#pre kink

[foliosriot]

SCREAM

ghostface!noah sebastian x reader

WARNINGS!!

talk of death and murder. brief knife-play. vaginal fingering. p in v sex (wrap it before you tap it, my friends). pre-kink. fear-play i guess. non-con but becomes con. please let me know if i missed anything else! 18+ only MDNI or i’ll block you.

TAGS!!

@starsomens @cncohshit @concretenoah + everyone else who didn’t know they needed ghostface!noah in their lives hehe

AUTHOR’S NOTE!!

happy halloween, my fellow noah whores >:)

masterlist

You will admit: the recent string of murders have had your guts twisted with fear and anxiety. Because what if it’s someone you know next? What if it’s one of your friends? What if it’s you?

It has been terrifying just trying to exist the past week and a half. Three people were already dead, and who knows when the next person would be found mutilated? The last one was just down the street from you, for fuck’s sake! What’s stopping that masked psycho from claiming every other life — including yours — on your street?

Nothing, you’re sure. Serial killers are hardly ever satisfied. And this one is absolutely fucking insatiable.

However, right now, it’s a little hard to think about a psychotic killer with your boyfriend looking the way he does. He’s standing in your little kitchen, a mug of tea in one hand, the other tucked into the pocket of his sweatpants.

“I don’t think it’s a good idea if you stay over, Noah,” you finally manage to say. Noah had asked if he could stay over for the night what felt like an eternity ago. You had struggled to comprehend what he had said, and were only able to respond when your best friend and roommate, Olivia, had walked up next to you.

“Why not?” Noah asks, his eyebrows scrunching together in confusion.

“There’s a murderer on the loose, remember, dickhead?” Olivia snaps at him. “I would rather not come back to find my best friend all dead and bloody, then adding you into the mix just to make it worse.”

Olivia had a family reunion she had to go to, something that had been planned in advance long before any of the murders had taken place. She wasn’t able to get out of it, nor was she able to convince her parents to let you tag along, even though they love you like you were their own. She was heading to the airport later tonight and coming back in two days.

You watch Noah shoot a glare at Olivia as he says, “Yeah, I’m aware there’s a murderer on the loose. But I, also, would rather not come back here to see my girlfriend dead.”

As Olivia is clearly gearing up to launch herself into a heated debacle with Noah, you stop her with a hand on her shoulder.

“Guys, I’ll be fine,” you assure them, hoping they can’t hear the waver in your voice. “After I take Olivia to the airport I’ll lock the doors and windows, turn off all the lights, then sleep with my dad’s old baseball bat next to my bed. Besides, Noah has a label meeting early tomorrow morning, so he should just head home to get some sleep for once.”

Neither of them look particularly convinced. But the mention of the metal bat seems to be enough for their tense limbs to relax.

This is the exact reason your dad gave you his bat when you first moved out, anyways. He wanted you to be safe and to protect yourself in case of an emergency. And this seems to be an emergency worthy of the beloved metal bat.

Olivia sighs dramatically from beside you. “Fine. The bat is better than nothing.” She returns Noah’s glare. “You better be gone by the time we leave for the airport in an hour.”

Noah clenches his jaw. “Got it,” he says.

With an annoyed grumble, Olivia turns on her heel and stomps towards her bedroom. Your boyfriend and your best friend have never really gotten along, simply because they both want what’s best for you and they both tend to believe they know exactly what that is. They butt heads a lot when it comes to you. Thankfully, they know they can’t have you without the other, so it’s become a resigned acceptance between them, however uncomfortable they may be about it.

You are finally able to relax your shoulders after you hear Olivia shut her door with a loud thud. Olivia is very overprotective of you and would just have you attached at the hip if she could. But sometimes her worry is suffocating. Like now. So you know she just needs a few minutes to herself before she gets on her flight.

“Did you have to be such an asshole?” you say to Noah.

“How was I being an asshole?” Noah fires back as he sets his mug down by the sink.

“You never seem to know when to stop antagonizing Olivia.”

“Well, excuse me for being worried about your safety. She’s not the only one who gets a say in this shit.”

“And you do?” you scoff, resting your hands on your hips. “So would you be okay with me unlocking every door and opening every window? Turn on each light so I’m just a fucking beacon for the murderer to come and get me next?”

Noah narrows his eyes as he stares at you. You’re now beginning to forget any thought of a psycho killer, and instead thinking of letting Noah stay tonight anyways. Let him keep you safe while also letting him do whatever he wants to you. The idea is very enticing.

“But if you don’t want that to happen, just stay the night, ‘cause I know you want to,” you encourage Noah, a small smirk making its way onto your face. “You’ll still be there for the label meeting. Olivia doesn’t have to know. Come over and keep me safe.”

Silence falls around you. Noah just continues to look at you with a dark gleam in his eyes, and you can feel a white hot knot beginning to coil down in the depths of your stomach. You shift slightly under his gaze.

“You’re being a brat.”

“Oh, fuck you,” you spit at him immediately, knowing with 100% certainty that he is going to make you pay for that comment.

“I will if you stop being a fucking brat,” Noah counters sharply. “Unless you want to keep being one, and end up being punished for it.”

You remain where you’re standing. You have zero intentions on obeying Noah, nor do you plan on dropping the bratty act. Noah loves it when you’re being a bratty bitch and defying his orders, even if he doesn’t outwardly say it. You know what it does to him, so why stop?

“Stay tonight.”

Noah doesn’t say anything. His eyes remain fixed on you, and you can feel the searing sensation of his irises roving over every inch of your body. You shift once more, hoping he doesn’t catch the movement, but you know he does.

“Come here.”

His tone is almost casual. It catches you slightly off-guard that he appears to be mildly bored, when he would normally be demanding you to approach. But you’re feeling defiant, because what is he gonna do if he doesn’t get dominant with you?

“No, I’m okay,” you say with a sickly sweet smile. “I’m not feeling very passive at the moment. Thank you, though.”

That earns you a glare. You can see the way Noah takes a grounding deep breath as his gaze darkens even more. You watch him cross his tattooed arms over his chest as he settles his weight back against the kitchen counter. He angles his head downwards, his eyes still trained on you.

God, is he trying to scare you? Because if that’s the case, he needs to rethink his fear tactics.

“I’m not afraid of you, Noah,” you practically scoff at him.

“Have I ever given you reason to be afraid of me?” he asks lowly. The tenor of his voice hums in your ears.

“No.”

Noah doesn’t say anything in response. He just continues staring at you intently, his dark gaze fixed on you wholly. You aren’t able to detect any emotion in his eyes or facial features. If you couldn’t see the subtle rise and fall of his chest you’d think he were a statue — a man carved from marble with numerous, intricate paintings spanning across the beautiful stone.

As the silence drags on you begin to grow uncomfortable. Noah staring at you isn’t what’s causing you discomfort; no, it’s the anticipation and sense of the unknown he’s letting fall over you. You roll your bottom lip into your mouth and begin chewing on the skin.

But then the corner of his mouth twitches upward. The action is sly and riddled with intention.

“Then I won’t start now,” he finally says. “Unless you want me to.”

His word choice is deliberate, each one laced with a level of teasing you don’t think you have ever heard come out of Noah’s mouth. He knows what he’s doing. And he knows it is finally getting to you in the way he had initially wanted.

“So what’s it gonna be?” Noah asks. His voice is firmer as he speaks. “You gonna come over here like a good girl … or will I be giving you a reason to be afraid of me? Either way it’ll be worth it, I’m sure. But hey, your choice, princess.”

Now, there is the commanding voice you had been expecting from the start. And your heart is pumping uncontrollably now. The pulse buried beneath the surface of your neck is throbbing and vibrating, making the blood roar loudly in your ears.

He’s giving you an obvious choice: admit you were being a brat and surrender. Or, run like your life depends on it. Because it might at some point, in a manner of speaking, you realize.

“Oh, but I don’t wanna scare you too bad,” Noah continues nonchalantly, like he’s talking about the weather or something. “Especially with that psycho killer on the loose and everything, y’know.”

You’re gonna kill him. He’s being a complete ass but being so unreasonably cool and collected about it. He knows he’s getting under your skin, burrowing further beneath your veins and tendons. It has you growing enraged and annoyed with his antics, despite that searing hot coil deep in your belly.

When Noah casually pushes away from the counter, you stagger back a few steps. His grin slowly grows as he makes his way in your direction. Your feet seem to be glued to the floor as Noah is now towering over you.

“You’re gonna pay for that, by the way,” he murmurs. He brings his hand up to your face, and grips your chin between his fingers. “But not tonight. You said it yourself, princess: I have a label meeting early in the morning.”

Noah uses his grip on your chin to tug your face towards his. Your lips meet in the middle, and Noah already has his tongue in your mouth before you can process what’s happening. And you have half a brain to kiss him back, but he’s pulled away by the time you manage to catch up. You can’t control the whine that bubbles up from your throat.

“I’ll see you tomorrow night,” Noah says with a grin. “I love you.”

Then he’s stepping out of your space and leaving through the front door.

He leaves you breathing heavily. You nearly sprint outside and stop Noah from leaving when you hear someone walking up behind you.

