” you extend your arm in front of your body. “You’re a murderer!”

He sighs, setting his bag down. “Y/n, I only did what was best. You can’t tell me that asshole didn’t deserve his karma.”

“You’re crazy!” Ed steps toward you, palms up in submission. You jump back. “Get away from me!”

You run to the bathroom, locking yourself in.

“Y/N! Y/n, please. Listen—”

“Go away!” You sob, back pressed to the door. Your arms wrap around your knees, hugging yourself.

“He was terrible to you. He deserved to be put in his place!”

“By killing him?!” Your voice cracks and Ed’s heart breaks to hear you so broken.

“You saw the things he and his family did. How corrupt they were. They had it coming.”

“I don’t want to be with you anymore.”

Edward freezes, looking aghast. “I— but we— we’re meant to be together, y/n. Please. I’m yours! Just give me a chance!”

“No. You lost that chance when you killed a man,” you turn to the door angrily, pretending the wood was Ed’s face.

“Please! Open the door!” He begs, desperate. “Let me make it up to you! I promise! I’ll never do it again!”

Silence.

“Y/N OPEN THE DOOR!” He punches the wood dividing the two of you. “Open the door… please.”

The last word sounded so needy it reminded you of the night before. Involuntarily sending butterflies to your stomach and the memories. Fuck this is wrong on so many levels.

You hear his quiet sobs behind the door. Your positions match each other. Backs pressed into the wood, heads leaned back with arms hugging your legs. Everything the same down to the tears slipping down your cheeks.

“I wanted you to feel safe with me,” Edwards voice is hoarse and pathetic yet somehow still erotic. “I knew you’d never feel secure with that asshole still out there. I knew your fears of him coming back and breaking us up. But y/n, I’d never leave you. Not for anything.”

Against your better judgment, your heart warms at his words. How much he cares.

He’s demented! The logical side of your brain tries to reason. But the irrational side is giving in, sending heat to your core at the sounds of Eddie’s panting.

“Please don’t leave me,” fuck his begging is getting to you. If he keeps it up your logic won’t last long.

You both sit in silence for a moment. Fuck it.

You stand and Edward turns at your noises just in time for you to open the door, looking down at his pathetic form on the floor.

“Y/n- please I—”

You lean down and kiss him so fast he has little time to breathe. You place your hand under his chin, pulling him up. He struggles between standing and not breaking his kiss with you, scared it’s the last.

Once he’s up and his face above yours, his hands make their way to your jaw - holding you close. You press your tongue into his mouth and Eddie hums. Your jaws move in time, used to each other.

“You said you wanted to make it up to me?” You say parting from Ed and allowing him to breathe. He’s panting hard.

“Yes! Please! Anything. I’ll do any—”

“Get on your knees.”

His pupils dilate. “Yes ma’am,” he hits the floor immediately. You know this is wrong but - fuck - the way he’s looking up at you, glasses fogged, hair a mess, waiting.

“Take them off,” you gesture toward your shorts and he obeys. Grabbing the hem and tugging them down hastily. “Underwear too, Ed.”

Just your demanding tone alone has Eddie hard as a rock in his slacks. Once he’s done as he’s told, you smile and pull your shirt over your head.

He’s watching your every move like a hawk. Never taking his eyes off you. He sits with his hands in his lap, waiting for further instruction.

You run your fingers through his hair, lightly grabbing a handful.

“Go on,” you look him dead in his eyes. He knows what your saying and he follows. Opening his mouth he connects with your already soaking wet pussy. You’re both still keeping eye contact while his tongue starts to work on you.

You lean your head back and moan loud when he presses through your folds, flicking your clit. You use the hand full of hair to push him harder against you.

He moves his hands from his lap to your hips, massaging circles in the bone. Your legs go weak at the feeling of him working his tongue on you, knowing exactly how to press and push to get you closer.

You moan his name loud enough to feel the echo through the tiny apartment. You’re both panting, with you singing his name out repeatedly - sprinkling in bits of yes and swears to fuel his desire.

Eddie decides your not pushing hard enough and uses his grip on your thighs to pull himself into you with such a force you almost lose your balance.

You pull his head back by the hair and Edward moans at the pleasure, breathing heavy. You kneel down, bringing yourself to his level. Your lips connect again and you hum at the taste of yourself.

“Get on the bed, love.”

He nods again and stands at once, making his way to the beaten mattress.

Edward lays flat, patient for you, yet nervous most of all. You climb on top of him, raising yourself above his body. You reach into his side drawer and pull out a pair of fluffy handcuffs you never got around to using last night.

You gently take his wrists in your hands. “You gonna be a good boy for me?”

He gives a small, yet eager nod, doe eyes trained on yours.

“Words, baby. Use your words,” your voice, Ed notes, is gentle - like rain, or sunshine.

“Yes. I will.”