“Oh, good. He’s gone.” Olivia’s voice nearly startles you. “I’ve got my stuff ready so let’s just go now. I don’t wanna get stuck in traffic.”

You nod in acknowledgement, but your brain feels fried. Your entire nervous system just got short circuited because Noah thought it would be fun to mess with you. He knows you want him to stay over while Olivia’s gone. And, you know he wants to stay over. So why did he just blow you off like that?

You don’t give yourself time to think it over before you’re following Olivia outside. You let Olivia drown you in conversation on the drive to the airport. She doesn’t appear to notice your weird behavior, or, if she has noticed, she doesn’t mention it.

But then she’s getting out of the car with her bags and you’re hugging her and you watch as she walks inside the airport and leaves you behind.

You feel like screaming.

The drive home feels like a blur. You wish you would be arriving home to see Noah waiting for you, but the house is empty. Annoyance strikes your intestines as you do what you promised initially: lock the doors, close the windows, turn off all the lights, put baseball bat at bedside.

It still feels wrong somehow. You want Noah with you, even though he has that meeting very early in the morning. In order to remedy his absence you tug on one of his sweatshirts before climbing into bed.

The next day drags on. Olivia had texted you when her flight landed and when she was reunited with her family. Noah had sent a good morning text and nothing else. You were growing increasingly angry as the hours ticked by.

You were off work today, so you had the entire day to do what you want. But your brain was vibrating with anxiety and had you stuck on the couch. You were able to get through an entire season of your favorite show, though! It still didn’t feel right.

The sun had long since fallen beyond the horizon by the time you’re rummaging through the kitchen to find something to eat for dinner. You settle on making some mac ‘n cheese, and get to work.

You’re pouring the small pot of hot noodles and water into the colander that sits in the sink when the phone rings. Another thing your dad had insisted on when you moved out: a fucking landline phone. You thought it was ridiculous, but you had humored him anyways by getting one.

With the noodles in the colander and the hot metal pot set aside you reach for the phone. You press answer and stick it between your ear and shoulder as you continue making your dinner.

“Hello?”

“Hello?”

“Can I help you?”

“Who are you?”

“I dunno, who are you trying to reach?”

“I’m not sure.”

“That’s okay. Must be wrong number. Don’t worry — it happens.”

You’re quick to transfer the phone back in to your hand and end the call. Dialing the wrong number happens all the time, so the oddity of it doesn’t irk you.

Not until you have the mac ‘n cheese all ready a couple minutes later and the landline rings once more. You furrow your eyebrows as you go to answer it.

“Hello?”

“Oh, I’m sorry, I must have dialed the wrong number again.”

It’s that same voice. There’s a familiarity to it you can’t quite put your finger on.

“It’s alright. I’ll let you go so you can try again. Third time’s the charm, right?”

You’re about to put the phone down when the person on the other end stops you, saying, “Wait! Aren’t you gonna tell me your name?”

“Why do you wanna know my name?”

“Just in case I accidentally call you again, of course.”

“Well, I’m confident you won’t. You’ve got this.”

“In the meantime, as I’m trying to remember the correct number, let’s play a game.”

You roll your eyes. “A game? Why?”

“‘Cause it’s fun,” the person says simply. “Plus, I think we’re friends now, so it’s only fair, isn’t it?”

“I guess…”

“Good. Answer a series of questions correctly and you win. Answer incorrectly, and I win.”

“What does the winner get?”

“Whatever they want.”

You consider this for a moment. Because what’s the harm in answering some meaningless questions from a stranger? But you find yourself anxiously rethinking your decision even as you agree.

“Good. I’ll give you a couple warm-up questions. Starting with: do you have a boyfriend?”

“I do.”

“Hm. Pity. What’s he like?”

“First you wanna know about me, and now my boyfriend?” You’re growing more and more irritated with every passing second you are on the phone with this person. “You planning on stealing him from me?”

“No, of course not. Just tell me about him.”

“Oh, my god. I’m hanging up now—“

“Hang up and it’ll be the last thing you do.”

The sheer aggression and violence that ripple through this stranger’s voice forces you to stop. The phone begins to gently rattle against your ear and you can’t suppress the shaking that overcomes your body. Panic is now flowing through your veins as you stand in your kitchen in silence.

“Good girl. Now, where were we? Right: tell me about your boyfriend.”

“Um, he… He has tattoos, a-and he’s really tall. Uh, he— He’s in a famous metal band, and—“

“Yeah? What band?”

“B-Bad Omens.”

“Oh, I know them. Don’t they sing that song Just Pretend?”

You nod, even though you know they can’t see you. “Y-Yeah. Yeah, that’s them,” you murmur.

“Well, let’s start the actual game, shall we? First question: your boyfriend was at a meeting this morning with his band and their label. Who’s their label?”

The question stuns you. You’re suddenly frozen in place and you can’t gather the air in your lungs to even breathe, let alone speak. How the fuck do they know that? Why do they want this information if they obviously already have it?

“S-Sumerian,” you choke out.

“Correct. Next question: what band member left before the production of their second album began?”

You now feel sick to your stomach. You suspect this has to be some crazed fan with an unhealthy obsession with Bad Omens. If that’s the case, they should know already know the answer to this particular question. So why are they asking you?

“Vincent.”

“Good. Final question: where am I?”

“Wh-What? What do you mean where are you?”

“Where. Am. I?”

Dread floods your body. “Are you in my house?!” you practically yell in to the phone speaker.

“Come find out. But if you find me it won’t count as answering the question.”

You’re quick to tear the landline from your ear and jab your thumb against the end call button then tossing it onto the kitchen counter. Your hands are shaking as you take a few steps away from it, silently hoping it won’t ring again.

But it isn’t the phone’s shrill ring that makes you jump. It’s a sound coming from somewhere else in the house.

Your fight or flight response kicks in immediately. You rush to flee through the front door when you hear slow, heavy footsteps coming down the hallway. They sound calculated and deliberate, and you have no choice but to stand there in terror.

From the direction of yours and Olivia’s bedrooms comes a dark figure. They walk out of the shadows and into the dining room. Their body is covered in a black cloak, with a hood up over their head and a white mask on their face. The mask is a simple depiction of a screaming face. But it’s not any less mortifying as you watch them.

The figure comes to a stop when they catch sight of you. Their head tilts to one side, almost they’re considering their next move of action.

But you move first, suddenly booking it for the opposite end of the house towards the laundry room, the extra bathroom, and the garage. You hear them give chase a moment later.

You scramble your way into the garage in hopes of getting the large door to slide open. But the masked figure is one step behind you, and prevents you from hitting the door controls. They have you tripping forwards, and you nearly face plant into the concrete but you catch your weight on your hands. You push yourself up just as the intruder goes to grab you.

Darting around your car, that still sits idly in the middle of the space, you are being taunted by the figure in the hood. They stay near the door back into the house which keeps you on the other side of the car.

Then they’re skirting around the vehicle straight for you. You make a last second decision and make a break for the door inside. The intruder races back after you.

The figure chases you down the hall towards your bedroom. You go to slam the door shut before they can reach you, but you didn’t anticipate their strength. They shove the door open all the way, making you scramble back to your bed. You’re panting as you scoot backwards on the mattress.

The black-cloaked figure says nothing as they slowly stalk towards you. Adrenaline in coursing through your veins and you’re panicking. You are rendered silent as they reach the bed and continue their hunt across the sheets until they’re looming over you. The white mask is haunting as it stares down at you with that soundless wail.

“P-Please… I-I don’t wanna die…”

No response. Whoever is underneath that mask does not seem interested in listening to your pleas.

One of their hands reaches back behind them and reveals a shimmering hunting blade. The metal is clean and shiny, and you can see your fear reflected back at you through it.

Their unoccupied hand goes for your shirt, and you flinch at the contact. Your heart is pounding relentlessly as your shirt is lifted from your body. You couldn’t help but be compliant, especially with how they’ve got you situated between their legs.

You watch as they point the knife at you, then have the fine tip poking at the indent at the center of your collarbones. The barely-there feeling of the cold metal on your skin is sending your brain into overdrive. They then slowly, lazily, drag the blade downwards across your bare chest. You see how they’re clearly enamored by the goosebumps flaring across your abdomen as they continue dragging the knife down, down down…

Suddenly, there’s a hand gripping your throat. But it’s not with the murderous intention you were expecting. Instead, there is almost a gentleness to how their squeezing your neck, with the way their thumb grazes your pulse point.

You’re horrifically confused.

You nearly say something to them, but they’re taking the hand holding the knife to their mask. And then they tug off the black hood and this is the end, oh god—

“Noah?!”

And yes, that is your boyfriend kneeling above you with a wicked grin on his face and a knife in his hand. The terror and anxiety you had been feeling begins to melt away, and you can feel nothing but anger and embarrassment.

“Told you I’d see you tonight, didn’t I?” Noah says casually.

It’s a struggle to comprehend his presence. You can’t understand why he’s doing this or why he thought it was okay with a murderer running rampant.

“Wh-What the fuck?” you stammer.

“Oh, what’s wrong, baby?” Noah takes his gloved hand away from your throat and uses it to brush aside the stray hairs that were clinging to your skin. “I thought you wanted me to stay over? Keep you safe?”

You did want that, yes. But this is not what you meant. Never did you say you wanted Noah to stalk you like he were the predator and you were the prey.

But you can’t stamp down the exhilaration that is igniting your insides. You can’t get rid of it, especially with how Noah is looking at you. You suddenly want to turn in to jelly and be completely and utterly obedient to his every word.

And that sort of terrifies you.

“I-I did, but you didn’t have to do this,” you tell him. Your body is slowly relaxing beneath the weight of his own, now that any imminent danger has been found folly.

Noah looks at you quizzically. “What do you mean?” he asks you innocently. “I just wanted to make sure you were safe and sound.”

Noah begins tracing lines across your stomach and chest with the blade’s edge once more, a careful hold on the hilt in order not to pierce your flesh. The sensation has your brain faltering and not fully processing his words. Your hands inch towards his thighs.

He notices your hands moving in no time. He doesn’t stop you and says nothing.

You slither your hands under the cheap black fabric, and you immediately grip at his legs. You boldly glide your hands upwards until you reach the waistband of Noah’s pants. Noah watches as you tug lightly at one of the belt loops, then going for the zipper.

“Did my little charade turn you on, baby?” Noah moves the knife under your chin and gently pushes up so you’re forced to make eye contact with him. “Did you like me chasing you?”

You nod. And you see him grin.

“Shit, and who am I to deny you?”

But you know Noah. He’s going to tease you and get you all worked up, have you in near hysterics before he finally gives you what you want. And he doesn’t seem to be in a very generous mood at the moment.

Noah drops the knife to pull off the entire costume. He tosses it aside before getting rid of his shirt as well. A part of you knows this is what he wanted from the beginning, when he first offered to sleep over. But you can’t be bothered by that, not when he’s moving back enough to pull down your pants.

When he gets your pants off, and they join the rest of the clothes on the floor of your bedroom, Noah drags his tattooed hands up your legs agonizingly slow. He stops briefly when he reaches the top of your thighs, but then he proceeds to dig his fingernails in to the soft flesh and tugs you towards him. You yelp in surprise and are promptly shut up when you find your legs slung around Noah’s waist and his hand resting at your throat again.

“Good girl,” Noah says quietly. The hand not on your neck has begun making its way to your clothed core, which earns a weak whimper from you. “Are you gonna keep being a good girl for me?”

You whine when his fingers start stroking at you through your underwear. You think you answer him, but you don’t care enough as you are now grinding into his hand.

For a moment, you feel Noah remove his hands from your body. You whimper and whine at the loss of touch, until his hand is back at your throat and there’s a sharp cold resting on your hip.

The knife harmlessly glides against your skin once more. Then the pressure from the waistband of your underwear vanishes, to be replaced by the metallic cold of the blade in Noah’s hand. It slowly travels down past your pelvis, making you jerk in surprise.

Noah chuckles at the way your body reacts. You almost begin bitching at him when the knife disappears and is then substituted for his fingers. And his fingers feel so much better against your folds than that stupid knife could ever dream of.

And he’s just lazily stroking, avoiding slipping any one of his long, tattooed digits inside of you. You try your best to grind back against his hand, but the one at your throat squeezes for just a moment. It makes you pause, whining at the unexpected dizziness you are now experiencing.

Then his fingers are inside you, stroking and rubbing and searching for that bundle of nerves deep within. You cry out at the sudden intrusion. But then you’re pushing back on Noah’s fingers and the pressure on your throat eases a bit.

“Such a good girl,” you hear Noah murmur. “Can you cum for me, sweetheart?”

You nod frantically and he thrusts his fingers harder into your pussy. You’re moaning and writhing at his touch, and then that same pressure is applied once more to your throat and it’s just too much. Your body clenches around Noah’s fingers and you ride out your orgasm as he slows down his strokes.

The feeling of suddenly being empty is overwhelming. But you don’t have to worry about that much longer when Noah maneuvers your body off of him and onto your stomach. You feel the bed shift as he moves, and the sound of him taking off his pants has you gripping at the sheets.

Then the bed dips from Noah’s weight and he’s suddenly right above you. His bare legs are caging in your thighs and his hands are gently roaming over the expanse of your back. You can feel his cock against your ass; it takes a little too much self control to not push back into him, although you end up failing.

“You look so hot like this, baby,” Noah says. His hands halt at your hips, and he’s digging his fingertips into the bone. “So, so good for me.”

Noah doesn’t hesitate when he begins pushing his hard cock into you and using your hips as leverage. You’re crying out and moaning weakly as he adjusts slightly and then bottoms out.

There isn’t any warning given before Noah is pulling out just enough then slamming back in. He sets a brutal but steady pace as he fucks you. Your knuckles are whitening from your tight grip on the bedsheets. You quickly become a moaning, blubbering mess beneath Noah as he keeps going and going.

He keeps hitting your cervix perfectly and it makes you see stars. His hands on your hips is currently the only tether you have on reality.

Suddenly there’s a hand in your hair and it tugs at the roots until you prop yourself up on your elbows. Noah’s grip on your hair is sending spikes of pain from your scalp all the way down to your shoulders. But each thrust of his hips is another tug on the strands of hair entangled in his fingers. It’s a mashup of sensations that has you chasing your high again.

“Ah— Ah—“

God, you’re so close. You need to cum so fucking bad.

“Ah, Noah—“

“Come on, baby,” Noah breathlessly encourages you. “I want you to cum with my name on your lips.”

And with that, your pussy is clenching around him and you’re coming with a cry of his name. Then his thrusts get sloppier until he’s coming inside of you. You feel all warm as you are filled with nothing but Noah.

Noah then pulls out and the feeling of his cum dripping out of you is definitely the best thing you’ve ever experienced.

His hands are then forcing you to turn over and rest on your back. He straddles your weak body, and the sight of him above you like that makes you want to go again.

“Such a good little slut for me,” he says quietly. His chest is heaving as he drags one of his hands upwards, starting at your stomach and stopping at your tits. He palms one then the other, playing with each for but a moment. “Always so good for me, baby.”

Silence settles over you while Noah continues to just touch you. It’s calming and has your eyelids growing heavy.

But there’s still something that is gnawing at your brain. And you have to say something.

“Are you the killer?” Your voice is fragile when you verbalize your question.

It doesn’t seem to bother Noah, though. His hands are still wandering and touching you as he seems to process what you said.

“Yes. Does that scare you?” he replies. His eyes dart up to meet yours, and the dark glint has your heart pounding. “Do I scare you?”

You don’t have an answer for him, so you remain quiet.

“Are you afraid of me?”

He’s referring to what you had talked about yesterday. A part of you wants to yell out and tell him you are utterly terrified of him, that you cannot fathom the horrific atrocities he has committed. You can’t stand the thought of how much blood stains his hands. The hands that are touching you, caressing every curve…

“No,” you whisper.

Noah’s mouth twists into a lopsided grin. Your answer seems to satisfy him, and you can’t help the satisfaction you also feel spreading throughout your chest.

“Good. I would never want you to be afraid of me,” he tells you as he leans down so your faces are parallel. “You’re mine. And I’ll get rid of anyone that thinks they can take you from me.”

thank you for reading! hope you enjoyed! likes and reblogs are very much appreciated <3

♱ foliosriot 2023

[mindbrokengirl]

you could be that submissive "trans man"'s last grindr hookup!! get her on her back and fuck her deep and slow. tell her you know how hard it is for her, desperate to be a sex object but stuck begging men to experiment with her. tell her you think she'd still be a beautiful woman. moan and thrust into her harder. spread her thighs wider and fantasize out loud about how juicy they'd look in a miniskirt. make her feel satisfied, finally treated like a piece of meat. grope her, pull her down by her hips. men on the street will want to do this to her, not just the ones she has to fish for online. its so easy. just be a woman, thats all it takes. cum inside her. tell her later you were imagining what she'll look like in a year off t. enjoy the rush of confusion and relief relaxing her body in your arms, and the delighted noises she makes when she realizes she's still prey

[spite-and-waffles]

FUCK YES STEPHANIE IS THE JASON THAT NEVER WAS PANDA YOU ARE THE HERO THIS FANDOM NEEDS BUT DOES NOT DESERVE PREACH THE GOSPEL OF STEPHANIE AMEN

[samdeancrimespree]

samdean having the same blood type is so important to me like icb we never saw them giving each other blood transfusions.

it would’ve been john’s idea at first… sam gets a serious injury on one of his first hunts and he’s losing blood but they’re in the woods and john— calm, ignoring the obvious horror and self-blame on dean’s face— orders dean to the car, go get the first aid kit. dean’s out of breath when he gets back, silently taking over putting pressure on sam’s wound, entire focus on keeping him awake, you’re okay sammy, just look at me. he barely takes notice of john until he’s pulling dean’s left hand off sam, pushing up his sleeve. dean doesn’t even glance at him until he feels something stick in his forearm. that’s when he looks, seeing plastic tubing and needles. he makes brief eye contact with his father, understanding despite never going to a doctor before, and turns back to sam. sam barely reacts to the needle in his arm, just a weak flutter of eyelids, and dean sits there in shock until john smacks him on the side of the head, ordering him to stand up. dean obeys, already a good soldier at 17. he stands over sam like a guardian angel, watching his blood travel down the tube into sam’s veins as john sews the hole in his abdomen shut.

john knows from looking at him that he must be lightheaded, but dean still insists on helping sammy back to the car, sticking close to him like he’ll die if he lets go.

both boys in the backseat, pale from blood loss, but alive. sam’s head is on dean’s shoulder, and deans arm is around him, blood-stained fingers dragging up and down his arm slowly, soothing.

john doesn’t even argue about them sharing a bed that night; he’s too tired. dean refuses to leave sam’s side for a moment, washing the blood and grime off sam’s face, hands and stomach without doing the same for himself. they fall asleep with sam’s face almost against dean’s chest and dean’s arms tight around him, feeling him breathing.

once they know they can, they do it a lot. dean offering when it’s really not necessary, and sam letting him, both pretending they don’t just enjoy sharing everything about themselves.

and Maybe when they get a drop of blood on their hands they just lick it off instead of dirtying their clothes and Maybe that’s where sam got his taste for blood from but who am i to say

[suzyandthefox]

For 8/8, I decided to do a little Note game!