“Good.”

You lock his wrists in place, pulling the cuffs through the metal of the bed-frame.

You climb down his body, pushing his shirt up above his chest and moving on to his slacks, unbuttoning them as you place a tender kiss to the happy trail just above the low hem-line.

You take his pants and boxers down in one fluid movement, letting his impressive erection fall to his stomach. The poor boy already leaking pre-cum onto himself.

You bite your bottom lip and smile.

Once his pants are off you settle between his knees, taking his length in your hand.

He’s already pretty vocal. Moaning at the pleasure of just your hand on him. You knew he hadn’t done much before you but fuck you loved this.

You pump your hand once, rotating your hand and rubbing your thumb across his slit before moving your palm back down.

Fuck the moan he gives in response is enough to make you cum. It’s whinny and needy and silently begging for more. But you can tell from just this it’d be easy to make him cum.

You lift his cock up and lick a long stripe from base to tip, locking eyes with him as you go.

“F-f-fuck, ah…” his hips shake as his head falls back.

“You like that, baby?”

“God— fuck. Yes! Please…”

“Please, what, love? What do you want me to do? Anything for my sweet boy.” You brush his sweat-soaked hair from his forehead.

Already sweaty? Damn. You had more of an effect than you’d thought.

“P-please… keep touching m-me. Please,” he struggles against his restraints, wanting desperately to touch you.

“As you wish.”

You continue moving your hand up and down, rotating and pumping at an agonizingly slow pace.

He’s whimpering now.

“Mmm. Uh. More… please?”

“More? I’m using my whole hand, I can’t use more of that.”

He moans again as you stop your hand to grab his balls, squeezing them into your hand along with his shaft, letting them fall out of your grip as you move to pump him again.

“Mouth… use your mouth, fuck. Please.”

“Like this?” You ask, giving him an evil look as you wrap your mouth around the tip of his dick, swirling your tongue and humming.

“Y-yes. God— more, please,” he looks pathetic; his arms are straining against the handcuffs, face contorted in pleasure, hips shaking, chest sweaty.

You decide to stop teasing. Taking him more and more in your mouth, sinking down on his cock.

His exclamation of pleasure doesn’t fall on deaf ears, that much is evident by the pool of arousal dripping from your core, down your thighs.

You use your hand to pump what few inches you can’t take. He groans, long and whinny.

“F-fuck…”

You hum, sending vibrations throughout his base. You start to bob your head at a pleasant pace, not wanting to torture him anymore.

A string of curses leave his mouth along with hums of your name.

You dig the nails of your unoccupied hand into his thigh, leaving crescent shaped indentations in Edward’s skin.

He hisses at the pain mixing with pleasure, groaning when you drag your fingers down, leaving red scratches as you go.

You scoop his balls into the same hand that’s holding his length, squeezing them together.

“Fuck, baby— I’m close. Please— shit!” He interrupts himself when you spit on his tip, using your free hand to work it down his shaft and back up to the head of his cock.

You pull away from him, not ready for him to finish yet. Reaching up to the restraints at his wrists you unhook the claps and free him from the cuffs.

Ed’s hands immediately fly to your hips, shoving his face into your breasts - which happened to be positioned perfectly above him.

You smile, humming at the pleasure, and sit back on your heels. Edward follows you up, eyes locked on yours the whole time, mouth never leaving your tits.

His arms wrap around your body, Ed pulling you as close to him as possible. You run your hand through his hair, scratching his scalp along the way.

“Such a good boy for me…” you trail off, flashes of what was happening before all this coming to you. Reminding you of what he did.

Fuck this is wrong. Twisted in every way imaginable. But isn’t this what you’d always wanted? A man willing to do anything for you - not afraid of your big and rich ex, not worried of Mike coming for him because of you?

Your thoughts are interrupted by the pleasure of Ed pushing your hips down, grinding you against his erection.

“Fuck…” you’re more sensitive than you thought. Edward moans with you at the feeing - sending vibrations through your chest.

“C-can i— um- could i…”

You look down at him expectantly, his doe eyes locking on yours, he’s pleading with you to understand what he’s trying to say so he doesn’t have to speak it out loud.

You know what he wants, but it’s so fun to hear him ask. You play dumb.

“Could you what, baby? What does my pretty boy want?” You brush your hand through his hair and down the side of his face, cupping his chin.

He smiles sweetly at the nickname. “Can I put it in?” His voice is small, insecurity laced in his tone.

“Of course, baby.”

He nods quickly, reaching beneath you and aligning himself. You help him; leaning up, pushing your chest more in his face (though he’s not complaining), moving your hips to get him adjusted right.

You sink down slowly onto Edward’s cock, groaning and the sensation of him stretching your walls.

“Ah-h— uh…” he moans in your ear, trying his best to calm his heartbeat, or even steady his breathing. To no avail.