For every note on this post, I'm going to eat 1 tiny, feel free to submit your ocs as a tribute too, I might draw them getting eaten~

They won't get hurt of course!

Rules:

1: NSFW DNI, this is a silly game! No horny!

2: Under 16 DNI please

3: Submitting ocs is for mutuals only! I need to make sure you don't view this sexually! Also it's not first come first serve!

4: no matter how big your oc is, they will be tiny in this scenario

Milestones: 50 tinies

100 tinies

(This nom drive will end on 12th of August!)

[jobean12-blog]

Can't Keep my Hands to Myself

Pairing: Pre!Outbreak Joel Miller x reader

Word Count: 1,922

Summary: You and Joel have been flirting and dancing around each other for months but neither of you have made a move so Tommy decides to take matters into his own hands and plans a night out.

Author's Note: Here is my second story for Kinktober! One of my favorite things ever are a man's hands and Pedro and his hands are like porn so here we are. I literally just melt when I see them. It's real. LOL Thank you so much for reading! Much love always! ❤���❤️❤️Divider by the lovely @firefly-graphics thank you Daisy! 🥰

Warnings: flirting, teasing, tension, pet names, light praise, mentions of a-l-co-ho-l, light di-r-t-y talk, semi-pu-b-li-c s-e-x, f-in-ger-in-g.

PS the way he fucking rubs the arm of that chair. IS HE FOR REAL?!?! WTF PEDRO. How am I to live? Anyway, enjoy <3

Kinktober 2023 Masterlist

Joel Miller Masterlist

“Why do you keep checkin’ the door?”

Joel’s question makes Tommy pull his eyes away from the entrance of the bar as his lips spread into a wide smile.

“No reason big brother.”

Joel’s eyes narrow as he grinds his teeth.

“What are you drinkin’?” Tommy asks him, ignoring Joel’s gruffness.

“Whiskey. On the rocks.”

Just as the bartender finishes pouring the amber liquid and Joel lifts the glass to his lips he catches movement by the doorway. It swings open and you walk in.

You don’t see him yet but he can’t take his eyes off you. He watches over the rim of his glass as you scan the crowd with slow steps.

“I didn’t know she was comin’,” Joel mumbles before downing the rest of the whiskey.

“That a problem?” Tommy asks with a smirk.

“No,” Joel states. “Course not. Why would it be?”

Tommy and Joel stare at each other, an unspoken challenge in their eyes, until you shout Tommy’s name and launch yourself into his arms.

“Hi Tommy!”

Tommy wraps an arm around your waist and kisses your cheek.

You slip from his grasp and turn to Joel.

“Hey Joel,” you say, more quietly.

You lean in to kiss his cheek, missing how his eyelashes flutter closed and his grip tightens on the drink he’s still holding, the glass dwarfed in his large hand.

“Hi darlin’,” he replies.

You start to catch up with Tommy and order a drink, the whole while feeling the weight of Joel’s eyes on you.

“Do you want another?” you turn to ask him, eyeing the empty glass still clutched in his hand.

Your gaze lingers on his hand longer than it should and Joel clears his throat.

“I’m good,” he answers, still watching you intently.

After Tommy finishes off his third drink he excuses himself to the bathroom and you find yourself at the bar alone with Joel.

“I’m going to have one more,” you state, more to yourself than him.

You lean over the bar and try to get the bartenders attention. As you’re doing so, a body knocks into you, throwing you off balance and into Joel.

With an ‘oof’ you practically land in his lap, your palms pressed to his chest and his hands planted firmly on your hips.

“Oh my god,” you breathe out as your body instinctively moves closer.

“Are you alright darlin’?” he murmurs, still holding onto you.

“What?” you say, blinking at him.

“You ok?” he asks again.

“Um…yeah. I’m sorry! I didn’t mean…that guy is drunk and…”

“It’s ok,” Joel says.

Your hands slide up his chest and onto his shoulders as you right yourself. He still doesn’t let go of you. The man behind you teeters again and bumps you, causing you to slip between Joel’s spread thighs.

“He’s really drunk,” you whisper, your face only inches from Joels.

“Seems that way,” Joel grumbles. “Sure you’re alright?”

“Fine,” you assure him, not wanting to move.

Joel’s eyes drag away from yours as he looks over your shoulder. The drunken man is still wobbling on his feet so Joel slides his arm around your waist and pulls you into his side, getting you out of the way.

When he removes one of his hands from your waist and rests it on his thigh your eyes are drawn to the gesture. Your skin heats as he spreads his thick fingers and rubs his jeans.

“If he doesn’t move I’m going to make him,” Joel growls.”

Your eyes lift and you meet his gaze. “Hmm?” you ask.

Joel studies your face. “Sure you’re ok princess?”

“Princess?” you repeat, glad to have his solid body keeping you upright.

The corner of Joel’s mouth lifts slightly and his eyes sparkle.

“Totally fine,” you whisper.

When the drunken guy doesn’t leave Joel stands, keeping you tucked safely into his side as he shifts his body protectively in front of you to block you from any more harm.

You feel Joel stiffen when the man knocks into him and just as he’s about to tell him off, the man’s friend rushes over and pulls him away from you both and the bar.

“I hope he has a ride home,” you mutter.

Joel just grunts, his body still pressed to yours as he cages you against the bar.

Tommy returns from the bathroom with a satisfied smug.

“What’s goin’ on here?” he asks, raising his brows as he looks between you two.

You and Joel stare blankly back before quickly separating.

“Nothin’. All good,” Joel mumbles, sitting back down on the barstool.

“Some guy was drunk and kept bumping into me. Pretty sure Joel was about to kick his ass but luckily his friend saved him.”

You giggle and look at Joel, grinning when he winks at you.

“You never got your drink?” Joel says as he waves down the bartender.

He orders for you and gets another whiskey for himself.

While you wait for the drinks Tommy fills you and Joel in on his latest dating escapades. You’re listening, trying to focus, but when Joel starts to mindlessly smooth his hand across the bar top it distracts you and you find yourself drowning in thoughts of what his hands would feel like on your bare skin.

“Babe?” Tommy says, snapping his fingers in front of your face.

“Yeah! Hi!” you squeak. “What did you say? I missed that.”

“I could tell,” Tommy teases before repeating his question.

You don’t dare look at Joel because you can feel his eyes on you.

You manage to stay involved in the rest of the conversation but then Tommy gets a phone call and walks outside the bar to take it.

You fiddle with your empty drink glass and avoid meeting Joel’s eyes.

“What’s goin’ on with you princess?” Joel asks.

He mimics your movements, twirling the whiskey glass between his long fingers. You watch the action instead of answering.

“Can you stop?” you ask, a bite in your words.

“Stop what?” he counters, leaning into your space.

You huff out a sigh of annoyance and cross your arms over your chest.

“Why do you keep staring at my hands?”

Your mouth falls open and then you close it abruptly.

“I am not!”

“Yes,” he murmurs as he takes the edge of your stool and pulls you and the seat between his spread legs, “you are. Wanna tell me why princess?”

“I’m not a princess.”

You press your lips together and raise your chin defiantly. His lips curl slowly upwards as he lifts his hand and ghosts it along your thigh, his touch so light it makes you shiver.

Your breath rushes out in a sigh and you drag your teeth over your bottom lip.

“You have hands!” you blurt out, feeling flustered.

He stops moving his fingers and presses them into your skin.

“You’re right about that darlin’,” he smirks. “I do have hands.”

“Joel!” you huff. “What I meant to say…”

You trail off and look for your drink but you finished it a while ago so instead you grab Joel’s whiskey glass and throw back the last sip.

“You have really nice hands and your fingers are so…so…”

After you say the words you dip your chin and settle your gaze on his fingers pressed into your skin. “They’re so big.”

When you lift your face to look at him his jaw is clenched, the muscles flexing as he holds your gaze. Your eyes drop to his mouth and then wander over his beard.

“See somethin’ else you like princess?” he simpers.

Your fingers reach out, hovering just centimeters away from his lips and your breath hitches when you feel his grip on your thigh tighten. The air between you crackles with electricity and it feels like your skin is on fire.

He murmurs something you don’t quite catch, tilting his head closer as his calloused fingertips slide over your silky skin.