The sight of you, completely naked, cock pressed into your cunt, and blissed out will always have this effect on him.

“F-fuck,” he shakily groans and you rock your hips back and forth. He keeps looking between your face and where your bodies are connecting, unsure of what to focus on.

“Please… fuck. Y/n, please keep going. God! Don’t stop…”

You wouldn’t dream of it. Because fuck he feels amazing. He’s deep enough for you to feel his cock pushing into your cervix.

You lean in and capture his lips in a heated kiss. You push your tongue into Ed’s mouth, moving your jaws in time with each other.

You soon move your face to his neck, biting down. He exclaims in both shock and pleasure. You keep your teeth sunk into his skin until your satisfied with the mark that will be left.

You push Edward back, making him lay down again. You lean back, looking toward the ceiling. Edward wraps a hand around your breast and pinches at your nipple.

You moan at the mixtures of pleasure he’s giving you.

“Fuck, baby. Squeeze them,” you instruct. He does as he’s told. Using both hands to squeeze your tits, massaging them and occasionally rubbing your sensitive nipples.

You lean forwards and Eddie’s hands move to gently hold your hips as your fingers wrap around the columns of his throat, cutting of his circulation.

His head feels dizzy as you expertly roll your hips down onto him. A strangled moan leaves him and you don’t let up on your movements.

There’s a knot forming in your stomach, but you can tell Ed is closer to cumming than you.

You tighten your grip on his neck when you feel his cock twitch inside you.

“Fuck… can I- can I cum?” Edward’s squeezing his eyes shut, concentrating as hard as possible.

“Cum for me, baby. I want you to finish inside me. I wanna feel you filling me up.”

And just as he tips over his own edge you release his throat, allowing the blood to flow back to his brain.

Eddie cums deep inside you, holding your hips down to his.

The moan he gives is pathetic and needy, high pitched as he breathes out your name.

Ed uses his hands to move your hips, making you grind a few more times on him.

You slide off of him, feeling hollow without him in you.

You let him catch his breath, smiling down at him.

“Did you..?”

You shake your head. He looks upset.

“Don’t worry, love. You’re helping me with that. Right?”

He nods aggressively.

“Good.”

You move to position your core above his face, looking down your body and into his expectant eyes.

“You’re going to eat me out until I cum. Got it?”

“Yes ma’am.”

Edward hooks his arms behind your hips, resting his hands on your inner thigh.

He stretches upward licking through your folds, pulling a moan from deep in your chest.

You push yourself down onto his face, relishing in the feeling of his tongue pressing inside of you. His nose grinding into your clit.

“Mm, fuck. Ed… just like that.”

He makes your hips grind into his face, causing pleasure to erupt throughout your body.

You look down at him, eyes connecting with his as you grab at his soft blonde locks. Ed moves to your clit, sucking and lapping at the sensitive nub.

Your moans are like honey to Edward, sweet and gentle. He feels himself grow hard again. He didn’t mean to but— fuck you taste so good, so sweet, and your noises, and the way you look right now— he couldn’t help himself.

“Eddie… baby… I’m so close.”

He almost misses it, too lost in thought. Almost.

He slows his pace, pressing his tongue flat against your clit and working it up and down. Even strokes bringing you close to your release but not fast enough.

You take it into your own hands, grinding down onto his face and getting the force you desperately crave.

The knot in your stomach tightens and pulls until you believe it truly can’t anymore.

You tug on Ed’s hair, pulling out a moan from his throat. That’s what draws the rope in you taught. Releasing on Eddie’s face, squeezing his head with your thighs as you cum, shaking.

He laps it up, devouring your climax and anything left. Fuck you taste so fucking sweet.

You huff and pull yourself off of him. Eddie is smiling hard, satisfied with your pleasure from him. You land beside him, turning your head to Ed and matching his smile.

You kiss him, tasting yourself. He leans his full body into you. “Are you hard again?” He looks ashamed of himself.

“C’mere,” you tug him on top of you, letting Edward prop himself up on his elbows before he slides into you.

“It’s gonna be a long night, huh?” You giggle and Eddie smiles back at you.

“I sure hope so.”

━━━━ ✭˚ ? >

You wake beside Edward, smiling as you tighten your grip around his torso. You run circles on his skin as your mind wonders.

This was so wrong. You’d just knowingly slept with a man who committed murder. He killed a man. And he was unfazed. If it’s all so bad… why don’t you actually feel bad about it?

He’s so sweet. And he loves you, that much you know. He’s willing to do anything to keep you safe. You love him too. Nothing should get in the way of that. And Michael? That sex-trafficking, abusive asshole deserved it. He had it coming.

Thank y’all for reading !! Had a lot of fun w this one but please remember that I condone none of these actions and it’s purely fantasy!

proofread and editorial help by: @spidey-multi