The moment is broken when you hear your name being shouted over the noise of the crowd. Joel’s eyes snap up and he pulls back. Your turn to see your friend coming toward you. Her excited hello breaks you out of your haze but you barely have time to say anything to Joel before your friend whisks you away to the bathroom, going on about how great it is to see you and how she has something to tell you that absolutely can’t wait.

After giving her as much attention as you can muster without being rude you excuse yourself and sneak out of the bathroom, wanting nothing more than to get back to Joel.

Before you can turn the corner of the dimly lit hallway a strong hand wraps around your arm and you’re yanked into something hard.

You gasp but sag in relief when you lock eyes with Joel’s dark brown irises, feeling his chest brush yours with every breath he takes.

“Where’d you go?” he asks, tension radiating off his entire body.

“Missed me that much?” you counter, batting your lashes.  

His eyes darken at your cheekiness and your eyes light up in victory. He carefully backs you up toward the wall, trapping you against it with his body.

“Think I’ll keep you all to myself for the rest of the night,” he whispers, his voice hot against your ear.

With an arch to your back you press closer, lowering your lashes as your fingers dance up his chest. When you hear your name, a whispered plea on his lips, you comb your fingers through his hair and tug on the soft strands.

His hand slips around the back of your neck and draws you closer, his mouth so close you can feel his warm breath.

You lift a challenging brow and he growls, squeezing your neck harder as his free hand smooths down your curves, teasing the hem of your dress.

He dips his head, inching closer and at the same time his fingers move higher, grazing between your legs. You tremble in his arms.

With a hiss he runs a finger over your soaked panties. His touch is teasingly light and you spread your legs, opening them in a silent invite.

“Good girl,” he praises, pushing your panties aside and sliding his finger through your wetness, gathering it before he circles your clit.

“Tell me princess. What do you want?”

“You…your fingers,” you whimper as you circle your hips. “Fuck me with your fingers.”

His groan is guttural and in sync with your wanton moan as he slips a long finger inside you, pushing deeper when you beg for more.

It isn’t until you’re chanting his name and quietly pleading that he adds a second finger, fucking you in earnest.

Your eyes flutter closed but he slides his hand from the back of your neck and settles it at the base of your throat, putting light pressure before his thumb presses under your chin and he pulls your focus to him.

“No, keep your eyes on me. I want to see you come for me.”

You’re instantly on the edge, teetering so close that the slightest stimulation will make you shatter. With a swipe of his thumb across your clit he pushes a third finger inside you, the stretch bordering on pleasurable pain and you come hard, crying out his name.

He draws out your bliss, fingers still buried deep inside you as he growls in your ear, “you’re going to remember just how much you love my hands with every step you take tomorrow.”

@lorilane33 @hiddles-rose @littleseasiren @pedritosdarling @kmc1989 @blackwidownat2814

[brainz4sale]

trans masc dysphoria tip!! 🏳️‍⚧️

✨ ROSEMARY WATER / COCONUT OIL ✨

helps to grow and thicken bodyhair :3

you can buy it cheap or just make it yourself! It’s not a gendered product and easily accessible <3 for me personally it works wonders when I apply it all over me every few days :3 I also recommend eye brow brushes to temporarily dye facial hair! just make sure to find the right tone and not stain your face

[cuntftmtf]

was cuddling my partner after we hung out with friends and they said "it's starting to feel like misgendering when i he/him you now" and i couldn't help but agree... they're gonna she/her me towards others more now :3

[soft-twink]

Spot the difference (hard mode)

He/They

[aller-geez]

I know I’ve been on a long hiatus, but I’m finally not going to be homeless anymore on Monday and I was able to scribble out this hitchy feverish Remi drawing in the minimal downtime I have where I’m staying… I should be able to give you guys an update on FLUttering Hearts (planning a viewing of the entire first day of the game as a teaser, since I don’t want to give tooooooo much away yet but just know there’s SO much work spent on it and I think it’ll be amazing once it’s finished, cause it’s already way more than I thought I could do while teaching myself coding and writing the script and drawing ALL the art.)

Thanks everyone for their continued patience with me, itll be worth the wait~

[subbiehoney]

Another (nearly) full body. I should have gotten more of these when I had the chance.

[drpeppertummy]

and for the Less Excessive Prangent Tummy Crowd. a nervous little leon circa Back In The Day (sorry the only way i know how to indicate that a character is not in the present is to give them a mullet)

[ID: a drawing of a pregnant guy looking worried and holding his belly protectively.]

[elliegoose]

one day i wanna do some good research on how many gainers/feedees first thought of themselves as just being feeders, especially if they started out thin. like personally, i only even got into this kink in the first place because i was in denial about how much i disliked being thin, and i kind of channeled that repressed desire to be fat into the feeder role since that's what was more internally acceptable than the idea that i'd try to gain myself.

of course, for me this overlapped with being trans; i thought i wasn't a gainer because i didn't like the idea of being seen as a fat man, but once i started putting on weight, it turned out that the actual problem i had within that nebulous aversion was not the fat part but the man part. being seen as a fat woman rules actually and is kind of the greatest thing ever.

point is, i'm super curious as to how many other folks have had similar experiences of initially getting into the feeder role because they were in denial about wanting to be fat(ter) themselves.

[surrogate-fawn]

End of Term (NYC College AU)

Part 1 of 2

(Link to Part 2 will appear here when posted)

Summary: Fawn is a small-town girl from West Virginia trying to find her future in the Big Apple. She's left everything from her past behind her . . . or so she thinks. During her final exams, Fawn is completely unaware that she's been pregnant since before the semester began -- and her labor has started. As her discomfort grows more intense throughout the day, Fawn gets a little closer to discovering the cause of it. Hopefully, it doesn't take her too long to figure it out.

((This story features Newt, who belongs to @mittysins.))

TW: Cryptic pregnancy, graphic bodily descriptions, implications of past abuse, emotionally traumatic birth experience.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

I still wasn't used to the subway trains. Sitting on one was like riding an elevator sideways during an earthquake. The g-force of every start and stop made my stomach lurch, and I still almost flew outta my seat every time. I could expect to be a little queasy by the time Newt and I reached our last stop -- and that was when I didn't wake up sick.

"Bleh. I blame YOU for this!" I text messaged Newt, despite the fact he was sitting a few seats over. He was sitting in our usual spot, but that morning I needed to sit in the back corner, where I could curl up and rest against the wall.

I saw Newt check his phone from the corner of my eye, and seconds later I got his reply: "How is indigestion MY fault?"

"I didn't even want takeout until YOU asked for it." I was sure to put a goofy emoji at the end of the message to show I was being sarcastic.

"Sorry. Cravings." Newt replied. A second later he sent a gif of a cartoon cat shrugging.

I leaned over and met his eyes with a deliberately exaggerated frown. There were several strangers sitting between us, and I probably looked crazy -- but what else was new in this city? I hit 'send', and watched Newt check his phone. I delighted in his held back snicker when he saw the giant picture of a middle finger on his screen.

That morning marked the start of our first finals week as freshman at Queens College. Newt and I had stayed up as late as possible, doing some last-minute study cramming at my apartment. Now that Newt was entering his second trimester, he was trading in his morning sickness for late-night cravings of Chinese food -- specifically steamed dumplings with fried rice (but it had to be plain rice, he'd cried when I'd accidentally ordered the pork rice).

"You're a bad influence on me, lol. I need to stop joining in on your craving binges." I hugged my backpack tighter to my stomach as my guts cramped again.

"I'm not the one who ordered two boxes of sesame chicken and three extra egg rolls." Newt retorted. A second later: "Not to mention the lo mein."

"The lo mein was supposed to be for lunch today! >:("

"Ye right. ;)"

Fine, yeah, I'd overdone it last night. I could barely contain myself around food anymore. Ever since I'd arrived in New York City that past summer, I'd been overeating. I guess I was eating my emotions. The stress had been piling up all fuckin' semester!

Moving from the suburbs of West Virginia to such a huge city had my nerves fried by the time I settled into my teeny-tiny apartment that was more expensive than a house back home. Stacked on that was the anxiety of starting school. Stacked on that was the fact my roommate, Makayla, refused to do her share of chores. Stacked on that was homesickness. Stacked on that was studying enough to not lose my scholarship. Then stacked on all of that, my one and only friend in this city was dealing with an unplanned pregnancy.

If my next-door neighbor hadn't been Newt, I'd still be floundering. Without a doubt. We clicked at first sight, as if we'd known each other in a past life. He was my lifeline. Newt had lived in Manhattan all his life, but Queens College was the only local school within his budget and that's how we'd ended up in the same off-campus student housing. He was the one that taught me street-smarts -- which roads to avoid at night, where the best Mom-and-Pop restaurants were, how to hail a cab, and how to read the hieroglyphics that were the subway maps. Although we'd only been friends for barely a month when he knocked on my door with a positive pregnancy test and tears in his eyes, I'd never thought twice about being his shoulder to cry on and his hand to hold.

I didn't care if worrying over him added to the stress of my new life here, it was a worry I gladly carried.

But it seemed all that stress was finally catching up to me.

As the train came to another screaming halt, I was twisting myself into a pretzel. My stomach was cramping again, straining hard to move along the mountain of food I'd eaten twelve hours earlier. The doors slid open, and several passengers I recognized as fellow students stood up. Newt joined them, slinging his bookbag over his shoulder and plucking the air pods out of his ears. I knew I needed to get up, but my legs needed a few extra seconds of convincing.

"You good?" Newt asked as he watched me lift myself off the seat in segments.

"I'm fine," I said, walking with him onto the platform. "I just hope that Pepto kicks in soon."

"How many exams you got today?"

"Three," I groaned, my head falling back on my shoulders. "Chemistry, biology, and that stupid-ass remedial algebra class."

"Ha! I've only got two," Newt gloated, pausing to zip up his oversized red jacket.

"Uh-huh, but don't you have to wait eight hours between them?"

"Gives me plenty of time to study," he said as we continued up the station stairs. The sonofabitch was talking like he hadn't been complaining all week about his morning class and evening class having the same exam day.

"Please," I smirked, rolling my eyes, "I know you're just gonna play The Sims 4 on your laptop."

We both shivered as we walked out of the muggy underground and into the biting cold winds coming off the harbor. I pulled my hood over my head and pulled the drawstrings tighter around my neck.

"You can't prove anything," Newt grinned, his breath coming out as a soft cloud.

I gave him a comedically unamused look. "You're pregnant, so I'm not gonna hit you."

Newt chuckled and placed his hand over the small, four-month bump that was hiding under his jacket. "Thanks for the save, kiddo."

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

The walk to campus was only two blocks, but it felt like I was forcing myself to trudge through mud. I regretted ordering so much food. Clearly, I hadn't learned my lesson, yet.

My overeating the last few months had me in a constant state of bloat. It always felt like a giant water balloon was sitting right on my guts. I was peeing every few minutes, my kidneys working overtime to get rid of the extra fluid I was holding. Gas bubbles were always rolling through me, too. They were mostly just annoying blips of movement but recently they'd gotten painful.

The worst were the large pockets of air that got trapped under my ribs. They would stay there for hours sometimes, making it excruciating to breathe. Nothing in the world could help me when I got like that; I just had to go about my day in agony and wait until the pressure spreading my ribs apart decided to move along.

By now, I was kinda used to functioning while my intestines were trying to kill me; but, God, they were trying extra hard that day.

My stomachache flared up right outside the library, the shortcut I took to get to chemistry class. I sat down on a bench, gripping the edge of the seat and trying not to double over. My sides ached, and a deep stabbing pain plunged deep inside my abdomen. The invisible knife twisted, and I realized I was holding my breath.

"Fawn?"

I looked up at Newt, who had doubled back to check on me. His first class was on the other side of campus, and the library was where our daily routes split for most of the day.

"I'll be fine," I said, waving him away. "I'll buy a soda at lunch. That usually helps."

Newt glanced over his shoulder, down the path he was supposed to take, and then stepped a little closer. "I won't be out of here until five. Don't wait up for me, okay? When you're done with exams, just go home."

"Yeah, I will," I nodded. "That sounds good."

Newt nodded back, looking a lot more at ease. "Is it okay if I come over with some soup later? I found a new recipe online and it looks really good!"

"That's fine," I said, stretching my arms over my head to loosen up my torso. "Just use your key. I'll see 'ya then, bud."

"See you then." He gave me a two-fingered salute and continued on his way.

I checked the time on my phone and sighed. I had to get moving again, or else I'd have half my final exam score deducted for being late. My chemistry professor was a real stickler for being on-time.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

I'd moved to New York City to finally get my degree in Botany & Plant Science. It'd been my dream for a while to become a researcher and study the pharmaceutical use of plants. Having a pair of old hippies as parents will inspire that interest in 'ya. Queens College was the best scholarship I could get out-of-state, and I had to be out-of-state. I just had to be.

I already had trouble fitting in with my classmates as a "mature" undergrad student. Since when was twenty-nine considered too "mature" for college?! All of my subjects were basic introductory courses, and that meant I was surrounded by fresh-faced teenagers less than a year out of high school. Even Newt wasn't that young. He'd taken a few years off before college, but apparently twenty-four was still young enough to fit in with the crowd.

At least not having any classroom friends meant I was left alone that morning. I sat in my assigned seat and watched the rest of the students file in from the hallway. The desk allowed me to hunch down when my stomach clenched again, the muscles in my abs pinching hard. I crossed my legs and bounced my foot, trying to distract myself from the storm brewing inside me as the professor laid out the rules of the exam period.

I was in pain for that entire hour. It was hard to keep up with the time limit. I had to pause on several multiple-choice questions -- sometimes because they were challenging, other times because the stabbing, twisting pain was flaring up. I began fantasizing about how good I'd feel after I was able to get my hands on a soda, and that daydream carried me through.

Shockingly, I was one of the first students to stand up -- and I'd finished with barely eleven minutes to spare. My professor nodded at me as I placed my exam packet on his desk, and he quietly wished me a good winter break as I shuffled out the door.

Freedom at last! There were about two hours to kill before my biology exam, so I was sure with a light snack and some rest I'd be feeling better by then.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

I'd worked hard to build up enough of a nest egg to live off in New York. I'd squirreled money away for three years in a secret bank account, and lied to Alexander about how much my hourly pay was. My scholarship covered only part of my housing costs, and I knew living off savings couldn't last all four years of school. However, I was not going to stress over buying a three-dollar root beer when it felt like I was being wrung like a washcloth.

The dining hall at Queens was a glorified cafeteria: fold-out tables, plastic chairs, too much noise and not enough space. I really wasn't hungry, but I knew if I skipped out on lunch I would regret it later. So, I stopped by the Nathan's stand to grab a hotdog and bag of plain potato chips to go with my large cup of carbonated medicine.

I made do with sitting at the empty end of a crowded table, where the huddle of dudes at the other end were playing Magic: the Gathering. That stuff was more Newt's scene than mine, so I put my earbuds in and pulled up the YouTube app on my phone.

The Peanuts Christmas special played on my screen as I nibbled on chips and washed the salt away with long swigs of root beer. I was hoping to summon a little Christmas spirit to help me not feel so dead inside. It was two weeks away, and it was the little candy-red cherry atop my mountain of things to worry about. Between hesitant bites of hotdog, I wondered how I could pry some gift ideas out of Newt last-minute. I'd already gotten him an Amazon gift card, but I wanted to get him something a little more per-.

I sucked a sharp breath through my nostrils, choking on half-chewed bread as my stomach cramped again. It didn't feel the same as the hundreds of other cramps I'd been having. This one was bad. It was really. Fucking. Bad! I curled up in the seat, my hands dipping inside my hoodie pocket to press against my stomach. Even through three layers of clothing, I could feel my muscles clenching.

And it just wouldn't stop. Most of them would fade after a few seconds, but this one just kept going. I doubled over, pressing on my belly and praying the pain would stop.

And then it stopped.

I sat up straight and looked around. No one nearby was paying any attention, but my freckles turned pink anyway as I quickly rose and tossed what was left of my food in the trash. I chugged the rest of the soda.

There were still two exams to go, but I was already checked out for the day. I knew there was a bottle of cupcake vodka leftover from Makayla's birthday party last month. Mixed in a milkshake, that stuff had been sweet enough to give me both a sugar high and a buzz. Maybe if the soda didn't do the trick I'd go home and try soothing my stomach with one of those. I deserved one already, and it wasn't even noon.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

It hurt to be upright.

My biology exam was half lab work and half a written test. The class was split into two groups: one to do the lab first, and one to do the written exam first. Guess which one I was in.

I was white-knuckling that clipboard as I quietly shuffled from one specimen sample to the next. Identify this bone. Identify that leaf. Is this a rock or a fossil? I was rocking my weight from side-to-side as subtly as I could. The cramping hadn't eased up since lunch. I was feeling this one down to the soles of my feet and keeping 'em moving was the only way I could stay standing.

At the apex of the cramp, I grit my teeth as a new pain bloomed deep inside my hips. I leaned my weight over the table, disguising the motion as trying to get a better look at a specimen. A knife-like stab hit my cervix and the ache radiated between my legs.

Ah, okay. I knew that kind of pain, even if it'd been a while.

No wonder the indigestion was so bad. I always got an upset stomach the day my period was due to start. 'Course, I could never tell when I was due. I tried tracking them, but ever since puberty they'd been on a schedule of their own. My cycles had been mild spotting for most of that year, so I figured there was a mighty buildup of Mother Nature in there that was trying to come out. No wonder I was already cramping so hard.

Oh, boy . . . and from my experience, I could tell I was in for a world of hurt once I actually started bleedin'.

I made it through the written half of the exam free of carnage. The pain was somehow easier to deal with when I knew it was all just hormones. At the water fountain down the hall, I popped a few ibuprofen out of my purse and downed them. There, now I knew I'd be feeling better once those puppies kicked in.

Another two hours, and I'd be free to go home.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

I was relaxing on a sofa in the library when I suddenly felt a pouring wetness in the crotch of my pants. Ah, fuck. Fuck!

I left my backpack behind in a panic and speed-walked to the nearest restroom. I subtly pulled my hoodie as far over my hips as possible, hoping to hide anything that leaked through my sweatpants as I shuffled past other quietly studying students. I cussed myself out in my head for not thinking to put on a pad as soon as I started cramping.

Once I was hidden away in a stall, I inspected the damage. My underwear was damp with a watery pink discharge as well as several dark red clots. Yes, some of it had seeped through my pants, but not enough to be noticeable. I could still feel it dripping down into the toilet as I tried to clean everything up.

All it took was that first drop of blood for the cramps to reach their full strength. That was always the case when I missed a few periods. I pressed my lips together to stop a groan from escaping as I doubled over and hugged my midsection. My entire torso throbbed and clenched inward. My toes curled inside my sneakers as the pain once again trickled down to the soles of my feet. My jaw locked up as I grit my teeth against the pain, and I felt a charlie horse starting in the back of my neck.

Everything. Fucking. HURT.

The cramp left me feeling slightly weak. It didn't just disappear, it just . . . settled back into my muscles as a soft, constant ache. I held a wad of toilet paper between my legs for a few seconds, and in that short amount of time it was soaked in pastel pink. The floodgates had opened, and it wasn't going to stop. This pink discharge was no doubt going to become a full red tide by the time I got home.

I returned to the couch wearing a cheap cotton pad from the restroom vending machine. Although it wasn't smart, I swallowed two more ibuprofen dry. I sat curled up in the corner of the sofa, killing the last forty minutes before my exam watching videos on my phone.

The cramps just kept coming. I kept feeling blood gushing out of me and into the pad. My labia were constantly throbbing, and not in the good way. Every time I cramped, it felt like I was being turned inside out.

I seriously considered blowing off my algebra exam. I would fail the class, but I could just re-take it next semester, right? Maybe I could re-schedule the final if I brought in a doctor's note? Well, fuck . . . no, I couldn't do that. My health insurance wouldn't fully cover an emergency room visit and I doubted a doctor's note from three days after the final would be able to save my sorry ass.

Besides, I hated remedial algebra so much I felt nauseous at the thought of doing it again. I was just gonna have to suck it up and get through it like everyone else. Then, I wouldn't have to think about anything else until tomorrow.

God, why me?! Why today of all days to start the worst period in the history of mankind?!

I wondered if there was some cosmic deity out there who was taking joy in my suffering. If so, at least this pain was good for something in the grand scheme of things.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Despite the biting December air, I felt sweat dripping down my back as I trudged across campus to attend my last exam. It hurt to walk. It hurt to stand. Hell, it just hurt to exist. I made myself keep a steady pace, although my body was demanding I stop with every cramp. When that telltale stabbing would start in my lower back, all I wanted to do was lay on the floor and cry; but I was a grown-up, and I had grown -up stuff to do.

When I sat at my desk, my hips jolted up as if the hard plastic seat had burned me. I let out an involuntary gasp of pain, and my face burned in embarrassment as everyone turned to look at me. I started a chesty cough to disguise the sound.

I hadn't noticed it when sitting on the plush couch, but my labia were ungodly swollen and sore. This was not something that usually happened during my period. I knew my hormones were way out of whack this time around, so . . . maybe it was some weird hormonal reaction?

Whatever it was, it wasn't making the exam any easier.

My whole weight was sitting square on my pelvis in that uncomfortable classroom desk, and it was torture. I tried sitting as far back as I could to take the pressure off, but that just made my tailbone hurt, too.

My pencil slipped in my wet palm as I desperately tried to fill the bubbles in on my scantron sheet. I wriggled my hips, trying in vain to find a way to sit that didn't hurt like hell. Sweat began to drip from under my sports bra beneath my layers of clothing. It was taking everything in my power not to beg my professor to let me take the exam while lying on the floor. Fuck, I'd even do it standing on my head -- anything to get the pressure off my poor vagina.

Ten minutes in I decided to leave my final grade up to fate. I was in so much pain, I no longer cared if I failed the class. I chose my answers based on educated guesses, skipping the solving process entirely.

I was staggering to my feet within twenty minutes, and my professor gave me a scowl when he saw my worksheet hardly had any equations written on it. He leaned in as I placed my scantron on his desk.

"I hope you know you've wasted your time," he whispered, glowering at me from under his bi-focals. "You may as well have not showed up."

The only answer I could offer was a nod. I hurried into the hallway, tears blurring my vision.

I knew I'd wasted my time. I knew I'd fucked myself over. The further I walked down the hall, the more I regretted not trying harder.

I threw the test after ten fuckin' minutes, just so I could go home and be lazy. I wasn't sick, I was just on my period! What sorry excuse was that for wasting tuition money? There were probably dozens of other students in the same amount of pain I was in, but they weren't throwing away their grades over it. God, I was pathetic. I was so determined to pass this stupid remedial class at the start of the semester, even if it was with a 'C', but in ten minutes I'd given up.

Maybe Alex was right. Maybe I was just too damn stupid to be here.

By the time I stepped outside, I was crying. I pulled up my hood to hide the tears and kept my head down as I began the long walk off campus.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

The noon train wasn't as packed as the seven o'clock train, but it was still too full for my liking. That was what I hated about the city; you couldn't go anywhere without brushing shoulders with a stranger.

There were available seats, but I couldn't sit down. My lower lips were throbbing with my heartbeat. I had my arm wrapped around a standing bar, clinging for dear life against the g-forces of the train. My stance had to be wider than natural, or else my thighs would pinch and cause a hot, pulsating pain through my stomach. I knew I probably looked like a drunk trying to hold themselves up against gravity, but I reminded myself that New Yorkers see things like that on the trains all the time. No one would say anything as long as I kept to myself. My hood was still up to hide the leaks in my eyes, the flow of tears I couldn't fully control.

I clung tighter to the bar as I cramped again, and a warm gush soaked into the pad between my legs. My eyes dripped as they stared off into nothing, my mind going blank from the pain. A sudden "buzz-buzz" from the phone in my pocket brought me back from the void. I blinked my vision clear and checked the text message. It was from Newt, replying to a text I'd sent earlier:

"Sorry ur feeling so shit :( You going home?"

I rested my temple against the smudged chrome pole and typed my reply:

"On the train now."

Three grey dots appeared below my message.

Buzz-buzz.

"Still want me to come over??"

I replied: "Yeah. Makayla's with her boyfriend for the week and I need distraction."

Grey dots. Buzz-buzz.

"Awww poor bb. A whole apartment all to yourself. Glad I'm not THAT unlucky. /s "

I grinned and dried half my face on my shoulder. Newt had never fit in with his roommate's group of frat boy sports fans. Just like I had never gelled with Makayla's crowd of hardcore party girls. They weren't "bad" people, they were just . . . not "our" people.

"We need new roommates," I typed.

Dots. Buzz-buzz.

"Ye."

I felt another huge gush, and my thighs pressed together in response. My inner cheek bled as my teeth chopped through it. Fuck. Forgot to not do that.

That cheap pad didn't feel like it was gonna hold up much longer. The last thing I needed was to reenact the elevator scene from The Shining in front of two dozen strangers on the subway. I pulled my hoodie further over my hips, just in case.

"Fair warning," I typed, "my apartment might be a bloodbath by the time you get there."

Dots. Buzz-buzz.

"BLOOD FOR THE BLOOD GOD!!!"

"Omfg."

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

"Ohhh my fucking god."

I angled my lower back into the stream of hot water, pressing my hands into the glass wall of the shower. I hung my head as my body gradually clamped down on itself like a vice, tighter . . . tighter . . . tighter. Now that I was safely inside the privacy of my apartment, I could finally deal with the pain how I wanted: whining like a 'lil bitch.

"Ohhh my fucking god," I repeated, the sentence crawling out of my mouth as a slurred moan.

The water splashed pink at my feet. A few dime-sized globs of red fell onto the shower mat and were washed away. My pad had been soaked through with that thin pink discharge, but hardly any real blood. My body must've been trying to break my uterus open like a piggy bank to get out what it needed, because I felt like I was dying.

"God," I dragged the word out for a solid minute in a deep, angry groan as I sank to my knees. I ran out of breath, but the pain kept going. I wrapped my arms around my stomach and pitched forward, eyelids pinched shut and teeth open in a gaping snarl. The muscles in my torso vibrated with tension. It was hard to breathe, my ribs too tight to get a full breath. The air I managed to suck in came back out as another drawn-out groan: "Fuck."

I'd been trying for hours to ease the cramping and indigestion that were teaming up to kill me. I'd taken enough ibuprofen to drop a horse. I'd taken Pepto-Bismol like shots of tequila. Heating pads had helped, but not for long. I'd put an ice pack between my legs to bring down the swelling, but the ice stung. I'd turned the temperature as high as I could tolerate and was now face-down on the shower floor, letting the water hit anywhere it could reach. My skin was scalded red, but the iota of relief I got was worth it.

Knock, knock, knock. Three solid knocks on the bathroom door.

I knelt there with my cheek in a puddle of water, too engulfed in pain to react.

"Soup delivery!" A cheery tenor voice on the other side, somewhat drowned by the water rolling over my ears.

Newt? What was he doing here? He didn't leave school until five. Shit, what time was it? How long had I been home?

I lifted myself onto my elbows, blowing out a long breath as I waited for the pain to fade. As soon as it did, I called loud enough for Newt to hear me over the roar of the shower:

"I'll be out in a sec. Just put everything in the kitchen."

"M'kay."

I didn't hear Newt walk away, but I heard his heavy crockpot being set on the counter -- the kitchen shared a wall with the bathroom. God, that apartment was tiny.

Ugh. I had to get up. I'd been in there too long. The water was turning cold. My hands and feet were pruney. I had to get up. I had to get up.

I climbed up the slick glass wall, leaving smeared handprints in the condensation. The higher I stood on my feet, the worse I felt; but if you'd asked me to describe how, I wouldn't have known what to say. I steadied myself, turned the water off, and opened the shower door.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

There was a fresh bowl waiting for me on the counter as I stepped into the kitchen, but I didn't have an appetite.

"Don't like it?" Newt asked, serving himself a helping of soup from the crockpot.

My hair was hanging limp around my face and shoulders, dripping water like the branches of a weeping willow; but the droplets rolling down my neck weren't water. A sticky layer of sweat was coating my back and my legs beneath my plush winter pajamas. The bowl of homemade French onion soup sat untouched and steaming in front of me.

"No, it looks good," I said. "I just don't really feel like eat--ugh!" Another cramp started and this time I didn't hold back a moan of pain. "Augh!"

Newt set his bowl on the stove and took a few soft-footed steps towards me. "Does your period usually hurt like this?" he asked, rubbing his hand over my back.

I shook my head and braced my hands against the counter, unable to answer him with words. I tried to speak, but my mouth would only allow a series of small moans and gasps as the pain went on and on and on and -- fuck, this wasn't right! It had been almost a year since my last full bleed, but there was no way in hell this level of pain was normal!

I leaned over the counter, rocking my hips in a fruitless bid to shake away the twisting, stabbing, squeezing pain. As I struggled to fill my lungs with air, my mind scrambled for answers. Was this what endometriosis felt like? A cyst rupturing? A fibroid? Oh my god, what if it was a tumor?!

I felt more fluid dripping in globs onto my pad, and I let out a sob. "It feels so bad!" I whimpered to my friend, tears coming to my eyes. "I just . . . just want it to stop!" My lower back suddenly felt like it was going to break, and I let out another sob as my knees began to give out under me.

Newt saw me falling and he acted quick. His arms hooked under my shoulders, and he arched his back to try and keep me standing.

"Woah, hey!" he cried as he caught me in a low crouch, just before I'd hit the ground. "What's wrong?!"

My first thought was to tell him to put me down. He shouldn't be straining himself like that, and I worried about him even through the blinding pain. I opened my mouth to scold him, but that's when it happened. I will never forget the moment it happened.

A huge weight began to sit on my lower bowels, and I swear to god I thought my guts were going to fall out. A tsunami wave of nausea rolled up from that horrible sinking pressure and hit my stomach like a geyser. I dry heaved and sank lower to the floor as my mind was overtaken by one silent demand:

Push!

"Newt-!" was all I managed to gasp.

And then I was bearing down with all my strength.

I'd never felt anything more intense in my life. It was an unholy demon pressing down on me, and I had no choice but to submit.

A scream -- a full, honest-to-god scream -- ripped itself free of my throat. I rested just long enough to inhale, and then I was pushing again, my chin pressed to my chest. I felt a shift deep inside, pressing against my lower spine. Something was prying me open. Something was slipping its way down.

I screamed again as the realization finally dawned on me: Something was coming out!

"Fawn?!" I heard his frantic voice, but my vision was haloed in black. "Fawn, talk to me!"

I held onto Newt as my lifeline, until I ran out of the strength to push anymore. "Help me!" I panted, hugging him closer. "God, please help me!"

"What is it?!"

"I'm fucking turning inside out!" I cried, growling as I pushed the object lower into my pelvis.

At first, I was convinced my colon or something was about to pop out like a fucked up horror movie; but I felt the object heading to a different area of my body. I could feel my swollen labia pushing out into my pad.

"Augh, I think it's my uterus!" I sobbed as I strained -- unable to stop myself in both regards. "That's what's falling out!"

"What the fuck?!" Newt cried. "That can happen?!"

"Yes!"

"Oh, shit!" Newt jumped up and began circling the kitchen. "Where the hell is my phone?! I'm calling 9-1-1!"

"Please fucking do!" I yelled, dropping to all fours as Newt hurried to look for his phone in the living room.

Forbidding myself to push was like forbidding myself to breathe. It simply had to happen. Tears flowed from my eyes as I was forced to push out one of my own internal organs. Not just any organ, the one that would end my dream of having a family once it was gone.

This was hell. I was in hell.

My hips tried to jerk away from the pain as the object began to force itself though my vagina. I felt the object pressing against my pad as I pushed, and I wondered if it would be enough to hold it in. Maybe if I could somehow keep it inside me, the doctors would be able to pull it back in.

The next push told me I had no other choice but it let it out. What was happening was happening fast. Too fast. Too fast! Oh, fuck! I felt my skin yawn open and pull tight, creating a hellish burn that made me scream myself hoarse.

I hiked my pants down and craned my neck to see between my legs. The first thing I saw was a long strand of pink-red mucous clinging to my bulging lips for a few seconds, before dripping down onto the pad at my knees.

I saw a hint of something beginning to breech out of me. It was fleshy and covered in blood. It was somewhat blue colored and wrinkled, and I was terrified. My inside-out uterus was coming out of me, and I couldn't bear the sight.

I shut my eyes tight and screamed through another huge push. I had a flash of the thought: "Since when was my uterus this big? Isn't it supposed to be small?" But it was gone before I could dwell on it.

Newt's footsteps ran back into the kitchen.

"Okay, I found-."

Both his voice and his footsteps came to a screeching halt as they entered the room. I heard something drop to the ground, and it sounded like the heavy-duty casing Newt kept on his cellphone.

"Holy fucking shit . . . !" Newt's voice was muffled, as if he was pressing his hand to his mouth.

"If it's really bad, don't tell me," I begged through gritted teeth, a small sob jolting my shoulders.

Newt didn't say anything, but I heard him drop to his knees in front of me. I opened my eyes and saw him spreading a hand towel from the sink over his lap.

"It's not that bad," he said, taking my arms and adjusting them so I was holding onto his shoulders. His voice was uncanny -- it was obvious he was pretending to be calm.

Newt draped the towel over his hands and my heart dropped.

"W-what are you doing?" I asked.

"Don't worry. I've got you covered," he said. "Just push."

"Newt?" I asked, turning my face towards his. My heart was starting to pound behind my eyes. "What's happening to me?"

I didn't see him smile, but his tone remained steady. "It'll be okay, Fawn. I promise."

I gripped his arms tighter as another pain started. "Oh god, I'm dying, aren't I?" I groaned. I wasn't even scared at the thought -- at this point, death felt like the only end to this pain. I'd all but accepted it.

"You're not dying, Fawn," Newt said, brushing his cheek against mine. His fledging facial hair tickled. "You're fine, you just need to push."

Sighing, I lowered my forehead to his shoulder and followed my body's demands. The stretch continued, grew worse by the second, until something round and squishy slipped out and dangled between my thighs.

God, it was finally over.

All we had to do was call an ambulance and they could take me to surgery. However this happened, there was still a chance my uterus could be saved. My dream didn't have to be - !

Oh, fuck. Oh, fuck! Oh, fuck, I was still pushing!

I screamed into Newt's body as my burning lips spread further over something wide for a few white-hot seconds. There was a disgusting splash that gushed over my inner thighs, followed by the softest little 'plop'.

I was empty. I felt hollow and numb. My body buzzed, but it felt dead. I was left gasping in deep breaths to steady my racing heart, staring off into nothing over Newt's shoulder. My eyes burned from sweat pouring down my brow.

"Fawn," Newt said -- his voice sounded miles away, "look."

"I don't wanna look at it," I sighed, wiping my face on my sleeve.

That's when she cried for the first time.

A warbled little mewl flew up to meet my ears.

I looked down, in the space between Newt and I . . . and I screamed.

A blue cord of flesh was hanging between my legs, coated in blood. It trailed down in a soft arch to the towel sitting on Newt's lap, where I saw the answer to every question I'd had that day.

Laying there between Newt's hands, squirming and screaming and blue, was a wrinkly newborn baby.

She was a girl.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

End of Part 1 of 2

Author's Note: Thank you for reading Part 1! This is by far the longest fic I've written thus far. It's so long that I had to split it into two chapters! Part 2 will be available very soon. This story will be available on my AO3 page, just like all of my other fics! Feel free to follow me or any of my stories there under the same name.

[immaculatesnz]

This has probably been said before but I love that trope (?) when someone can tell that their s/o is sick because they sneeze differently/more often/etc. than usual, just... the intimacy of knowing their partner that well

Especially if it's combined with them noticing other subtle symptoms, and especially if they choose to comment on it, like imagine:

"Come on, you've heard me sneeze before,"

"Not like that,"

"I'm fine,"

"Look, I know you, and right now I can tell you're not 'fine',"

and so on so forth

[brainz4sale]

my first ever gf after sending me a boob pic:

now your turn ;)

my reaction as a 13y old guy with no dick: