#you need to give that wolf a fucking body for it to be rampant

[pearl-kite]

A resolution, I guess: a few Christmases back I got a kit for this lap-sized fox quilt and I've FINALLY got everything cut, minus a few one-inch squares that went missing in the meantime.

I'm going to rearrange things so I can stop using the sewing machine table as a side table and actually piece this fucking thing together.

It's so cute, some of the fabric even has foxes, so you can make your fox faces out of foxes in case 42 fox blocks aren't enough

[prpfz]

🦇🩸 | 18+ Only! Seeking a fandomless ( oc / oc ) mxm or mxmasc rp! I’m looking for characters who are perverted players, cherry hounds, play boys, guys with commitment issues, assholes or pieces of shit who also have soft spots, other criminal scum, big and bad dudes, cold and gruff guys, experienced fighters who can handle their own, guys who can scare others just with a stern look; I’d love for a dynamic of two guys stuck in a shit world ( dystopians anyone? ) or shit situation who have to rely on each other or find comfort and solace in one another, maybe they’re in the same gang with the same brutal leader who constantly treats them horribly and works them like dogs and in a violent fucked up world, the downtime they get with each other is some of the only things they look forward to, maybe they find comfort with each other underneath the sheets eventually. I’d love to have a tense, drama filled, angsty relationship, with complicated feelings for complicated characters — my guy being just as hesitant and scared for a real relationship as yours but oh so desperate for connection; but otherwise I’m all for post apocalyptic, vampires, manipulation and coercion, omegaverse, monster fuckery, viscous and twisted dystopians especially, and heavy dead dove plots with violent and dark themes ranging from murder, horror, crime, gangs, gorey violence, toxic or abusive relationships, incest, noncon or dubcon, age gaps, 🍪, etc. I have few limits to what I’ll write! The character I’m writing is trans just a forewarning incase that’s not your cup of tea. On that note I’m very much open to trans characters! My guy is no dom top but he’s not a shy, soft, darling type. He’s rough and rugged around the edges. ( Bonus shot in the dark but I’d love to do something inspired by Beastars with a wolf/rabbit dynamic. )

A little about myself: I’m a 21 y/o Transmasc writer. I only write on Discord. I’m CST timezone, but I work the night shift currently, so replies out of rp can be spotty. ( I also do my best not to check my phone at work as well. ) My writing ranges from lazy lit to novella. I need at least 3-4 good paragraphs to be able to work with. They don��t need to be luscious with details, but descriptiveness is much appreciated and preferred. I’ve been writing for around 9 years now, it’s a great passion of mine. I love the escapism of fantasy and made up worlds you can dive into. I don’t do rapid fire replies! And my activity can vary! I will always try to get rp replies in at least once a week though. I can get pretty busy, and rp is a hobby for me right now. ( Trust me if I could do rapid fire, believe me I would, I’d love to write all day long. )

A little about my character: A 4’10” - 5” ft tall street fighter who’s in a gang. Sammy has the body of a rabbit but the heart of a wolf. He’s an insolent, stubborn, younger guy who may be petite but he packs a hard punch and can handle his own to a certain point. His unwavering loyalty and obedience only lies within his gang leader. He might be his pet, but he is in no way tamed. He’s all fire and rage, he absolutely refuses to back down or bite his tongue. He’d find a way to give lip even if his tongue was cut out. All around his familial relationships are shit to say the least. He doesn’t trust easily, he’s paranoid, cold hearted on the outside, and violent. Like a mad dog he’ll snap without warning, his fangs are always bared, and his lips are always curled in a snarl. He’s hooked on cigarettes and booze, and he can’t last without his mood stabilizers. He works at an underground fight club and can be often seen sporting bars, even if he isn’t of age for a plot. The club is a front for the gang. I do often prefer to write Sam in a violent dystopian like setting where crime is rampant, bodies are in the streets, the city’s in chaos, etc. Think the purge almost. Otherwise, he’s just got a rough life on the streets in a gang. ( His age can vary for the plot btw! I primarily write him as 20 default, and 25 the oldest though. 🍪 is fine by me though. )

That’s enough yapping for this post, I can talk more plot in DMs! So if you’ve got some characters that match the energy I’m looking for or any you feel would vibe with my guy give a like and I’ll reply asap! Thank you for reading🫶

Leave a like, and anon will get back to you!

[jjungkooksthighs]

Her heartbeat had been so louder than a bear’s. So irregular in its rhythm that had shaken it easier than a rabbit. It is interesting, then, when it suddenly quiets and slows as she suspires breaths that had started staggered and now are measured.

More intriguing is the fact that her voice sounded too sweet. Her eyes lingered on his too long as she let her machinations mottle them. Her fucking posture was too perfect, too poised for someone on her knees between his legs.

“You. Y-you’re in…in control, master.” She had told him.

Despite how he had longed to hear those words, she said them with broken vocables of brittle assent. She’d never been an agreeable female. She wasn’t just going to start now.

“Cunning little girl, aren’t you?” He prods. “Well played. I’ll give you that.” The hand on his cock ascends once again toward his tip. “But you’ll have to do better than that if you want to distract me,” his hand descends down his shaft, “I’m well accustomed to your tricks and games you like to play.”

Impatience and frustration bite at her, and they make her expression contort. It’s only for a half of a second, but he sees it. How entertaining that her emotions ran so rampant within her after everything she’d done to him.

This was good. He wanted this. Wanted her to face her emotions and understand what she’d done to him by meeting them herself. He’d tried many ways to help her see the errs of her ways, but this? This was a newer one and gods, judging by her body language, it was working.

“P-please, sir…I’ll be good.” She’d promised under heaving breaths.

He shook his head, tone dipped in the dark of the shadows as he orders, “if you really meant that, you would have used that loose tongue of yours to lap up my spit from your lips. Again you disobey and again you act like you can do whatever the fuck you want.” His eyes dim threateningly. “I don’t like liars, female. And you are. What do I do with liars, again?”

Right.. of course he caught on. The longer his eyes stay on her, the farther she can feel her confidence slip, her breath getting shaky and staggered again. No. He was.. this was a test.. right? She pulls her slumping shoulders up again, straightening her back, desperately trying to maintain her fumbling eye contact. Despite her waning confidence, she tries to scramble together those words in her head again, desperation eating away at her as her pussy throbs with need and cries from the denial she's been offered for so long. The same denial she'd offered him. "I-. .. I-i'm not lying." her voice cracks. "..sir." she quickly adds in the title, hoping it'd work to push him towards some leniency. It simply makes him chuckle, no humor in the laugh that leaves him. "If I say you are, you are." he snarls at her in warning, his fingers now gripping the base of his cock before he lets out another purposeful growl. "Answer the fucking question, girl. What-" his hand that is on her jaw tightens in its grip, and she mewls. "-do I do with liars, pet?"

“You,” her voice cracks under the pressure of his penetrating stare and strong fingers that grip her jaw, “you punish them …master.”

She says the last word with no more than a murmur, her shyness stealing her confidence away from her as her wolf lowers its head in submission.

His own wolf lifts its chin as he sits tall above her.

He wrenches a memory forth, and she is helpless to resist being thrust into it.

She’s back in the Prisoner’s Keep where all the wrongdoers were locked away. The smell of sweat and blood assault her nostrils, the sight of the silver bars glinting against the harsh red fires crackling in the braziers and wall lamps along the stone walls.

He had come back to their den late that moon only to check on her, but she could not bear his absence from their bed and so she had pled him to bring her with him despite his warnings that what she might see might discomfort her.

This time, there were two occupants among the metallic cages.

Her alpha walked with purpose to the one holding the male with shaggy blonde hair, his legs both bent under him at unnatural angles while pain twisted his features.

“You know why I’m here, don’t you, you piece of shit?” Jungkook had spat.

The shaggy haired male had answered with a defeated nod, knowing better than to stay silent in the presence of the male who had broken both his legs. “You are here to end my suffering, are you not?”

“That depends on your little friend here,” Jungkook lifted a hand toward the other prisoner in the very last cell on the other end of the row. “He has not been responsive to any of my subordinates, and that just won’t do.” Jungkook’s arm had fallen to his side by the time he’d finished only for him to lower himself to the male’s level, his other, gloved hand reaching out to grab one of the bars and slide down with him as he continued, “You did something to him, didn’t you, you bastard? What was it?”

His voice echoed through the room, and from her place behind her alpha, all she could do was watch.

The other male had only to stare at his strangely bent legs, the bones within protruding in places that were just wrong as he gave a deflated answer, “I…I tried to steal some of your wares, Pack Alpha. I wanted to give the omega I fancy thinking it would make her like me more, but-“

“But you stole from me instead of just fucking asking me like any man with balls would.” Jungkook cuts him off. “You know, I would have given you something out of my shop without requiring any payment were it for a special occasion such as the one you just gave, but there is something I do not tolerate.” Jungkook’s nose had wrinkled as he’d tilted his head down, the shadows quick to dwell under his eyes as he roughly stated,” I do not like liars. They’re filthy and the stench of them turns my fucking nose. So, how is it that you managed to steal my most precious creation-one that I’d been working on for fucking months- that was intended for my mate?”

The shaggy haired male had not dared look at Jungkook in the eye. He’d kept his eyes trained on his warped ankle.

“Pack Alpha, please don’t hurt me-“

“Pain is temporary. Death will forever end your pitiful life. If you’d like to meet your end before the gods have willed it so, I have no qualms with doing it now.” Jungkook snapped, his fingers tapping restlessly at the silver bar. “I broke your legs. I’ll break every bone in your body before your blood stains the earth if that is what your silence means to you.”

The other male had shivered at that, and fear had forced the words out of him.

“I made the other prisoner steal it! I told him to wait until your left your forge. I told him where to find it, how to unlock the box you’d fashioned for it, and…” the male’s voice dies under the loudness of her alpha’s growl.

“Where did you tell him to hide it? And why does he not speak?” Jungkook bit the words out, his finger tapping quicker against the silver.

The other male gave a half-minded glance to his right where, on the other end of the room in his own cell, a red-haired male with skin white as snow sat with his head between his hands.

“If I tell you, will you spare me?” The shaggy-haired male questioned quietly.

Jungkook angled his head to the side, his claws pushing his fingernails out from his hands as he provoked, “You act as if you have a choice in the matter when I can simply command you to obey if I will it so. The only reason I haven’t yet is that I’m hoping you’ll give your sorry ass some kind of saving grace by your actions.”

“I must be commanded, alpha,” the male had asked him not out of challenge, but in subjugation. “I cannot bring myself to speak of what I have done without your aid.”

Jungkook had huffed exasperatingly. “You are a coward to conceal truth willingly. You cannot face what you’ve done and yet you breathe. But I will oblige you. You’ve earned that much through your pathetic screams.” Jungkook’s eyes fill with the shadows until they are darker than night. “I command you to tell me what you did with the possession of mine that you thieved from me and I command you to tell me what you did to the male you bid do your dirty work.”

Power emanates from each word, the fires blazing becoming dim under it.

The shaggy haired male had straightened, one of his eyes hazing over while he spoke as if in a trance. “I had him bury it under the trunk of the oldest elm. Then, to silence him, I cut out his tongue. I didn’t want him to tell anyone of this, and if word ever did get out, I had planned to put it all on him.”

The longer he speaks, the more that anger’s ire is stoked and fanned within him.

The darkness had parted just enough in those eyes for the icy silver of his irises to thaw through.

“You dare commit not only an act of theft, but of inflicted injury as well?” The words cut the air like hail. “You are a vile insect that I will enjoy breaking. But first, your punishment will come from the very person you so easily maimed.” Jungkook had called for one of the guards to bring the other prisoner forth, so he was.

“Give the prisoner the blade we found strapped to his belt. He can use it to do to this fucker what was done to him.” Jungkook had ordered without remorse.

The guards did as instructed, one of them producing a finely crafted blade with a curved edge and hilt of aged timber.

Jungkook hadn’t even given it a second glance before rising to unlock the door to the cell of the shaggy haired male.

The hinges had creaked in effort as it had opened, and Jungkook had stood by it only to extend his arm out toward the downed male, his words chilling as he ordered, “Take your revenge on this piece of shit. Cut his tongue from his mouth so he knows the pain of what he has caused you.”

The red-haired male had bowed his head in deference, his hands shaking around the blade. Jungkook hadn’t missed that. That’s why he’d been the one to hold the other male’s head back, his arms flailing and flinging in every direction while he’d pled for mercy.

It had taken the shadows returning to his irises once more, his voice deepening for him to demand, “I command you to shut the fuck up and be still. Take it like a fucking man, you waste of fucking air.”

The shaggy-haired male had ceased his movements, his pleas caught deep in his throat under the Alpha’s Bidding Jungkook had used a second time.

Jungkook had been the one to open the shaggy-haired male’s mouth and hold his tongue between his fingers. Jungkook had been the one who had instructed the red-haired male to do it, to rip the bastard’s tongue free.

And it had been done. All while she remained with her back stuck to the wall, her hands knotted in her skirts as she’d ogled the way that dominance became a second skin to her mate.

Gods, there was nothing more arousing than seeing him make others fall apart under their weakness and surrender to his control.

No one could hope to overpower him. He was the strongest in the pack, and no male or female could ever deny him if he willed it.

That was what it meant to be Pack Alpha. To command obedience from all and take it from none. To be unbeatable and untamable in his raw thew. To be unconquered and unmatched against any and all who would oppose him.

She had been a fool to think she could deceive him. A total, utter fool.

[slowpoke-fics]

Sacrifice

Fandom: Teen Wolf

Pairing: Pack x Reader

Request Summary: You're Scotts twin sister and make a sacrifice for the good of the pack

Warnings: death, panic attack, angst, murder described, death described, reader death; I know for a fact I've missed some and this one is pretty fucking rough, as always read at your own risk.

A/N: This one is angsty, and just a tad longer than normal, consider it my apology to nonnie for taking so damn long on this request. I hope you guys love it, and again, this one is rough, read at your own risk.

You're able to grab one of the fucking resilient demonic ninja's off of Isaac. You could smell his pain, his blood, and you could smell Allisons determination. The second one on Isaac was shot with Allisons arrow, it's glowing green, fighting with the clear pain it's experiencing. With a split decision you're next to Allison, pushing her out of the way, a sharp pain through your chest, and then you're numb.

Allison's face is rampant with fear, her shirt holding a tiny cut that didn't grace the skin. Good, she's okay, and then you're falling.

You don't hit the ground though, your brother, Scott, holding your face with a stray tear falling down his face. You reach up and wipe it away, "It's okay Scotty, it doesn't hurt." Scott chokes back a sob, his hand gently rubbing yours, "Is everyone else okay?" Scott starts to speak, his voice betraying him, sounding mangled, "Yeah, everyone is okay Y/n, you're gonna be okay too." You shook your head, "Not in the way you think I am," Scott finally releases a sob, "no, no, big brother," he tries to laugh, trying to give you a little peace with your joke that even though he's minutes older, he's still older, "it's okay, yeah? Me and you, fighting tooth and nail. This was the best gift I could've ever gotten, I love you, and I love the pack. This is okay." You reach behind him, fingers tangled into his hair, you pull him to you and kiss his forehead. "Don't let them blame themselves, and don't blame yourself," another kiss to his cheek, "I love you big brother."

Scott's memories with you flashes before his eyes as the color in yours goes out, how did we get here?

"Scott! You okay?" You look over his body for injuries, he hisses at you making contact with his torso. "Scott, what's wrong? Did you get bit by something too?" Scott's eyebrows raise, "What do you mean 'too'? Did you get bit?" You roll your eyes and turn around, shirt stained with blood, "Yeah, I managed to get away from the fucker while rolling down some hill, now let me see yours." You swat him away, lifting his shirt and taking a good look at the bite mark, "Okay, not too bad, you fix me up and I'll fix you up? Not a word to mom, got it?" Scott nods, walking with you into the house to take care of the bite marks.

Scott can't feel anything, surrounded by you, your lifeless body. His anger, no, pain, soars through him as his eyes glow, a roar deep within him. The only thing anyone in his pack can hear is the scream from Lydia's lips and the roar of pain from Scott.

Isaac barely notices the sound around him, only his own heartbeat in his ears as he listened to yours fade away.

"Isaac you fucking idiot!" You slapped Isaac on the back of the head, he looks at you with lost, glowing, puppy dog eyes, "Sorry, Y/n." His eyes dull to his normal brown and you frown, "You've gotta do better honey, you can't lose control like that, you'll kill someone and I know that's not what you want." Isaac sits on the metal bench in the locker room, head in his hands, "I don't know that I'll ever be able to."

You sigh, sitting next to him with your hand rubbing his back, "You will, just give it time, until then, you've gotta find something that works for you, something that prevents you from breaking someone fucking ribs Isaac." You voice becomes elevated again towards the end, irritated at Isaac's recklessness. "Yeah," he leans his head down to your shoulder, "I know firecracker."

Scott is blind to the feeling on his bloody hand, only noticing it when Allison's tears hit it. Allison brushes a hair out of your face, you looked peaceful, she's eternally grateful for you, for what you did for her tonight and what you've done for her up until this point.

"Allison, fuck," you huff, pulling yourself up from the ground, "let's do it again, I know that this isn't you, your aim is perfect, let it all go and focus on me okay?" She sighs, shaking the bow in her hand, "Maybe the fact that I could actually hurt you isn't helping." You're eye to eye with her, both hands on her face, eyes glowing, "No, you won't hurt me, I'm invincible remember?" She laughs, shaking her head, "Alright, last time." You grin ear to ear and took off running. Allison brings the bow up, listening to you run. She sees glimpses of you, through the trees, and the arrow is gone. She sighs, she didn't hit you, she's shouting at you "I told you! I can't do it!"

You touch her back, startling her, she lets out a small yelp and turns to you. Her eyes go wide when she sees the arrow sticking out of your shoulder. "Oh, Jesus Y/n," her bow drops and she's bringing her hands up to try and get it to stop bleeding. "Oh quit being a pussy and pull it out," you rolled your eyes, grabbing her wrist and bringing it to the arrow in your shoulder. "I'm so sorry I hit you-" she pulls it out and you let out a long groan, already feeling better with the object dislodged. "Don't be sorry, you hit me, let's do it again." Allisons eyes widen, if that's even possible, and shakes her head, "No, absolutely not." You laugh, "Lighten up buttercup, I'm invincible remember? And this time I'm not going easy." She scoffs at you, "Easy? Oh I see how it is, run little wolf, run." With that, you take off running, Allison laughing at your excitement.

Kira is frozen, she feels like she died, you were her best friend. Over anyone else, you'd been the first to accept her, the first to fight for her, the first one she'd confided in.

"Kira, what the hell are you saying?" You're sitting with your arms crossed at a picnic table, nose in your homework. "I-I know that we were friends first, so I was going to tell you first, before I said any-" You slam your hand one the table, "Kira, baby, spit it out, fuck." This is the you realize that Kira's scent holds fear and anxiety. "Kira, what's wrong?" You're more serious now, waiting for the bomb to drop that there's another fight to be had. "I like Scott, like like him, Jesus please don't be mad." You burst into full laughter, tears streaming from your eyes.

When you calm down Kira is staring at you, piddling with the strings on her sleeves. "Oh, my god," you laugh again, trying to calm yourself. "You're not mad?" You laugh harder, smacking the table a few times, "Jesus Christ no, I can't believe-" you stand up still laughing, hugging her. "I don't give a shit," rubbing her back, "you had nothing to worry about, as long as you don't get mad if I fuck your dad." Kira jerks back, shock on her face, "Y/n!" You laugh harder, "I'm fucking kidding, jeez," you sit back down, "fucking sit down and gush to me about my brother."

She shakes herself out of it when she feels her mother enclose her in a hug. Tears finally falling.

Lydia's scream has finally ended, and she's inconsolable. Memories flooding through her head as she lays her head on an unconscious Stiles.

"Lydia god dammit," you truck to the pool, "did you find another one?" You stop at the strong scent of blood, rushing to Lydia, Stiles right behind you. "Are you hurt?" Lydia shakes her head, staring at you, "I already called 911." Stiles looks hurt, arguing with Lydia over why she should call him before the police, but you push him to the side. "Heya honey," you wrap your arms around her waist, "it's okay, don't listen to Stiles grumpy ass, let's me and you go sit." You're not sure why you aren't phased by the body next to you, but you let Stiles do whatever he needs to do for Scott while you try and get Lydia's head back down to Earth.

"Hey Lyds, dontcha think you're a little overdressed to come to the pool?" She lets out a small chuckle and you relax a little, "This can't be my new normal, Y/n. Finding dead bodies? I can't take this." You hold her hand, sighing, "None of us asked for this Lydia, I'm so sorry. If you want I can stay with you for a few days, follow you if you zonk out again?" Lydia just nods, and she feels for the first time that you're as much her best friend as Allison.

Lydia can't stop crying, Scott is trying to get ahold of himself, Kira is crying with her mother, Isaac is breathless and in pain, and Allison is held by her father.

"She did it for me dad," Allison sobs, her father already made sure she wasn't hurt, "she did it for me and I don't know why." Chris shushes her, running his fingers through her hair, grateful for your sacrifice so his beautiful girl could live. "She did it because she loved you," Allison sobs harder, "I know sweet girl, but listen, we have to deal with this. You can cry, scream, break things later, but now? Now we get our stories straight." Allison nods, and her dad is off to Scott to prep him.

When Stiles finds out, it's like every cell in his body failed him. Scott caught him and pulled him into a hug, tears streaming down his face. "I know. I know brother." Stiles can't breathe, it's been a long time since he's had a panic attack, but here he is, without you, panicking.

"Stiles," you sigh, throwing a ball against his ceiling and back into your hand, sprawled out on his bed, "you've gotta stop." Stiles shakes his head, "No, no there is something here!" He tosses the books to the floor, you get off the bed, wrapping your arms around him from behind, "You'll find it but you're not going to without sleep. Come on." You tug him back to his bed, "Let's nap, and then we'll come back to all," you gesture to his board covered in multicolored string, "this." Stiles sighs heavily, letting you pull him to the bed. It's not the first time, and certainly wouldn't be the last, that you've convinced him to sleep. He crawls in next to you and you throw your arm open, allowing him to lay his head over your heart. He falls asleep to the lull of the thump thump thump.

Stiles shakes himself out of the memory, remembering that he'll never hear that beautiful sound again and vows to hold onto it. He lets out a pained, choked sob, "Scott-" Scotts arms are around him still, Scott can smell the guilt coming off of the small man, "Don't - It was not your fault Stiles. It wasn't anyone's fault." Scott lets Stiles cry, mourn his best friend, the woman he's come to love like his own sister. "Have you told Derek?" Scott sighs, Stiles already knows the answer.

When they get to Derek's place, Derek opens the door, already smelling them and their horribly displaced emotions. "What is it?" Scott lets himself in, Stiles following close behind him and he's checking for his little flame, and when you're nowhere to be found, his heart sinks. "Where's Y/n?" Derek can smell the grief coming off of Scott in waves, not missing the anger that hides beneath it. "Fuck, my little flame," his voice sounds broken, barely audible to the human boy who stares sorrowful at him.

"Derek Hale!" You kick the door open to home, "Derek Hale! Get your ass out here!" Derek almost materializes behind you, but you're just as quick as he is. "Derek Hale! I oughtta kill you, you son of a bitch!" You march to him, taking him off guard by your fist that collides into his face. He's knocked back a couple feet, staring at you with glowing eyes. Your eyes match his, "I am not afraid of your eyes, wolf boy! You turned three people!" Derek shrugs, "So what if I did?" You go for a second punch, this time caught by Derek, he can't smell a single ounce of fear, only fury.

"They knew what they were getting into," Derek lets go of your hand. "Oh, fuck you, Derek," you shove him back, "you can spin that stupid story to whoever you want, but you and I know better." Derek shrugs, "So what? They're better now, stronger, and they like it." You let out a deep growl, "Did you tell them about the death?" You step forward towards him, "Did you tell them how they'd be pulled into every murder in this town?" You shove him back again, following his step backwards, "Did you tell them of the pain? Did you? Of course not." Your hand grasps his chin, squeezing painfully with your claws out, making him look at you, "Hear me Derek Hale and hear me good. If anything," you squeezed him harder, bringing a hiss from him, "and I mean anything, happens to them, I will hurt you." You back away and head out of his house, stopping at his door, "And trust me, I'm a fire you can't put out." He laughs, watching you walk away, but mumbling just where you can barely hear, "I have a feeling I don't want to be burned by your flame."

A growl explodes from his lips, pain filling his entire being. You've been the glue that holds them all together, bringing them back from the brink again and again. How could they survive without you?

Months after your death, they've settled back into the groove of things, nothing ever feels the same without you though.

They talk about you all the time, Stiles has a tendency to try and calm people down like you did. Trying to help keep everyone grounded. He's nowhere near as good at it like you were, but he's trying. Allison keeps your memory around by never changing her lock screen, a picture of everyone in the pack resting on the screen she checks every five minutes. Isaac has found a new anchor, with Scott's help, using himself to be able to control the rage that flurries inside of him after your death. Lydia lives for adopting your fire, absolutely never keeping her mouth shut much to everyone's dismay, but it's a way to keep your image around. Kira has become closer to Allison and Lydia, but she knows they'll never replace you. They don't laugh at her like you did when she talks about Scott, and it's a painful memory. Derek's become much more involved with Scott's pack, dedicated to doing what he can for not fighting by your side the right you died, a debt he'll never repay. Scott finds his peace in his pack, but the hole in his heart for his sister will never fade, like the newly placed fire tattoo on his forearm will never fade.

They are all eternally grateful.

They all know it'll never be the same.

They all hate your sacrifice.

[slytherinsnekxvii]

let's talk about lily evans and the marauders, aka moony, wormtail, padfoot and prongs. given that i didn't use their actual names, i think you can figure out where this is going. it's also long as hell, so. canon vs fanon, marauder edition, except snek is sleep deprived.

now, before we begin, i don't dislike the marauders. or lily, tbh. if I'm being perfectly, genuinely honest, i still go back and forth sometimes but they've been growing on me for a while now. the canon versions, at least. fanon does them real dirty, and that's part of why i'm writing this, because i'm genuinely tired of it. it's an injustice.

you can at least make excuses for james and lily, who were so undeveloped that jkr practically dropped a fill-in-the-blank sheet of character information in our laps, but sirius, remus and peter were around long enough for y'all to get real acquainted with them.

in canon, sirius black is an unhinged mf. genuinely. this isn't to say he's a bad guy, in fact, we see that he's still capable of doing good things, still capable of love, still capable of all the things that prove he's actually not bad at heart, just,,, severely traumatised and very steeped in negativity from his time with the dementors. what i'm saying is that this man is absolutely, no questions asked, no holds barred demented, and how could he not be? the guy sat wrongfully imprisoned in azkaban for twelve years, a good portion of which he spent as a dog in order to protect himself from the dementors. he certainly wasn't completely insane, but you cannot tell me that he was all there. he got out of azkaban fuelled almost solely by the intent to get revenge on pettigrew, tried to commit murder in front of three witnesses who were also children—one of whom was his godson—ate rats and was also malnourished, which i'm certain did not help the situation any. this man is off his goddamn rocker, and you know what? you love to see it. good for him.

oh, but, snek, that's what he's like as an adult. what about when they were at school? before azkaban? my guy, the reaction he has to grimmauld place is not the reaction of someone without trauma. i don't believe that walburga and orion were the type to physically abuse their children, but whatever happened in that house helped to fuck him up enough that he skipped the joke of part of practical joke, and pranked snape by telling him how to meet a werewolf that he knew would be fully transformed and dangerous to humans. more than that, the werewolf was remus, whom he's friends with, and who—best case scenario—would be facing a trial if james hadn't stepped in. you can say that maybe he didn't think about or understand the gravitas of his actions, but at the end of it, that's not how properly sane people react to people they dislike, and that's not how they treat their friends. if anything, it reads like he was in the middle of a breakdown and absolutely losing his shit and he wasn't thinking at all.

my guy went through some serious shit, and was in no way completely mentally stable. we can see pretty clearly that he's got a serious dark side to him that probably would have gone unbridled had he not disagreed with his family, and yet, fanon took one look at him and went, "teehee, uwu bad boi go vroom."

fanon said padfoot is a pretty boy with nice hair who is tastefully traumatised from his horribly abusive household. sirius rides his motorcycle and plays jokes and flirts with anything that moves, but he can do no real wrong and always comes back to his soft, bookish, chocolate-loving boyfriend remus, who will laugh about his lycanthropy and quietly disapprove but secretly laugh at his friends' antics while hiding his smile in his cardigan.

respectfully, what in the absolute fuck.

i'd put that meme in here if i could, the one that's like, "well done, you've broken _______ down to its bare essentials," but no. i can't bc it doesn't even apply. this isn't a meme, it's theseus' fucking ship.

fanon broke it down, and replaced the pieces one by one until we got to this point, where we need to sit down and ask ourselves, "is this even the same character?"

the answer is no, by the way. it isn't. when people talk about woobifying characters—you know, taking away every flaw they have, romanticising everything they do and making them only capable of doing good, wonderful, lovely things?—this is what we mean.

and it'd be one thing if it was just the one character, but, no. fanon went all in and made them all squeaky clean and boring, especially peter, who draws the shortest of the straws.

remus got fucked, too. not just because fanon insists on sticking him into a relationship with sirius. which, we'll tackle wolfstar in a bit, but that's not even the worst of it. here, we have yet another example of blatant, rampant woobifying. again, is he a bad person? no. we know he's a good guy, we know he's generally kind and well-mannered, we know that he wants to fo the right thing but hey, fun fact. did you know that you can be nice and a coward? did you know that you can be benevolent and good and kindly and have the greatest of intentions and still be shady as fuck? no? ask dumbledore. the man played people like chess pieces when he needed to, and he was a twinkly grandpa. these are things that can coexist.

teenage remus is a coward who, understandably, does not stand up to his friends, likely for fear of being ostracised, and doesn't uphold his prefect duties as he should and takes part in their bullying of snape as a result. he lets them romp with him in werewolf form while they are in their animagus forms and then, he lets them continue to do so even after they have multiple close calls, which, again, had anything happened, would have resulted in a trial in the best case scenario.

grownup remus is still a coward, he tells no one that sirius can move about the school in his animagus form despite wholeheartedly believing that he's a mass murderer, he tries to run out on his wife and unborn kid. he isn't deliberately making attempts to harm anyone, but he's content to sit back and let things happen to him and around him so he doesn't rock the boat, although he is capable of action, which we see when he is more than willing to help sirius merk pettigrew in the shack. he can be careless, he runs out to the shack knowing he hasn't taken his wolfsbane and ends up transforming in front of the students he, as a teacher, is meant to be protecting. of course, this doesn't negate his good qualities, it just bears repeating that his flaws do exist, and they're pretty serious.

fanon moony is always pleasant and kind and soft-spoken and bookish, and he always has to have his chocolate. he knows when to tell off his friends, and he'll do it, even if he's secretly amused by everything they do and laughs about it with his best friend, lily evans, who coincidentally spends all her time with them so he and sirius can go on double dates with james and lily and no one has to remember peter exists.

why. theseus' ship 2.0. does the actual character still exist or is this something entirely different thing bearing the same name?

as for peter, who needs peter pettigrew, the actual, legitimate, fourth marauder when you have lily evans? canon pettigrew is opportunistic as fuck. he's latching himself to the biggest bad on the block and he's going all in. for teenage peter, that was james and sirius, and for adult peter, that's voldemort. canon peter is good enough at transfiguration to master the animagus transformation, just like his friends, and he's good enough at potions to brew the potion that gives voldemort a body. and honestly, you can't say he wasn't brave. he could've run off somewhere and died, or changed his identity or something after he faked his death and framed sirius, but, no. he goes and resurrects voldemort. that's fucked up, yeah, but it happened and honestly, i respect that it. he stuck to his guns.

fanon wormtail is lucky if he exists beyond being a spineless sycophant for james and sirius, or an evil conniving little rat who's looking to toss his entire friend group to the wolves at eleven.

of course, this isn't meant to negate his bad qualities, he still murdered people and framed sirius and sold out the potters to die, but his good characteristics do exist, and james, sirius and remus genuinely were his friends.

and now, we get to lily and james.

we have hardly any information on either of them. they're a pair of cardboard cutouts that we can paint and stick flyers to and colour outside the lines however we want. we can do whatever the fuck, as long lily is brave and smart and somewhat kind and james is brave and willing to die for his family. we were essentially handed a pair of ocs.

and yet.

what little bits of canon we have are thrown out of the window regardless.

james is privileged and rich, and he throws hexes for fun. he's willing to hex lily when she disagrees with him, and then, he goes behind her back to continue hexing snape after she believes that he's stopped doing so. and that's all we know about him until he dies for his family at twenty-one years old. once again, say it with me: this does not negate his good qualities. he definitely had them, he took sirius in when sirius ran away from home, he became an animagus to keep remus company as a wolf, and he saved snape in the shack, thereby saving remus and sirius by extension. him having flaws does not make him a bad person.

fanon prongs is a feminist. he fights for equal rights for women everywhere, and he constantly treats his girlfriend, lily, like an absolute queen. he's the hottest boy in school and everyone claps when he walks through the halls. mcgonagall and dumbledore are always patting him on the back and making jokes with him. he has a built-in dark detector that helps him sense when someone is a evil and needs to he punished.

give me a break. the dude's cool and all, but was the gary stu treatment necessary?

...oh, he needed to match fanon lily? right, right.

canon lily is a contradiction unto herself. she's supposedly a great friend, but since we see her at a point where they were already drifting apart, we see her putting little effort into keeping their friendship afloat. she victim blames based on rumours, she doesn't seem to care over much about what snape has to say about the people who have been tormenting him since day one. and she's justified, of course, she doesn't have to stick around. canon lily is a bit of hypocrite, she says that snape calls everyone of her birth mudblood, but then that begs the question why she still hangs around with him if that's the case. he calls her mudblood, she retaliates by calling him snivellus, and finishes up with a dig about his underwear, which, sure, it's kicking a man with a rusty spoon and pouring salt in the wound, but she's, again, justified. i get where she was coming from. and then, of course, she dies for her kid after marrying the guy who relentlessly bullied her quote-unquote best friend for their entire school careers. but, like i said, canon lily is, in many ways, a contradiction.

lily is basically a plot device. she pushes everyone's narrative but her own, and does little else.

of course, this trend would continue in fanon. fanon lily exists to be the perfect girl who gets really angry over the slightest injustice, and of course, she gets to be one half of one of the oldest enemies-to-lovers "it was just sexual tension" cliche pairings in the book. she's just,,, a mary sue. in so many fics, so many headcanons, she's just pettigrew's stand-in, a girl to form a gang with marlene, mary and dorcas—who happen to be more undeveloped ocs who also get the woobify mary sue treatment—to parallel the marauders. there is nothing compelling about her character when she's presented as a saint, and even less when she's supposedly the other moral compass for the marauders that doesn't actually work because she thinks that james is cute.

and this brings me to the next topic. jily. what, why, how. this was supposed to be a healthy, happy relationship that would have lasted in the long run? absolutely not. even for its time, i can't say that i see it lasting.

first of all, jkr presents james' crush on lily as just that: a crush. a mildly obsessive one, but a crush nonetheless, which she tries to liken to the pulling of pigtails. and then, we see that james' way of getting her to go out with him consists of blackmail, and when that doesn't work, he resorts to threatening her. this could have been set aside if he had actually, genuinely changed when they started spending more time together, but as we're told by sirius and remus, he didn't. he just got better at hiding what he was up to. and it has to be that he hid it, because if she knew, this further damages the character that she's set up to have and paints her out to be either unable to stand up to him or an enabler.

regardless, they get married. and while i have trouble believing that it was out of genuine love, there are scenarios that could make some semblance of sense. it's wartime, after all, and maybe lily is worried about her stability in the wizarding world, so why not marry into an established family whose son is already showing interest? or perhaps, she falls into the trap of every bad boy cliche ever, and she thinks to herself, well, i got him to be better then, maybe i can get him to do even better in the future. or maybe, she doesn't get into a relationship with him immediately and sees him on and off, until eventually, she accidentally gets pregnant and they scramble to have a shotgun wedding so as not to leave lily alone at nineteen with a baby. or maybe they marry each other because they're there and sure, neither of then is ready and they don't know what love even is but what else is there to do when there's a dark lord about? anyways, the point is, they get married.

and then what? if we count pottermore into canon, he goes on to further damage her relationship with petunia and vernon, to the point where she ends up crying. if we don't, she fades into the background enough that nobody has anything to say about her. she's harry's mum, she's james' wife, lily potter, she was kind and smart and brave and that's it. her agency is gone, anything else we have of her personality is gone.

jily just,,, wasn't built to last. and, yeah, this,,, this is a hill i'll die on.

same with wolfstar, honestly. there are so many reasons why it wouldn't work, but fanon has made it so fucking prevalent that it's literally everywhere no matter where you look.

first of all, i've said it before and i'll say it again. sirius is more likely to get with james that he is to ever end up in a relationship with remus. their chemistry is just,,, underdeveloped. net zero for a relationship.

secondly, sirius instigated the werewolf prank, and lupin would have paid the price for it. this could have been overlooked, but he doesn't seem the slightest bit guilty about any of it when it's brought up in poa. he could have been responsible for lupin losing the security of his place at hogwarts in the best case scenario, and in the worst case, his life. and he seems to look forward to full moons, even though they clearly aren't pleasant for remus, which,,, yeah, you're going to have fun, but like, maybe be concerned about the fact that your friend undergoes excruciating pain and it isn't a pleasant time for him? read the room, my g.

thirdly, they don't trust each other as much as fanon seems to think they do. they were both willing to believe each other the traitor before ever suspecting pettigrew. sirius thought remus gave away the potters, hell, he thought remus was a spy for voldemort, and remus was convinced that sirius was a mass murderer. neither of them needed to be convinced.

fourthly, maybe i'm reading too much into it, but like. sirius had money. remus had no money, since, yk, he was a werewolf and struggling for cash and still, sirius,,, did not leave him any money. i feel like if you had money to spare, you would give to your friend who is literally poor. but, again, maybe i'm reading too much into it and this isn't as valid a point as i think it is.

and ehh, the fifth reason is that it's,,, actually very much not the representation for the ltgbt community that fanon says it is but y'all aren't ready for that conversation.

anyways, just,,, even when you set the couple shit aside, the power dynamics between everyone here is fucked. like, james and sirius are clearly at the top of food chain calling the shots and egging each other on. then there's lily, who isn't even a marauder, but is always ever-so-slightly above remus but still not on their level, because, well. neither of them actually listen to her. remus is the novelty friend, the friend who's,,, alright, i guess, but you keep them around specifically because they're funny or they can dance or they have something that you can either show off to other people or keep as your little inside joke, your little secret, yk? and peter is just sort of there. like, yeah, he can do what we can but does that make him as good as we are? no. does he have a funny little something about him that we can exploit? nah. therefore he sits at the bottom. and like, yeah, james and sirius are on the same level, but james is yanking sirius' chain, not the other way around. anyways, like i said. power dynamic's fucked and it bothers me that we were given all of this, and fanon decided to take it all and throw it away so they could give us flamboyant!badboi!sirius black x softboi!motherhen!remus lupin going on double dates with feminist!trustfundbaby!james potter and saint!lily evans while ignoring peter pettiwho?

theseus' fucking ship, indeed.

anyways, this needed to be said. it might not make as much sense as i want it to, considering it's 4:12 in the morning as i'm posting this, after taking a break from writing to do some research and coming across way too much content about fanon marauders, but it's here and it still makes enough sense that you can read it and understand what i mean. and like, at the end of the day, you can go ahead and headcanon whatever you please, you can write fic and make art and do whatever you like, just,,, remember that they're exactly that. headcanons. stop presenting fanon as canon. please. i'm literally begging. we actually have evidence against it. just,,, acknowledge that they're headcanons and stop putting them forward as though they're able to fit into canon. please.

[darklove9314-blog]

Come Fly with Me: A Nessian Fanfiction. (NSFW)

Author’s note: Hey guys!! It’s day six of Nessian month and today’s prompt is wingplay 😏 I hope everyone enjoys it :) @illyrianet

Ever since Nesta had met Cassian, she had always loved his wings. Every part of Cassian was beautiful to Nesta, but his wings had been a temptation of a different sort.

She had always longed to touch them, to stroke them when he was buried inside of her, but he had not showed her how to do so yet. She however was eager to learn, she just had to find a way to approach the subject with Cassian. If he said no then that would be that, but if he said yes...

Nesta took a deep breath, gathering her courage, and made her way to Cassian’s room placing a soft knock upon it as Cassian’s voice answered with a “Come in.”

Nesta twisted the knob, walking into Cassian’s room, shutting the door behind her. Cassian sat at his desk, papers splayed out around it as Nesta smirked slightly remembering their time on that desk. Based off the look in Cassian’s gaze she assumed his mind went there also.

“Hello Nesta. Is there anything I can do for you?” He asked rising from his chair and crossing the floor until the distance between them was non existent. Knowing that he could scent her desire as much as she could scent his.

“I’m glad that you asked, because- I’ve been curious about something.“ She breathed as Cassian’s hand went to the strap of the bodice she wore loosening it slightly as her breath quickened, exposing her breast to him little by little.

“What are you curious about, Sweetheart?” He asked as her breast finally freed from the bodice, Cassian moving one of his hands to them and firmly squeezing it, circling his thumb around her nipple in an attempt to distract her.

“You told me once before that you would teach me wingplay..” She started, “I was wondering if that offer was still on the table.”

His gaze lowered, putting both hands on her face as he pressed a kiss to her lips. it was a sweet gentle kiss, not one that she expected but she felt that there was more to it.

“It’s always on the table for you sweetheart, but are you sure you’re ready for it?” He asked as he pressed her firmly against the wall kissing a trail down to her neck. ”Our wings are sensitive. As sensitive as this.” He told her pressing a kiss to the erogenous spot upon her neck making her bare her throat to him as he barely scraped his teeth against it making her gasp.

”Now imagine that for me. Imagine what would happen if I kept hitting all the spots upon your body that I know drive you wild for me.” He told her, plunging his hands in her hair and colliding his mouth with hers plunging his tongue in deep. Her breaths turning into heavy pants as he kneaded her breast.

He lifted her up wrapping her legs around him as he continued to kiss every part of her body he could, his mouth going to her breast, sucking on it until her nipples hardened in his mouth while he made his way to the bed that they sometimes shared.

He laid her down upon it, hands going to her skirts, pulling them down and exposing her body to him. His hungry gaze resting on her.

“Let’s make this fun for the both of us.“ He rasped sliding in between her legs pulling them apart, his hands doing the same with her folds. already slick and ready for him.

“How so?” She breathed as he sucked in both her breast placing a trail of feather light kisses down her stomach before he pressed one to her inner thigh,

“Cassian-“

“I want to taste you while you‘re handling my wings Nesta. I want us both to come. It’s not fair if only one of us does so.“

“What if we made a compromis?” Nesta said. His eyebrows rose.

“I’m listening.”

“I pleasure you first and when you feel like your control is loosening, then you can fuck me as hard as you want. however you want.” she leaned up pressing a kiss to his ear before she finished with “Wherever you want.”

His eyes ignited with desire, his hazel brown eyes studying her with that undying lust that always seemed to lay in his gaze.

“I like the sound of that.“ He stated flipping them over so she straddled him. feeling his need for her underneath her. “By all means Nes, make me lose control.”

“Sit by the edge of the bed.” She instructed as she got off him. He did as he was told, as she got up sliding down to her knees before him feeling his hardness underneath her hand as she undid the stays of his leathers, reaching in a pulling his erection free. Her mouth watering at the sight of him.

He outstretched one of his wings towards her as she lIcked his head, placing it in her mouth and sucking on his tip, her hand lightly brushing down his wing as he shuddered in pleasure. She pulled back taking him deeper, her hand on his wing repeating the same motion feeling the softness of his wings exploring the further as Cassian‘s pants grew heavier.

She knew his wolf wanted to come out to play, wanted to thrust into her until she was clenching around him begging for release.

She lightly scrapped her teeth along his shaft, his hand wrapping around her hair. as she looked up at him. pulling her mouth away from him as she rasped out.

“Help me take you deeper Cassian.“

His mouth curved in a wicked taunting smile before he put her mouth back on his cock and thrust into it as far as he dared to go. She gagged slightly, but squeezed his leg to tell him that she was fine. that he could keep going.

“Come on sweetheart. I know you can take me deeper.” He challenged, thrusting into her mouth once more further. harder. She relaxed her throat could feel him in the back of her throat. she loved it when he took control. when he fucked every inch of her mouth that she could.

“Keep up with my pace sweetheart. and don’t forget about my wings.I want you to get the full experience when I fuck you and to do that I need you to keep touching my wings..” He instructed plunging into her mouth once more as Nesta for the most part kept up with the thrust from his hips. as he buried himself inside her mouth, until she reached his balls. she had never taken him this far, had never dared, but she felt a sense of exhilaration that she had finally managed it.

He was as deep in her throat as he could possibly manage. as he looked down at her. His gaze primal letting her know that she would not be leaving this bedroom anytime soon until they both were limp with pleasure.

He took her hand placing it on a part of his wing that she somehow knew was sensitive, his moans of pleasure coming out as his eyes locked with hers.

“I want to you to swallow everything I give you Nesta m. Don’t waste a drop of it. “ Cassian instructed as Nesta ran her hand across the spot that Cassian had showed her as his release shit down her throat, feeling his warm liquid down her throat, careful not to choke on it as she devoured every last drop of him that he gave her until there was nothing left.

He pulled out of her mouth. his arms wrapping around her waist as he threw her up on the bed, spreading her legs. His heated gaze on the wetness that had been pooling between her legs, as a look of pure hunger and desire contorted his face.

“My turn for a taste.” He growled out as he put one of her feet on his shoulder licking her center as Nesta cried out in pleasure. Relieved to have his tongue on her. Fulfilling the burning need that was rampant inside of her. His tongue plunged into her, deeper than she expected it to as he fucked his with his tongue. exuberayting in the sounds she was making because of him.

“Cassian.” She moaned out as he plunged two of his fingers into her, his tongue swirling around her clit as she rode his face, fucking his fingers and matching his pace.

“Gosh. I’d fuck you like this all night if I could keep that look on your face sweetheart. I love it when your surrender to your pleasure before me.” He growled out as she gave a low laugh, Her hand brushing against his wings.

“Unless you want my release all over your body Nes, I’d be careful with those.” He teased going back to fucking her with his mouth until she was writhing with pleasure underneath him.

“Cassian, I’m-“

“Come for me sweetheart. Let me taste that sweetness on my lips so I can assure myself that I did my job right.”

With those words, Nesta fell apart shaking with pleasure underneath his mouth as he devoured every last drop of her riding her orgasm with his tongue as her back arched into him before falling back onto the bed. Her body limp with pleasure, her thoughts jumbled as Cassian swept his wing over her leg making her gasp at the sensation.

“Are you ready for the next round sweetheart?” He asked as some instinctual part of her ignited

she nodded, kissing him hard before pressing her lips to his wings. licking the sensitive part as she was flipped onto her knees, her hips lifted in the position that would ensure he could get to the deepest part of her as Cassian plunged into her, her body taking him to the hilt as he slammed himself into her again hitting the spot he knew would make her fall into sweet bliss. To reach her personal heaven,

Her eyes rolled into the back of her head with pleasure as sounds she didnt know she could make tore from her throat.

Cassian placed his wings in front of her again, His hands going to her hair and pulling on it making Nesta cry out from the sensation of it before she grasped into his wing. Gently running her teeth across it as Cassian bucked into her seeing who could make the other come first. Her tongue swept across his wing, her finger stroking it as he pulled her back thrusting up into her. Making her sob in utter pleasure as he bit her throat sucking on it, leaving his mark on her. Her arms going around him. Her back grinding against his chest, moving with him.

He leaned into her, licking her ear, his mouth real close to her. “Gods Nesta, You look so exquisite when your screaming my name from your lips.”

She let out a low laugh, Licking the sensitive part of his wing again.

“I haven’t screamed out your name yet.“ She teased.

A cocky smile feel upon his lips, “You’re about to.”

He thrusted into her, relentless, primal, claiming every inch of her like she did him. She was so close, so close.

She licked Cassian’s wing again. He growled in pleasure. bucking into her harder to where both of them were nearly on the edge of the bed. The feeing of him inside her providing pure ecstasy.

“Say my name Nesta. Say my name so we can go over the edge together.“ Cassian growled out. biting her neck, the spot that made her weak as one hand kneaded her breast the other going to her clit circling it. ensuring that she was feeling pleasure from all angles.

Her legs shook, her body desperately crying out for release. For the feeling of his hot, wet release deep inside of her.

“Cassian! Please!” She cried out, her cries turning into sobs of pleasure as his release slammed into her feeling his essence in the deepest part of herself, reveling in the feel of him as she rode out her own orgasm her body falling limp against his as he feel back on the bed, catching his breath, as she felt his cum down her thighs, His cock still deep inside of her.

Their heavy breaths filled the room as CassIan pressed a kiss to her hair. She clim off of him, His release between her thighs as she rested her head upon his chest tracing his scars there. His wings wrapping around them as she gently creased them until the sounds of her and Cassian‘s breathing lulled her into sleep.

[heresathreebee]

Bloody Mess

[Ralph Lamont X Female Reader]

AN: ok 1st of all this got Nasty and also I wanted to try a different format

Warning(s): +17 | Hemophilia, unprotected sex (wrap it to tap it), mentions of abuse, dead body (he deserved it), little rough, sub!Ralph Lamont, cum eating, hair pulling. Masterlist

Alright so I was dragging my feet to watch the episode of Blue Bloods with Alex Brightman in it and I'm glad I did because I got some cool ideas. I don't watch cop centric shows anymore but I thought Ralph would be a cool Italian mob type: turns out he's some dickhead twitch gamer who murdered a girl for stupid reasons I can't remember. 

So fuck cannon, he's a 90's mobman now. 

**YOU HAVE BEEN WARNED**

Imagine Ralph Lamont is a one man clean up crew. He's the go-to guy for any jobs gone wrong, gone messy. Body needs disappearing without a trace? Ralphie's your guy. 

Kinda like The Wolf from Pulp Fiction (Tarentino, 1994) 

Hydrochloric acid, latex, bleach, bone saw: all he needs is a few hours and it's like there was never a brutal murder here. (Sometimes this is accomplished with a distraction, a staged robbery or shoot out a few counties over if there were too many witnesses)

So Mr. Clean I mean Mr. Lamont gets a job at your home. 

It's a cute little 3rd floor apartment with a Mr. and Mrs. Andersen living in it. 

Mr. Andersen is– pardon, was– a bookkeeper for Dr. Coolidge (friend of Ralphie's; they both like sterile environments), so it's a favor. Dr. Coolidge mentioned over the phone he expected something "like this" to happen sooner or later. He asked Ralphie to be delicate with you– the late Mrs. Andersen. 

You buzz him in without a word. 

He finds you leaning against the kitchen island, putting out the cherry of your cigarette. You put it out right on Mr. Andersen's ugly yellow tie (or he thinks it used to be yellow)

It's a fucking blood bath in here. Mr. Andersen was a bleeder. Red splashes and streaks cover the counters, the toaster, the oven door, the fridge. There are bloody footprints on the floor and an honest-to-go pool of it dripping off the counter right next to Andersen's final resting place. You left the steak knife in his throat and he must have sat down in that island chair never to get back up again. His eyes are listless and grey. 

Ralphie walks around you, careful to keep you in his peripheral just in case you weren't done "expressing yourself." The linen of your frock is stained, your feet are bare, and your eye is black and swollen. Some of your bruises are old. 

In his sweep, he finds three bloodied knives in the sink: a bread knife, a fillet knife, and a cleaver. 

"Mrs. Andersen," he says as he turns back to you, "if you wouldn't mind moving to the bedroom for me? You've made quite a mess and I'd hate for you to have to see anymore violence." 

"You gonna fight him for my honor? He's already dead." 

Ralphie chuckles. "No ma'am. I'm gonna cut him up into pieces so the gallons of acid I brought with me dissolve his corpse efficiently. I'll need to borrow your bathtub for that, and you don't want to try getting cleaned up after the fact. It's no good for the skin." 

He's circled around the white marble kitchen island to stand before you. He's calm. The smile on his face is easy and it soothes you. You drop your eyes and catch an unexpected sight. 

"Are you…" you wipe at your mouth a accidentally leave a crusted red streak. "Do you get off on this?" 

Mr. Lamont shifts his stance; no doubt you've seen the light tent in his pants. "What can I say except I admire your handiwork, Mrs. Andersen. I imagine you may have wanted him to die slowly and painfully. Was it all that you hoped for?" 

You turn sheepish (incredible, really, surrounded by such admirable evidence of your own rage) and nod. "It was…" 

"Glad to hear," he says softly. "Now, if you wouldn't mind..." 

He places a gentle hand on your shoulder but you step away from the island and change his distant, guiding gesture into an intimate embrace. He looks at you in surprise when he feels you wrap your hands around his back beneath his blazer. 

"I seem to suffer a similar affliction," you tell him and press yourself into his erection. "You wouldn't mind giving a girl a hand, would you?" 

Well it certainly wasn't part of the job, but he was eager to please. 

“As you like it,” he whispered, pulling you into a soft kiss. 

Your blood sings in your veins. You’ve just killed your no good louse of a husband and now you’ve got your tongue down a stranger’s throat. And a handsome one too, so polite (you were still wary of him but if Dr. Coolidge sent him perhaps he couldn’t be all bad)

You tug at his tie as if it would make him any closer to being inside of you. The smell of copper is a never ending assault on your senses, but you also smell wood smoke beneath it on his collar. 

Mr. Lamont’s cheeky hands find your hips and a second later he’s helping you sit up on the kitchen counter. You can see your husband from the corner of your eye, his mouth hanging open in eternal anguish. It just serves to intensify your lust for life. 

You give Mr. Lamont's belt a meaningful tug and slip back down to the floor to turn around

You mean to ask him to help you with your zipper, but instead you feel his lips at your neck just before his hand grips the back of your head and pushes you down, face first into the counter inches away from the pool of blood. 

Your hand slides through the sticky essence and you feel Lamont draw your skirts up and your underthings down. 

You gasp with a shriek as you feel something hot slide up your slit and over your other hole. Did he just lick you??? 

The living man growls in what sounds like pleasure, pulling at his sleek tie just enough to loosen the constriction at his throat and then he’s shucking his pants down. 

You’re not sure if you want him to work you up slowly or take what he wants but you hold your breath and let him lead. You’re far from disappointed when he massages the meat of your rear and leans over your back. 

“You can still change your mind, doll,” he whispers, “not too late to go shower and forget today.” 

You consider it but you don’t want to forget. You want the feeling of Georgie’s life slipping through your fingers to soothe you to sleep every night. You want to carry the pleasure of giving your former husband a reason for his rampant jealous streak and know that for once there was nothing he could do about it. You want this living man to make this strange and terrifying day to end in bliss and solidify everything like lightning striking sand.  

You lift your head and run your dripping red hand through his pristine locks. He locks eyes with you and a shiver runs through him as a droplet lands on his nose. “I don’t want to stop, Mr. Lamont. Now be a good guest and fuck me.” 

“Call me Ralphie please,” he breathes, and he’s all too happy to comply. You feel his cock slip between your folds and as he enters you as he promised, you lick your lips and taste cherry and rust. 

“Ralphie… Ralphie…” He loves the sound of his name on your lips, the squishing sound of your lovely womanhood taking everything he gives it. He puts a single hand on your hip leans back to take it all in: the bloody kitchen, the stiff, the lecherous moans, the sweat making his shirt stick to his back, the misleading cleanliness of the back of your dress…

Mr. Lamont runs his hand through the slime in his hair but that blood is already drying. He splashes it into the pool next to you and leaves a bloody print on your back, holding you down to the counter by your shoulder and driving his hips into you harder. 

He can hear you’re close by the crescendo of your voice. He’s close too, and ever the gentleman, he slips out of you and flips you onto your back, pulling up a dainty leg in your daze so he can re enter your heat like he belonged there. He’s resumed fucking you in mere seconds and he likes this position because now he can see your eyes roll back into your head. 

“Where do you want it,” he grunts out. He’s trying not to come but he doesn’t have the willpower to slow down. He needs your answer, and fast...

For a moment your eyes go hard. Mr. Lamont gulps and worries for a second you’re going to pull the steak knife out of your husband’s throat to slit his, but instead you take a hold of his hair and pull his head back into an awkward but commanding angle. 

He feels your breath ghost over his neck. “My house, my rules. Make me see stars and I’ll tell you when to stop.” 

You sink your teeth into his neck and reach down to circle your pearl. Mr. Lamont does as he’s told, hissing and grunting but he holds off his release to give you exactly what you want. 

He has to stop thrusting when you start those delicious rhythmic tremors. He has to hold you up as you throw your head back and lose your balance, dependent on him to keep you upright. He takes over rubbing your pearl with a similar pressure as the one he watched you give yourself, and eased you back down from heaven into the bloody abyss on earth. 

For a second Ralph fears you’ve got too much control. What will he do if you tell him not to come at all? He’ll do as you command, of course, but how cruel were you going to treat him now that you’ve gotten what you wanted? He’s seen your handiwork all around, remember that. 

But your eyes turn soft and he’s worried you’re about to cry, that is until he watches you slip down to your bruised knees and ease your dress down your shoulders. Now you look positively debauched, breast bared and eyes turned up with a pleading look. 

“Finish on me, Ralphie.” You bit your lip and hope to god he’s still listening. “Right over my heart.” 

Ralph Lamont has never whimpered before. He’s doing it right now. How the fuck did he end up like this? 

He strokes his cooling cock, taking everything in from his position above you and feeling his drumming heartbeat in the throbbing of his member. The only word going through his head is yes

Ralphie gives one of you tits a squeeze, then gets an idea

It's a little awkward trying to get you to understand, but you catch on and there's this eager glow in your eyes

You help him slot his cock between your breasts and continue to jerk him off, using your hands as necessary to assist

He's not far now seeing you-- feeling you like that

Ralphie comes with a groan, a white rope painting your chin and splattering cockeyed down over your neck and onto the tops of your breasts. He has to catch himself on the counter as the next rope dribbles lower, half slipping into your cleavage and the rest staining the neckline of your ruined dress. His hips jerk once, twice. You let him slip from your embrace and twist your hand over the head just to milk whatever he has left into your mouth, and then he collapses into a heap beside you. 

You let him catch his breath for a minute, then grasp his jaw and turn his head towards you. You’re looking down your nose at him again and his vulnerable eyes beg for more. 

“Now look what you’ve done,” you gesture to the milky essence covering your skin in mock annoyance. “Clean it up like a good boy.” 

Eyes half lidded, Ralphie leans towards you in a trance, tongue swiping over every pearlescent trail and stray droplet until you’re ‘clean’ again

Completely spent, the man rests his head against your shoulder. Your hands come up to cradle him, stroking his matted hair as if you've not a care in the world

When he's ready he helps you stand up and straightens his clothes

Instead of helping you back into yours he strips you of them

"These will have to be burned, I'm afraid," he tells you. "Go on now, take a nice long bath and I'll call Kevin to see if he can take you somewhere for the night

You have to clear the tub and run it again to get truly clean. All of that grime builds up thick on your skin while you were having your acts of catharsis. 

You slip into a satin frock in your favorite color and let Kevin whisk you away to a movie for the night

As you fix your earring in the rearview mirror, you catch sight of Ralph Lamont on your balcony. He waves down at you leaning against the ledge and unbothered by the state of his clothes. From this far down, it doesn't look like blood

But you know better, don't you?

@hoodoo12 @escape-your-grape

[jaskiersvalley]

Hi. I'm sorry to bother you. Can I request some domestic witchersexual Jaskier?? I just had to put my 6 year old doberman down because she had an autoimmune disease and wasn't getting better and I'm really sad and I have read most of the new fics on tumblr and AO3 but alot of it is whump or Angst and I can't deal with that right now.

I am so sorry to hear about your doberman! It’s never easy to lose a beloved pet. If there is anything beyond writing something to take your mind off things that I can do, please do drop me a line either via ask or DMs. This story turned a little less domestic with not all focus on Jaskier but...hopefully it still gives you the comfort you crave.

Rumours were rife. Witchers, already a dying breed, were disappearing without a trace. No body to recover, no contract to follow the trail of. One minute a witcher was travelling in his usual stomping grounds, the next, he was never seen again. It had Vesemir fretting. Just because he was responsible for Kaer Morhen didn’t mean he was blind and deaf to the stories that were rife. Strangely, despite the witchers disappearing, there wasn’t an abundance of creatures running rampant.

Of course Vesemir worried for his pups. He worried for all witchers but his own boys were special to him. When winter came and Lambert turned up, followed not long after by Eskel, Vesemir could almost relax. A crow from Geralt reassured him that his wolves were all okay and whatever was snatching witchers hadn’t been able to get to them. It didn’t take much to gently extract a promise of regular communication with them throughout the following year. Messages were regularly sent back, letting Vesemir know that the unseen enemy hadn’t snatched them. Yet.

Despite their best efforts, Eskel stopped writing. Even when Lambert and Geralt rushed to where he was last seen, there was no trace of him, nothing. That winter, Eskel didn’t return home and they mourned him.

If only Eskel had been enough for the monster that seemed to hunt witchers exclusively. However, Lambert made it down from Kaer Morhen in the spring and was never seen again. Vesemir tried to remind himself that this was a witcher’s life. Solitary, filled with loss, grief and there was no hope of a happy ending. At least he still had Geralt, the shining star of the Wolf School. Deep down, Vesemir found it fitting that Geralt would be the last one standing of his pups, even if Eskel had been his equal in all but fame.

Witchers didn’t travel together, there wasn’t enough work in any area to support one, let alone two witchers. But Vesemir didn’t want to be the last Wolf in existence and he didn’t want to lose Geralt. Not when they had both lost so much already. Kaer Morhen could lock its doors for one last time. It was already crumbling and Vesemir didn’t think he would be returning, not if he went out on the path, shadowing Geralt in a parallel path, occasionally meeting up.

If anything, contracts were more scarce than ever before despite there being fewer witchers. It made no sense and Vesemir couldn’t understand. There was no explanation for it but he trudged on, determined to do what he had been created for. If there were fewer witchers in the world, he would pick up the slack.

Camping was harsh, sleeping on the ground made Vesemir’s bones ache. It was a witcher’s lot in life to weather the discomforts, even in old age. In the morning, Vesemir packed up camp and trudged out onto the road. He and Geralt were heading towards Nilfgaard, an army always left necrophages in its wake so it was a guaranteed income. Somewhere in the distance, there was singing and the soft strum of lute drifting through the air. A fellow traveller, a happy one at that. Unintentionally, Vesemir slowed his steps and let the singer slowly catch up.

“Fine day,” the brightly coloured man called, bouncing along as he played. He definitely kept strange company, an elf who smiled indulgently.

“Made all the brighter by your cheer.” Even if Vesemir wasn’t a fan of the style of music, he could still be polite and appreciate the attitude if not the noise.

“Thank you, kind sir.” The bard took a bow. “I’m Jaskier, this is my friend Chireadan. Mind if we accompany you along this path for a while?”

A bit of company was always welcome, even if Vesemir used it to gather information rather than make friends. The two made for curious travellers, seemingly defenceless, not a sword or dagger between them. It had Vesemir wondering just how they had survived for so long.

Chatter turned from pleasant chitchat to current events to probing questions. It was such a subtle shift, Vesemir didn’t notice until he was being asked quite pointed questions about being a witcher.

“So in all your 300 and something years, you’d never been able to rest?”

Vesemir blinked. “Well, maintaining Kaer Morhen was as much of a break as any witcher could have.”

It only drew a hum from Jaskier. “So single-handedly being responsible for a large keep, repairing it, ensuring crops grow around it to keep four, five, maybe even six witcher bellied full over winter, thinning out the forktails so when your pups and stragglers return home they won’t have to fight as hard, that counts as a break, yes?”

When put like that...Vesemir shrugged it off He did what the world demanded of him, no more, no less. It didn’t seem to deter Jaskier.

“What about a true rest? If I could offer you something, would you take it?”

“No.” Because Vesemir couldn’t abandon Geralt. Not when it was just Geralt left. Even if the others had still been around, Vesemir couldn’t in good conscience leave them behind to live a harsh life with nobody to greet them home each year.

“If it’s Geralt you’re worried about, I promise it’s okay. He’ll be there too.”

Perhaps Vesemir should have been more alert and distrusting. An elf and a bard, unarmed and yet seemingly so at ease in the world. There had to be something more to them. But his medallion didn’t sing, didn’t hum, there wasn’t even the slightest bit of vibration to it. Human and elf. Nothing more. And yet.

“You’ve served your time. You can relax now,” Jaskier murmured softly, swaying closer and putting a hand on Vesemir’s back to guide him.

“Are you Death?”

The sharp, bright laugh suggested that Vesemir was wrong.

“If he is Death, what does that make me? I’m a healer by trade,” Chireadan chipped in. He had been quiet for most of their shared journey, smiling fondly and staring off into the distance, aloof like most elves. “Let us show you what we offer.”

They stopped in the middle of the dusty road with nobody around for miles. Jaskier fished something out of his pocket and, with a lot of fidgeting and even more cursing, a portal suddenly opened up. It was portable, contained chaos and Vesemir took a step back.

“It’s okay.” That was Geralt’s voice and he stepped out of a portal from behind Vesemir. “I fucking hate portals but you can trust that one.”

Whatever trickery this was, Vesemir didn’t trust it one bit. However, Geralt urged Roach through before turning to him with a lopsided smile. “Come home.”

With that, Geralt stepped into the portal and Vesemir reached for him, wanting to pull him back.

“What’s it going to be, my Lone Wolf?” Jaskier asked. Chireadan had stepped through the portal too, waving with a quiet “see you in a minute” which was just a little presumptuous.

Steeling himself, Vesemir gave in. He’d had enough, all the fighting, the loss, the grief, it was enough. Even if this was a trick, he realised there was no point in resisting. His pups were gone, Kaer Morhen wasn’t a place to live alone, contracts were more and more scarce. It was time to put down his swords and accept whatever was on the other side of the portal. Vesemir didn’t look back as he stepped through, feeling the world lurch around him.

The other side was bright, breezy and noisy. Water lapped at the shores of a beach and there was life bustling around him, laughter and...people shouting his name. Geralt stepped closer first and squeezed his shoulder.

“Welcome to The Island.”

Behind Vesemir, Jaskier had stepped through and the portal closed. More people were approaching. Ciri was running towards him like she was still a child. Behind her was- Vesemir’s breath hitched. There was Eskel and Lambert on either side of Jaskier. And Coen. And Aiden. Letho. Wolf, Cat, Griffin, Viper, Bear, all the schools’ surviving witchers, smiling, laughing and happy. It was beyond anything Vesemir had ever seen or even dared hope for.

“What?” He choked out.

“The world didn’t need us any more. And we didn’t need them,” Geralt explained. It wasn’t all witchers, there were a couple of sorceresses, elves and humans too. They all looked comfortable and happy.

“It all started with Eskel,” Jaskier said, an arm around the witcher in question’s waist. “An enchanted bear trap caught him out.” It explained why he limped probably. “It was just me at the time and the idea of a retirement retreat was barely a babe in my mind. But Triss helped heal him and I started travelling with Chireadan. Needed to make sure I could get every hurting witcher home.”

“Actually, Jaskier wanted a sex island,” Lambert butted in. Vesemir noted that he looked at peace, smiling without any of the bitterness he’d been weighed down by over the years. “Eskel couldn’t run. I didn’t want to run. Eventually Geralt let himself get caught. Like a stray cat Aiden turned up. Then Ciri dragged her friends with her. A Jaskier’s got a lot of love to give if they want it.”

Geralt smiled at the stunned look on Vesemir’s face. He clapped him on the shoulder.

“I said welcome to The Island earlier but what I actually meant was welcome home.”

[on-a-lucky-tide]

A choice from Geralt’s past comes back to haunt him in the worst way imaginable...

A rogue Witcher murdering whole villages. No rhyme or reason; no denied contracts, no monsters. It was rampant savagery. Sometimes it happened and it fell to the rest of the brotherhood to clear up the mess. A Cat finally snapping and wiping out entire communities, maybe a stray Viper left unaccounted for that had was exacting retribution on humanity for the fall of his school. Maybe not even a Witcher at all, but a regular human struck with a curse, or a sorcerer with a bone to pick.

Whatever it was, Geralt couldn’t allow the rumour to fester, because every whisper he heard said ‘Witcher’. Slanderous gossip turned into legend and legends held weight. Legends snatched coin from desperate palms and food from hungry mouths. He rode south to find the most recently hit village. It lay in ruins. Not a single house remained standing, with the charred remains of corpses scattered about the dusty path. No one left alive to bury the dead either, or give him much needed information.

Necrophages would move in soon, but Geralt didn’t have time to stop. Whoever – whatever – this was needed to be brought down. He swung back up into Roach’s saddle, his eyes passing over a smaller body clinging to the brittle arm of a larger, and swallowed the ball of sorrow in his throat.  

He followed the path of a destruction east, passing through two more settlements both burned to nothing, the former residents left scorched and twisted in an eternal expression of anguish. As he approached a third village, the smell of burning grew stronger and thick black smoke curled into the darkening evening sky. Geralt kicked his heels into Roach’s flanks and spurred her on through the trees. As thin branches whipped over his head and across his clothes, the sounds of horror broke through the serenity of chirping birds and snuffling animals; screams, roaring fires, the shouts of men.

Geralt had caught the creature halfway through an attack. He jumped down from Roach’s saddle and slapped her haunch to send her back into the safety of the woodland. A young woman ran around the corner of a barn, clapped eyes on him and screamed in terror. “No, no. Not another one. Please, please have mercy.” She wet herself in fear. The acrid smell of her urine undercutting the bitter scent of burning flesh and wood. 

“Get out of here. Go,” he growled, and walked into the village square.

The sight that met him there snagged his breath in his throat, eyes widening in disbelief.

Because the creature – the man – was familiar. More than familiar. He was the other half his soul incarnate; his brother; his everything. People said they looked the same. When they were younger, the instructors got them confused and, being the scheming little shits they were, they used it to their advantage.

Eskel. 

It was Eskel. 

The familiar red gambeson was striking enough, with its metal spikes and intricate stitching. There was no mistaking the ‘simple Witcher, wolf’. Eskel cut down three men in swift succession as they rallied a futile defence against him, his left hand twisting to set another building alight. The inferno that erupted from his palm consumed the thatch roof and the dry wooden panelling almost instantly. Geralt could hear the screams of the occupants as the flames trapped them inside.

“Eskel!” He roared over the noise. His brother heard him and looked round. His skin was ashen grey, lined with dark veins as if he’d overdosed on potions; his eyes a deep, obsidian black and his lips warped in a sneer. “What the fuck are you doing?” Geralt didn’t even bother to hide the crack in his voice; the horror leaked out of every syllable.

Eskel – the kindest, most mature, centred man in Geralt’s life, a man that would sooner throw himself from a cliff than hurt an innocent soul – prowled around the well in the centre of the village square and approached, his sword held down at his side. The blood of his last kills dripped from the very tip, pooling briefly in the etched runes down the fuller. “Finally,” said a metallic voice that wasn’t Eskel’s usual warm, honey-rich rumble.

Geralt’s medallion hummed against his chest. Magic. Strong magic. “What happened?”

“I saw the truth of it,” Eskel growled, bottomless eyes settling on Geralt’s face. “They’re just parasites, Geralt. Beneath us in so many ways. Helpless, weak.”

This wasn’t Eskel. It wasn’t just the voice. Everything about him was different. The way he moved, the way his face twisted, the bow of his shoulders, the words he used. His Eskel loved all life; from the smallest goat to the biggest troll. He only ever took it when it threatened the lives of others. “Who are you?”

A smirk. It didn’t look right on Eskel’s full lips. Those lips were made for smiling – cheeky, loving – not… that. Eskel sniffed. “Wondered whether you’d cotton on,” the metallic voice said. “Do you know how long it took to break him? Four days. Four days. And he stared me down the whole time.” 

Break him. Geralt’s heart skipped a beat and his skin crawled. What had it done? Whatever creature this was, whatever sorcerer. They would pay. But first, first he needed to get Eskel back. He’d be in there somewhere; screaming in horror at what his hands were doing. There were bodies of children scattered in the burnt shrubs and shattered remains of buildings. “What do you want?”

“I want you to choose, because you seem to think you’re above choosing, above the petty squabbles of men. You believed you were back then, and the arrogance hasn’t left you, has it?”

“Choose what?”

“Hmm,” Eskel lifted his sword and slanted it over his shoulder. “Only evil and greater evil exist and beyond them, in the shadows lurks true evil. True evil, Geralt, is something you can barely imagine, even if you believe nothing can surprise you. And sometimes true evil seizes you by the throat and demands that you choose between it and another, slightly lesser, evil.” The speech drew to an end. Every syllable sliced through Geralt like a physical knife.

He’d heard it before. Word for word. All he could do now was stand in stunned silence, his chest constricted, his fingers tight around the hilt of his sword. His silver sword. Because you used silver to slay monsters.

“Well, Geralt? Don’t you have anything to say in return? I think you need to consult your script, brother.” Eskel snarled and took a step forward. “What evil are you looking at? Greater, lesser or middling?”

“You’re a doppler,” Geralt bit out finally, foot sliding back, left hand twitching. Had to be. No one would be able to control a Witcher, not to this degree. This had to be a trick. 

“Only one way to find out.”

And then Eskel was on him. While someone else might be holding the reins, or a doppler wielding the sword, there was no loss of skill or precision. Geralt threw up a Quen shield as an Aard cracked through the air; it rebounded off and shattered through the brittle remains of a house. Silver clashed with steel and Eskel had him moving backwards almost instantly.

They were evenly matched. They always had been. Eskel knew every one of Geralt’s moves because he used them too. The steel blade whistled through the air with impossible speed, complemented by blisteringly powerful Signs that Geralt barely survived. Because that was one thing Eskel did have over him. There wasn’t a Witcher alive more magically gifted than Eskel. Four communities had perished at his hands. 

Geralt parried and weaved, nearly losing his weapon when Eskel’s feet left the floor in a swift turn that brought his sword down in a shattering, downwards arc. It sliced through Geralt’s left bicep, sending his hand into spasm; he managed to deflect the next attack, but he had little recovery time. Eskel backed him against a house and Geralt ducked beneath a broad swing that would’ve severed his head from his shoulders. Trying to disable Eskel would prove difficult; strong and swift, he amended his stance for every one of Geralt’s attacks. 

“Eskel, listen to me, fight it, fight whatever this is,” he shouted breathlessly between parries, because if this wasn’t a doppler, there might be a chance he could reach Eskel through the mire of magic controlling his actions.

“Why fight the inevitable? Choose, Geralt.”

When Geralt did land a few blows – a slice across the thigh, a cut through the gambeson beneath the armour – it had little impact. Eskel barely slowed; like his sense of pain had vanished. 

I’m going to have to kill him.

The thought rose in the back of Geralt’s head and icy fingers of dread wrapped his throat.

I’m going to have to kill Eskel. 

One of the residents stepped in to help. It was the smallest act of bravery, but it turned the tide. A wooden bucket hurtled towards them and Eskel turned briefly, left hand lifting for a Sign, and it gave Geralt the opening he needed. He took a decisive step forward and drove the blade through Eskel’s arm. The ligaments broke apart around the edge and the weapon fell from slack fingers. 

Eskel snarled in rage,  the bucket glancing off his shoulder, and his left hand snatched Geralt by the throat. The grip was strong enough to choke the life out of him and Geralt’s vision quickly edged in black. His brother growled. “You see, when you don’t choose, others will make your choices for you, Geralt of Rivia. And for you, I choose death.”

“Please.” 

The fingers tightened. Geralt didn’t want to. He couldn’t. The tears stung his eyes. The sorcerer believed he wouldn’t kill his brother. That he couldn’t. The sorcerer was right. But this wasn’t his brother, this creature with blackened eyes that had killed women, children – innocents – was not the kind, big-hearted man that talked to the chickens at the keep as if they understood him or held Lambert in his arms when he had nightmares or drank with Jaskier or – 

Geralt drove his sword through the centre of Eskel’s chest. It sliced up through his lungs, narrowly missing his heart, and erupted out his back. The fingers around his throat went slack as Eskel stumbled and fell. Geralt gasped huge mouthfuls of air as he threw his sword to the side. 

Eskel’s form wasn’t changing. It remained solid as it shuddered in pain. Not a doppler.

His eyes was fading back to normal; bright veins of amber appeared in the inky blackness. As Geralt grabbed Eskel by the gambeson and pulled him into his lap, he bit back the sting of tears. “It’s alright, it’s alright, I’ve got you.”

Eskel’s mouth was working, seeking air that he couldn’t hold in his chest. “’m… sorry…” He managed, blood bursting from the back of his throat across his full lower lip. “N—m—.” 

“I know, it wasn’t you, I know,” Geralt could hear the sorrow in his own voice. “It’s alright. Don’t struggle. Don’t fight it.” He stroked down Eskel’s scarred cheek, fingertips following the familiar topography of marred skin down to a raised lip soaked in blood.

Geralt made himself watch. Made himself watch the life drain from Eskel’s eyes as his blood soaked the ground below them. He held those broad shoulders and stroked his face until the last gasping attempt for air ended and his brother – one of the men he loved most – died in his arms.

Greater. Middling. Lesser. I’d prefer not to choose. 

Make a choice or don’t. It didn’t matter. The very decision not to choose was still a choice. A choice to turn your back and walk away. A mistake made decades ago that still haunted him. 

That was still costing him and those he loved. 

Shaking fingers found the chain of Eskel’s medallion and pulled it free. The metal was still warm in his palm; he held it as he leaned forward and pressed his lips to Eskel’s mouth for the final time. Geralt disproved a rumour several centuries old that day. As he howled in agony, the tears streaming down his bloodied face, the body of the man he loved clutched in his arms, the surviving villagers learned that Witchers felt emotion. Geralt’s grief was so strong, so overwhelming, that even the gods took note of it; a distant storm rumbled in the distance, lightning forking through dark crowds, but Geralt didn’t move.

He didn’t move as the skies opened and extinguished the fires, as the rain mixed with his tears and washed the blood from Eskel’s face and hair. Geralt knelt there for hours. He’d get his revenge. He’d find the sorcerer that had broken Eskel’s mind and brought him under control and then he’d gut him.

It didn’t matter though, because the damage had been done. 

The next time someone he loved came close to losing their life because of his choices, he’d scream at them on a mountaintop, blame them for all of his own wrongs, and send them away.

Because no matter what choice Geralt made, it would always be the wrong one.

He would always lose.

[ladyfiresfanfiction]

Baby, Let’s Get Naked - Supernatural Fan Fic - Dean Winchester X OC

She paced around the living room, nearly burning a hole in the floor. Her usual calm, easy going manner had vanished and was replaced with anxiety and frantic obscene murmurings to herself. She was worried that she had gotten dressed up for nothing. But she also worried about other things; what if he had forgotten, what if he couldn't find the place, or worse, what if he was hurt? It didn't help that the smart ass never answered his phone when she called, either. But still, she waited, rather impatiently. If she knew him like she thought she did, he would waltz through the door, smirk at her, and say something stupid like "you're wearing that?" or "let's skip dinner and go straight to bed, sweetheart." Either one would have been comforting right now. What was it about him that drove her so mad? Was it those remarkable eyes? Golden hazel, like a wolf's? Or maybe those plump, warm lips that sent shivers up her spine anytime he leaned in and kissed her. It could have been that rough, gravelly voice as well. Or that body, it was so perfect. The strong, smooth chest, those perfect abs, or those arms that made her want to shove him on the ground and have her way with him. It wasn't just his physique that drove her so crazy. It was also how he could be so childish, but serious at the same time. He could make her laugh like no one she had never known. He was kind, and loving, and he was really protective. He was the guy you could always go to with your deepest secrets, your darkest fears, and he would never push you away. He would be there the second you called. They had met when she had turned eighteen, he saved her life. She was always a firm believer in things she could see and touch. Not what she could sense, or feel. But he proved to her that things are not always black and white, and she thanked him for that. It was the reason she was still breathing, and was able to blow out twenty one candles. When she saw the ghost of her ex boyfriend materialize in front of her, and slowly trudge toward her in a menacing fashion, her life was changed forever. But Dean came along, and he was able to keep her out of harms way. The way he completely took control over the situation, how he risked his own life to keep her alive, it was something she could never erase from her memory. And to this day, three years later, she still thought of him constantly. She wondered if things could ever be more than a quick hang out and hook up before he hit the road. In her heart of hearts, she knew he was the one for her. There had never been another guy since he entered her life. She couldn't find herself remotely attracted to anyone in her town, and she never one thought of going with another guy. Plus, he ruined sex for her. He was like a machine, he could go for hours and never get tired. And the way he held her afterwards, it made everything seem like a fairy tale. Last week he called and let her know that he was coming back to Omaha on business. He said as soon as it was over he would have an extra day or two to spend with her. He was tracking some kind of trickster that was killing the elderly and needed to put a stop to it. She worried about him, but, it was Dean, he would be okay. Dean Winchester could never die. Three hours after he was suppose to arrive, she decided to call his brother, Sam. Her mind had one too many bad scenarios running rampant right now, and it needed to be stopped. The phone seemed to ring continually, which only added to her annoyance. She twirled a lock of her raven black hair around her fingers and growled at the phone. Finally, he answered. "Quinn, hey! What's up?" Sam asked. "Where's Dean? Is he alive? Are you guys okay? Oh, God, please tell me y'all aren't in the hospital!" "Quinn, what are you talking about? Everything's fine. The job is done and Dean and I just had dinner." Sam said, sounding utterly confused. "Oh you did, did you? Ask him if he forgot something tonight." she hissed. Quinn's usual cheery voice has turned to stone. Her crystal blue eyes were probably a dark, scary blue. She was shaking and balled her fist, ready to slug him as soon as he walked through the door. He made her panic, think that something happened with his newest hunt. He knew how much she worried, he knew that she had an over active imagination. And that selfish, stupid, boyish asshole decided to grab a fucking bite before even calling her? Oh, it would not end well. "He's on his way, Quinn.." Sam said, sounding scared. She changed out of her body hugging black velvet mini dress and heels, into a pair of black paid pajama bottoms and an over sized Marilyn Manson shirt. Her hair was devoid of the curls she spent an hour doing, and placed in a half assed pony tail, and her face was now makeup free. She sat on the couch in complete darkness, seething with anger. The second he walked through that door he was going to get it. He walked in fifteen minutes later and tried to feel around for the light switch. When he couldn't find one, he called out to her. Quinn had the nastiest temper he had ever seen on a chick, and he had been with plenty of women to witness unspeakable tempers. He had completely forgotten and felt awful, especially since he remembered she was getting all dressed up. He finally found the switch and saw her in her PJ's, sitting on the couch, looking like she wanted to jump him and rip his eyes out. He nervously chuckled, and moved cautiously. Once he reached the side of the couch, she got up and stormed passed him, slamming the door shut. "You're lucky that car belonged to your dad, because if it didn't, Dean Winchester, it would be DESTROYED right about now!" she screeched. "Hey now, the Impala did nothing wrong so just relax, woman." he said, regretting those words nearly immediately. She punched him hard in his stomach and he groaned. She went into the kitchen and started chugging a wine cooler. He took in a few deep breaths before following close behind. He looked at her, so angry, but so sexy at the same time. Now was the worst time to start imagining the things he'd do her, against the back door, on the kitchen floor, having her bent over the kitchen counter while he pounded her from behind. It was all so tempting, and it would be so easy to get her to cave. He would let her get her rage out, and then at the first opportunity, he would make his move. She glared at him. Why was he still here? She wanted nothing to do with him, and her hand hurt from clocking him in his rock hard stomach. It was like punching a brick wall. She rolled her eyes at him. That smug bastard just stood there, smirking and looking at her from head to toe. He tried to move close to her, but she pushed him away and went to the living room. She plopped down on the couch and turned on the TV. If he wouldn't leave, she would pretend he wasn't there. But, he didn't seem to get the hint. "Come on, baby, how long are you gonna be mad at me? I mean, at least I'm okay, right?" he grinned while whispering in her ear. "Fuck off, Winchester." she snarled. He was growing irritated now. Usually after a few minutes of her incessant glares and obscenities she would break and do whatever he wanted. Then again, he had never forgotten to call her after a job before. It was like this unspoken rule between them. He sighed and went to put his arm around her shoulders, in which she flipped him over the couch. She was now lying down, smiling and proud of herself. But Dean wasn't having that. He was now pissed off, hungry, and horny. For Dean Winchester, that was a volital mix. He jumped up, snatched the remote and turned it off. The next thing Quinn knew was she was hoisted over his shoulder, kicking and screaming while he went upstairs. He went inside her room and slammed her down on the bed. He kicked the door shut and they glared at each other. His eyes took on this melted golden lava hue, and in that moment, Quinn realized how fucked she was. Or, actually, was about to be. He walked over and with one swift movement, yanked her up with her wrist enclosed in his hand. She looked up at him, trying hard not to give in. But the way he was biting his bottom lip, to the lustful look in his eyes, and how his body stood in front of her, unmoving and completely solid, she was melting and quick. He forced his lips hard on hers, and she moaned into the kiss. His hands moved down to her hips, and he squeezed them hard enough that she would have bruises the next day. She sucked on his bottom lip and let her hands wander through his hair, yanking on it every so often. He fell on top of her on the bed and their tongues became engaged in a win or die war. His tongue slid over every inch of hers, soaking up her saliva and texture, it was so far down her throat he was nearly gagging her. She pulled away and attacked his neck, kissing and biting like she was some blood hungry animal. He returned rough, dry kisses to her neck, down to her collarbone, where he proceeded to nibble on. His hand slid slowly down every curve, every crevice of her body. He began to grind against her, letting her feel his slowly forming boner. She began to whimper when he yanked her hair away from her neck and bit down, hard enough to leave black marks. She was sliding her hands down his perfect, chizzeled chest, down to those abs that she wanted to lick. He tore her shirt in half, promising to buy her a new one later. All she could do was pant, and mimic a laugh. He was too much for her to handle. She slowly inched his shirt up, and along the way kissed his body. With every sweet kiss came an animalistic grunt deep in his throat. She knew just the thing to do to get him so crazy, so sex driven, that she would not walk for a week. She finally got his shirt off and worked on his shoulders. She rubbed them while adding butterfly kisses, making him shake and pant profane words into her ear. His hands went up to her breasts, each one fitting perfectly in the palms of his hands. He would squeeze and smirk as she cried out in frustration. He then would proceed to wet his finger while twirling it around her nipple, making them a little wet before he bent down to suck on them. Then his tongue would slide around, and he would nibble, making her arch and scream. He wouldn't let her take control this easily. Her legs were wrapped around his waist and she grabbed his face with her hands, then pressed her lips to his, inhaling his warmth. Their hip bones were crushing up against each others, knocking back and forth, ensuring pain but pleasure all at once. He finally ripped her sweats off of her in one smooth motion, and then proceeded to kiss down her body. He got down on his knees, and forced her legs apart, far and wide, wide enough to make it hurt. She knew what was coming, and began to grip the sheets, feeling her knuckles hurt and turn white. He smirked and winked at her. He began to nibble on her inner thighs, the stubble on his chin was sending every feeling throughout her entire body. She could already feel herself getting wet and sticky. He made his way up to her opening, in which he stuck one solitary finger in. He curled that finger, and another and began to pump them inside of her, making sure she was good and lubed up before he began to taste her. She was already whining and begging him to fuck her, but all he could do was mutter the word "patience". Quinn was not a patient woman. After several minutes of his fingers hitting her g-spot, he released his fingers from inside her and let his large, skilled tongue enter her. He played with her clit while his tongue curled inside of her, making her arch and gasp. He had learned a few tricks since his last visit. The deeper his tongue entered her cunt, the more her body moved. She was nearly sliding off of the silk sheets when he hit her spot. Air was becoming hard to come by, and she was begging him to let her go now. He began to lap up her juices that flowed freely from her body. Her eyes were beginning to roll back in her head and her muscles were contracting. She was so close to losing complete control. And that's when he stopped. He stood above her, jeans still on and the biggest bulge she had ever seen on him exposed. He smirked and leaned down to kiss her lips. His tongue locked with hers, giving her a taste of herself. Her nails raked down his back, giving him some of the pain she was feeling. He pulled away, tugging on her bottom lip as he let go. "Are you sure you want me, Quinn? I could easily leave." he said in that deep, hungry voice. "Fuck me now, Dean. God, fuck me now." she begged. "As you wish, slut." he smirked. He unbuttoned his jeans and she watched as they fell to his ankles. What a perfect day to go commando, she thought. He hovered above her body, the tip of his cock pressed against her opening. Before she could try anything, he pinned her wrists down at her sides, and shook his head no. She was nearly in tears from the pressure and the pounding in her pussy. He could have fucked her sideways and upside down, she wouldn't have cared. This building up bullshit was killing her. And he finally entered her. Every single, solid inch all at once. She groaned as she felt his full girth inside of her, and she bucked her hips against his. He was sliding in furiously, hard enough to send her upward on to the bed, the sheets had become so slippery from a mix of her sweat and the fact that they were silk it was hard to keep her in one place. There were loud slapping noises from their skin being slicked with sweat, and everytime he entered her, he banged his hip bones against hers, causing a shock to go through every fiber of her being. She arched in to him, hungrily kissing him. His bottom lip was caught between her lips, enjoying every second of their kiss. He threw her against the headboard, and he gained momentum as he began to pound her aching cunt. It felt so good it hurt, and she was nearly screaming his name. He grunted in her ear, making her squirm under his delicious form. He finally looked down into her eyes, his lips inches from hers, and he smiled. "You always have been my number one girl, and my number one fuck." he said hoarsely. The more he went in, the wetter she got. Anytime he penetrated her now, it made a loud squelching noise from the huge amount of cum dripping from her. He was nearing the end of his rope as she sucked on his neck and wrapped her legs around his waist, giving him more of a chance to deeply pound her. It was all too much and she lost all control of her body. She screamed, louder and louder, with each thrust he sent her flying into the headboard, and he tightened up his muscles, and shut his eyes tight. He let out a massive load of white hot cum, shocking her body to bits. Her muscles contracted around his cock, and she screamed as she released. He kissed her lips to silence her, and she moaned uncontrollably into the kiss. Once they finished, he collapsed on top of her. He was shaking and panting, and all the while she slid her fingertips through his damp hair, and kissed the top of his head. This was the best sex of her life, and she knew no one could ever top it. He laid there, cradled in her arms, and they were both silent for the longest time. He always liked to go out with a bang, and he sure as hell did this time.

[laylacooke]

The Cat’s Meow (Pt. 1) || Ariana & Layla

timing: Mid August parties: @letsbenditlikebennett & @laylacooke summary: Meow meow. Meow meow meow. (Something’s off. Like way off.)

After getting smacked in the face by a two headed dildo, Layla’s nose and head ached all night long. Dreams plagued her mind. Strange dreams that made no sense. Words ran together and became harder to understand. Soon her body ached and burned. The constant sounds of meowing and hissing filled her ears and by daybreak, Layla had woken up in a cold sweat. She was panting hard and fast and longed for water. As she noticed the sun peeking in through a small slit in from the ruffled-up blankets, she poked her head out, but something felt off. Something felt...wrong.

The world seemed different as if she were looking through new eyes. Things were brighter and seemed less sharp. While her wolf senses already gave her perks over just being a human, even those felt different. And scanning the room left her heart beating a little harder than before, when she noticed how high up the bed seemed from the floor. It was the low growl coming from nearby that finally alerted Layla that something was really off.

Indy, what are you growling at? It’s me, Layla. Addressing her dog came as a shock when not words, but meows cut through the silence of the room. Indy! Indy!!! The meows were filled with more panic as she tried to speak. But they were soon cut short, when she noticed her dog lunging after her. Without thinking Layla hit the floor and took off scurrying out of the bedroom.

Ariana!!! ARIANA!!! She howled out her best friend’s name, only to have louder, shriller meows fill the quietness of the house. The orange tabby leaped up onto the back of the couch as the small dog barked ferociously below. Layla’s heart was beating loudly as confusion and fear ran rampant through her now, tiny cat brain.

The sleep Ariana had been in had been far from restful. Her dreams still seemed odd and not entirely her own while still somehow having Celeste’s dead body haunt her. The dream she was currently in led to her finding Ace dead and she had been near hysteric in her dream when a shrill sound pulled her back to reality. She groaned as her eyes flickered opened and adjusted to the light. It was entirely too bright in her room, but she rubbed her eyes anyway. What was that sound? The dogs were both barking, and she heard… a meow? What the hell? Did Layla bring a cat home? She rushed out to the living room and saw tabby cat sitting on the back of the couch. That was… new. She rubbed her eyes again, making sure she was seeing things straight before rushing over and scooping the cat up in her arms. “Shh, Indy it’s okay. Now, sit,” she commanded the small dog as she cradled the cat. “How’d you get in here little kitty?”

When Layla spotted Ariana coming through the door, a huge wave of relief washed over her tiny cat body. Looking up at her friend with huge round, terrified eyes, she let out a pitiful meow hoping the girl would understand her words. Tears filled her golden eyes realizing Ariana couldn’t process cat speak into words, and she let out another sad meow. If Ari didn’t recognize her how the hell was, she ever going to get out of this? Was she going to be stuck as a cat forever? Maybe she was dreaming. That’s what it had to be right? A dream. That witch...woman or whatever she was at Pandora’s Boxxx surely didn’t have the power to turn people into cats, right? Pushing into Ari, she rubbed her head fiercely against her friend.  

The cat seemed to be particularly attached to Ariana and she wondered when she became the cat whisperer. Moira must have started a trend, but something smelled off about this cat. It was familiar even though she’d never seen this cat before in her life. She examined the cat in her arms, and it sniffed it tentatively. It smelled more like Layla than cat and it seemed like it was trying to talk to her with its meows. For a moment, she kept sniffing and it smelled more like Layla. Realization dawned on her. “Layla?” 

Yes. Sniff me! Never in her life had she wanted to be sniffed more than she did now. If Ariana could figure out that it was her maybe she could help. Continuing to rub against the girl, she began to purr. She felt safe in Ariana’s arms. Nothing could hurt her. Not even the two barking dogs on the floor. It was hearing her name that got more meows out of the orange tabby. She recognized her! Ariana knew that Layla was a cat! Help me! Please help me, Ari! She meowed even more forgetting that her words would not translate.

Ariana was positive that her brain had to be short circuiting. How could Layla be a cat? Okay, the answer to that was fairly obvious. Magic was a thing. But who would turn her into a cat? She knew the girl didn’t exactly make friends during the fidget spinner incident, but a cat? She tried to comfort her friend with a few pets before muttering, “How the fuck are you a cat, Layla?” Maybe Winston could help with this somehow. There had to be a way to turn her back to normal. She couldn’t just be a cat forever. What would happen on the full moon?

Some bitch hit me in the head with a fucking cursed double headed dildo! That’s how the fuck I’m a cat! Help me! Continued meows escaped Layla’s small snout. This was getting ridiculous. Between Indy and Luna barking and the only things coming out of the ginger cat’s lips being meows, she was beginning to get a headache. Could cats get headaches? This one could, and without thinking, she let out a hiss towards the two barking dogs trying to get them to stop making noise. I swear once I get my paws on that witch! She let out a low growl of frustration. 

It was obvious to Ariana that the cat was trying to communicate with her. Outside of general distress, she couldn’t really figure out what Layla was saying. She did know it had to be magic. The dogs wouldn’t stop with the barking, so she commanded, “Sit.” They stayed in their place as she slowly backed away to the bedroom with Layla in her arms. After the door clicked shut, she set Layla down on the bed. “We’re gonna keep you in here to avoid any altercations with the dogs and I’m gonna see if Winston or another spellcaster knows how to fix… well, this.” She gestured to Layla’s cat like form. 

Being out of the room with two ridiculously loud barkers, Layla found relief. However, being out of Ariana’s arms and sitting on a bed that was almost four times as big as she was re-confirmed everything, especially when the wolf mentioned Layla’s new body. Letting out an exasperated sigh, tail swishing back and forth in annoyance, she finally gave up trying to force human words out of her cat like mouth. It was never going to work. She was going to have to rely on motions and gestures, just like one long game of charades, except she was forced to have paws, a tail, and fur 24/7. Making a small circle on the bed, she laid down and pulled her long, orange tail in close to her small cat body. Her eyes went straight to Ariana as she listened to what she had to say.

It was apparent that Layla couldn’t possibly be of much assistance in figuring out what actually happened to her. Ariana couldn’t speak cat and she was sure she’d need a spellcaster to get close to even figuring this one out. She suppressed a groan and paced around the bedroom. The idea of leaving Layla home alone with the dogs wasn’t entirely comforting, but she’d have to. She lowered her gaze and explained, “I’m going to consult a couple of spellcasters. I’ll close you up in here, so the dogs stay away. I’ll be back, though, okay?” She didn’t expect much of an answer outside of a meow she wouldn’t be able to understand, so she gathered her bags and headed out towards Winston’s. 

Ariana was right. All Layla could give her was a meow. The idea of staying home alone with the dogs wasn’t ideal, but at least she’d be safe in here. Or so she thought. As Ari left the room, Layla noticed the door hadn’t clicked shut. She was depending on that click and with the information that the door was still open, she started to yowl and meow loudly, but it didn’t work. Ariana was already out the door. And in all her commotion, she had also drawn the attention of Luna and Indy. Oh shit.

It didn’t take long for the two dogs to come bounding into the room yipping and barking. Indy, Layla hadn’t been too concerned about, but as soon as Luna was through the door, the large dog made a leap onto the bed. FUUUCK! Scurrying off the bed, Layla hit the ground harder than she had expected, feeling a jolt being sent through her body. But she had no time to recover. Running out of the bedroom, she scanned the area as quickly as she could spotting the small window in the bathroom open, and without hesitating, the orange tabby leaped onto the toilet across to the sink back onto the towel rack which had wobbled back and forth, before pushing herself through the window, losing some fur and skin in the process.

With a hard thud to the ground, Layla yipped in pain, but continued running as fast as she could not sure where her feet would take her.

[thebiasrekkers]

Doberman, PT 2 || KWS

Plot: Revenge is always sweet.

Rating: R 18+ // NSFW

Genre: modern day // mafia!au

Pairing: Kim Wonsik x Female OC (Kokia)

Warnings: Strong language, sex, violence, death

Links: FAQ || VIXX Masterlist || Admin L’s AO3 || [ REQUESTS ARE OPEN ]

Word Count: 2,564

AN: For Admin E! I wrote this a while back and now that we have a space for VIXX, I figured I would go ahead and post it! PART 1

© thebiasrekkers (Admin L). All rights reserved. Reposting/modifying our work is prohibited. Translations are not allowed. Plagiarism/stealing is not tolerated by any means. Legal action will be taken in instances of theft.

He reported back that she was dead. 

The boss smiled at his results and laughed, relief overflowing his features. The Hunter didn’t like the news but his neutral face betrayed nothing as he stood there and watched the man laugh like he had just conquered something. The history between the Wolf and the Boss had been spread all through the gang for years now. Even the newest person knew about them. So when it came about that she had betrayed him, they all knew that they couldn’t go against the Head. His anger was overflowing to the point that he was wrecking anyone that dared to approach him.

He had taken up so much of her so when she retaliated, Ravi had to marvel how hurt the Boss seemed. He saw that it was all chalked up to reputation and ego, bruised heavily by her. Personally, he saw it coming but he didn’t step in because she was the only one keeping the whole operation afloat. So when she was betrayed, he just sat back and watched. 

Honestly, he should have helped her then but she had done such a good job of shaking things up herself. And he knew that the proud Wolf didn’t want any help. 

So when she had the hit put out on her, Ravi nearly didn’t take it. Deep down, he didn’t want to harm her when it was completely justified but orders were orders. He took the time off to track her down, every little thing that he sniffed out like the Doberman he was. He was the Hunter, the dog of the Boss that always fixed things. He wasn’t going to give up until he had cornered her, which he did. 

Ravi had finally found her. Her wonderful dark skin, eyes narrowed as they honed in on him. She had sized him up and it sent a thrill through him that he never would have admitted to anyone but her. They threw themselves at each other and after several rounds, he had destroyed her. Over and over again, he topped her and fought with the Wolf until they were both spent. Their talents both at an even playing field until an opportunity had presented itself.

Now, he was paying for that choice. Ravi’s face fought to keep neutral as his Boss gloated over the loss. The loyal dog was now disgusted with himself as another, more compliant woman danced her way over to him. It was as if she had never existed and that made him want to bare his teeth even more. Loyalty was everything to him and to see it disregarded like that--he wanted to kill them both. The Doberman was no longer loyal to its master. The hand that fed him had disturbed him for the last time. 

But he had hoped that he could make things right, for the first fucking time.

He finally tore his eyes away from the sickening couple when the phone buzzed. Ravi stood stock still in his corner as he watched the Boss smash the button out of aggravation. 

“Boss, there’s someone to see you.”

“The fuck? I don’t have anyone here so tell them to get lost or die.”

His boss jerked his head after hanging up on the poor man and he walked over to the door. Ravi waited by the door to see who it was but instead, he heard a couple of gunshots. The sound alarmed the Boss as he stood up, the woman almost falling to the floor. He couldn’t help but grin as he opened the door, letting whomever in. His Wolf waltzed through, a gun in her hand and sporting the most beautiful dress he’d ever seen on her body. 

The color would have put the royal family to shame with how brilliant the purple was on her body. The dark color of her skin accentuated the color and hugged every part of her body that he lavished not too long ago. That night when he had finally cornered her and absolutely fucked her until they had both finally given up on energy. He could feel the heat on the back of his neck as he thought back to her naked body beneath him and the absolute horror of his boss when he realized who he let in.

That was a rush for him just as much as her walking in with that sinful dress. The man sputtered, skin splotchy with red as he tried to form angry words towards the both of them. The door clicked shut with a quiet sound, his hand gently closing the door after the entrance of his Wolf. After locking it, Ravi walked over to the desk and grabbed one of the cigars that the man had been smoking on. Clipping off the end near the neat gold end, he stuck the thing in his mouth and pulled out some long stick matches to light the thing with. Ravi then sat down on the desk, his dark eyes watching her walk up to him. 

“Kokia! He told me you were dead!” 

A smile broke out on her face slowly and growing to the point where her canines were showing. The smoke from the cigar wafted up as he took an inhale, eyes still trained on his former boss. Kokia reached him and pressed her body against his, lifting her hand up to take the cigar from his lips. Her other hand caressed his chest, reaching in to feel the warm skin that was underneath his black silk shirt. Her fingers played with the area where his tattoos were as they ghosted over the taut muscles. Goosebumps peppered his skin where she had been touching it but he knew that if he took his eyes off the disgusting man--then he would try something. 

“Oh, Wonsik…. You told him I was dead? Well, that’s not far off.” She put the cigar in her own mouth, dark red lipstick staining the end of the cigar like a promise. “Well, I am dead. Dead to you.”

Kokia let the smoke ease out of her mouth like tendrils and he never wanted to fuck her more than in that moment. He even had the mind of letting the pig watch as he took the beautiful woman, showing him how it was actually done. He stood up and wrapped an arm around her waist, roughly pulling her to his pelvis to show off how turned on he was at the moment. Her eyes got wide before understanding what he meant, a smirk of his own growing on his own face. 

“Leave before you die.” Kokia spat at the woman, who gathered her things and practically ran out of the door. Ravi reluctantly left the warm spot to lock the door again, making sure that they wouldn’t be disturbed. He heard two quick gunshots and the man yelling in pain. Turning around, he saw that Kokia had shot him in the knees--the man spilling out onto the floor from it. 

“You won’t survive after this! I’ll make sure of it!” Ravi crossed the space in what seemed like seconds to grab the man by the collar and throw him into a chair. He took his own tie and the other’s to secure him to that chair, not that he could walk very far regardless. “And you! If I die, the whole gang will come after you!”

“Shut the fuck up. I don’t work for you anymore and I’ll kill everyone else who decides that Kokia isn’t fit for your job.”

She sat there, perched on her new desk and watched him work as she smoked. He pulled at the man’s hair, yanking his head back as his legs bled before making him look directly at her. She stood up and stalked over, gun in hand before kneeling before the former boss. One hand slid up his thigh before grabbing the man by the balls. 

“This is what I think of your gang.” She put the gun directly on his crotch, moved her hand and shot. He howled in pain, trying to squirm away from her affections. “I’ll make this place my bitch and do it better than you. Oh wait… This isn’t news.”

She laughed as she stood up but the moment she did, Ravi pinned her body to his. He was unchained, unbound and willing to lay at her feet. Grinding himself on her, he bent down to whisper in her ear--a naughty thought that had been running rampant in his mind since she entered. 

“Let’s give him one last show, love.” Nipping at her earlobe, Ravi trailed kissed over her jaw and onto her neck. He sucked on that sweet spot there until there was a visible discoloration from where he left his lips. Her body responded to his as she pulled at him with the same ferocity that he came at her with. But the pout on her face is what stopped him, for the moment. 

“He doesn’t deserve to see my body any longer.”

Ravi immediately took the gun and cigar from her hands before popping the smoking thing in his mouth then popping a bullet into the man’s forehead. He then turned to her, placing his forehead on hers as he blew some of the smoke out downward like a dragon. She grabbed his face and threw the cigar away, hitting the corner before devouring his lips. Ravi growled in response as a hand dived into her front, grabbing one of her tits and massaging it in his large hand. The other hand hiked up her dress, exposing her long legs. She then removed his hand and jumped up into his arms as she attacked his mouth again. 

He held her up easily as he walked to the chair that was previously occupied by the dead man. Kokia, once Ravi had sat down in said chair, looped her legs through the arm rests to get a better position on top of his lap. He watched as she untied the back of her dress, letting her top half fall free of the constricting fabric. Her perky tits bounced only for him and he reached up to give them the attention that they deserve when she smacked his wandering hands away. Her mouth trailed down his neck to the exposed skin, unbuttoning several parts of the shirt. 

“No. You’re gonna sit here and take it.”

He nearly groaned at the sound of her husky voice, completely submissive for her in that moment. Ravi knew that she needed to get that out of her system, needed to have some semblance of control back so she could move on. And if she used him in the process? So be it and he would die a happy man. 

She made quick work of getting his belt off the black slacks he had on, wiggling around to expose what was underneath. A moan slipped out, the friction only making him harder but he obediently kept his hands to the side as she worked. The dress she had on was making it a bit hard to do what she wanted so he actually reached up and ripped the dress, allowing her more freedom to grind against his crotch. Kokia grabbed his face, anger in her eyes but he didn’t waver on that subject. 

“I’ll buy you a better dress but for now, please fuck me.” He almost whimpered to her. Her eyes softened at his low words and took him in her hands, stroking him almost agonizingly slow. Ravi knew that she was going to have her revenge for tearing the dress and he accepted it. He just craved the way she felt, the way that she pressed her body against his. The way that his own body carnally wanted her, in every way that he could think of. He would have been harder even faster had the windows actually had people looking, showing them what all she was doing to a killer like him. 

His beautiful killer.

Once she was satisfied with touching him, Kokia lifted herself up just enough to slide his member in all the way. She took him in slowly, every inch had him panting and eager for more. He tried to lift up his own hips but as powerful as they were, Kokia slammed her own hips down and ground him deeper than before. He gave out a cry, a soft keening sound as he threw his head back. He didn’t see the grin on her face before she did it again, working him up and down. Holding onto his shoulders, she bounced on him--the slickness making sounds in the now quiet room. Aside from their heavy breathing, nothing else could be heard since Kokia went on her rampage earlier. Everyone that would have had a problem with them, were now dead and he was so fucking close to losing his mind as she kept the brutal pace going. 

He couldn’t take it anymore, the proud and deadly killer started to beg. His deep voice took on a whine as he chanted for her to keep going. Harder, faster--Ravi moaned loudly as she moved, arms twitching with the determination of keeping them to the sides. He allowed her to bruise him, to touch him and to drive him so close to the edge that it nearly broke him. She brought him so close, then took it away to watch the absolute dejection on his face. Her skin had taken on a light sheen from the effort of chasing that high with him, one that he would gladly indulge in again if she wanted to . 

Finally, with a quick adjustment, he snapped and his arms wrapped themselves around her. He wanted that fucking friction, pounding up with his hips. He wouldn’t take that moment from her but he would help her along the way. Her own cries of pleasure mixed with his breathy moans as the chair kept bumping into the desk with each movement. Ravi finally grasped her hips and pulled them down so hard as he came up--he saw stars. The final movement had her grasping all around him, clinging to the hardness that was currently inside of her. It was over quickly for Kokia but Ravi had other plans. 

He kept rolling his hips, using her overstimulated clit as a buffer for his own chase. Even having his thumb join in to keep her pleasure going. He was so close to finishing inside of her that every little touch she provided was making his brain foggy. A kiss there, a nip and suck there. This time, it approached them both with a vengeance as it washed over them--his hips stuttering from the effort. 

They clung to each other, both gasping for breath to regulate themselves. Her head landed on his, gently knocking them together. Ravi chuckled, peppering her face with small and sweet kisses. 

“Are you ok, love?” He asked her, eyes shining only for her. She nodded, not wanting to say another word about it. He knew that she was hurting from what happened and needed a release but never saying anything to her unless she spoke first. He let her do things at her own pace and only stepped in when needed. He was her Guardian Devil and a dog he would be...

...For her. 

[unknownentery]

The Yokai Village: Chapter 1 The Encounter

I was walking deep in a forest far away from human civilization. It was quite peaceful and silent as a result. The leaves were blowing very softly and relaxing. It was quite nice considering the bullshit that humans can bring. There were rumors of spirits and monsters living out here, at least in isolated areas far from human civilization. They say that if you encounter one, you will be lucky if you don’t die in the first minute. In fact, you would be insanely lucky if you got to live at all. However, I hardly believe those rumors. I continued to walk for about 2 more hours. It was about 1 PM and I realized that I need to start heading back. However, shortly after turning around I heard something. It sounds like someone walking up behind me. But before I got a chance to turn around, I was being grabbed by someone! I was about ready to scream in panic, but my mouth was almost immediately covered! However, I heard a female voice. “Calm down human, calm down. I am not going to kill you. I am going to take you to my home.” I tried to break free, but I could even get her to budge. “It’s hopeless to resist human, I am much stronger than you,” she said. I just had a feeling of what I was dealing with. “Ok this is not going to work out like this” she said. “So tell you what, I'm going to release, but don’t attempt to run away” She continued. She released me, and I immediately turned around. I got a good look at her, she was beautiful. Her hair was blond and long. Looked somewhat young, and has big breast. However, I notice she has ears of a fox along with a tail. I realized what she was, she was a fox spirit. “I wouldn’t scream if I were you” she said with a sadistic smile. “No human would hear you and would only attract yokai that would want to kill you” She followed up on. “Your a…. Fox Spirit?” I asked. She replied “Yes I am, but don’t be scared. If I wanted to kill you, I would have done so already”. “However, you are coming with me, I can’t let you escape” She said. She has a grin on her face, but why would she want me? She doesn’t want me to escape, but won’t kill me. I should be grateful, but something tells me I am not going to like what she has planned for me. However, before I had a chance to do anything, she grabbed me by the hand and started pulling me as she started to walk. I am shaking with fear, and the fox realized that and said “Relax I am not going to hurt,” Then she said “In fact, how about this, my name is Tamamo! What is your name?” That did not calm me down, it made me even more fearful “Tamamo No Mae” I asked? She replied “No, the one you humans think is evil! My mother named me after the great fox spirit sorceries due to my skills with magic. But again my name is Tamamo, what is your name?” I then say “My name is Zack”. “Zack, that is such a nice name” she replied. Suddenly she hugged me for some reason. Her body was really soft, partly because of her huge breast. It was clear she had no intention of hurting me; moreover, it's clear she even wants to be friends with me. I finally start to relax a little. “Good” Tamamo said as she rubbed me on the back. “We are almost at my village now” she followed up with excitement! I saw the back of a house. It was made of wood, one floor, not very big, and a few windows. Tamamo then said “I have to enter the back of my house so no other yokai see you.” Me and Tamamo enter the back of the house through a glass door. “Welcome to your new home Zack” Tamamo said while hugging me. I assume Yokai would be fairly primitive with technology, but the house had quite a bit of technology I would find in my home. It had lights, a ceiling fan, and freezer. It even had a computer and game system to my surprise. However, the technology was somewhat behind. The oven appears to be powered by charcoal, and judging from the back of the box for one of the games, the graphics on the game system appear to be on par with a N64 just without the shitty textures. “Are you Impressed Zack?” She asked. “More than what I was expecting” I replied. “Good! you must be hungry, why don’t I cook up something for both of us” Tamamo said with excitement. Tamamo opened the freezer and got raw chicken. She put it in the oven. Then she lifted her hand and had her 2 main fingers and thumb about ready to touch each other. Then a small piece of fire suddenly popped up. She chucked it into the oven igniting it. She then turned to me. I still had a bit of uneasiness. I realized that yokai are afraid that if a human finds one of their settlements, they will tell other humans and be hunted. Yet, she basically forced me to come to one of her settlements. Maybe she might hold me for ransom so that if humans find this place, she will use me as a hostage to get the humans to back off. However, that doesn’t make sense as I could still escape and make things worse for this village. Also, I doubt that tactic would work long term. Or other humans could just forget about me and attack anyways and I die. Humans are full of shit sometimes, so that wouldn’t surprise me. However, I also haven’t really seen much of the village anyways. I tried looking out the window next to the front door. However, I couldn’t see much at this angle. Tamamo then said something to me “Go ahead look out the window. Just don’t show too much of your face out there. I moved closer to the window to see what out there. There was a stone road out there. I saw a few other houses that looked similar to this one. But my eyes were glued to the yokai's. I saw a black tengu girl out there. I saw a wolf girl as well and a male oni. There was even a kappa out there. The village appeared to be somewhat large as there were at least a few dozen yokai. “Do you like what you see?” Tamamo said. “Yeah, it's a little interesting,” I replied. Tamamo giggled. Well Dinner is not far from finish. She used her fingers to create another small piece of flame, and she flung it into the oven. “See this is my spiritual power” Tamamo said enthusiastically. “Fanisanting” I said with excitement. “Oh this is nothing compared to my overall powers” Tamamo replied. “Anyways dinner is finally finished” Tamamo said. She brought the cooked chicken over to the table and we both sat down. Tamamo took a leg for herself, and she gave me the other. I took a bite into it, and it tasted better than any chicken made by a human. “It tastes good doesn’t it Zack?” Tamamo asked. “My fox fire that I used to heat the oven went into the food enhancing it taste” she followed up on. We both ate until there was nothing left. At this point it was getting dark. “Come here Zack” Tamamo said by the back door. We both sat down next to each other. Tamamo couldn’t help but leen against me. Tamamo began to tell me something “You know Humans and Yokai aren’t much different from each other despite how we all treat each other. “I don’t know, I can’t use spiritual power like you,” I replied. “Yes you can” Tamamo said! “it’s just really hard for you to learn and you can’t wield it that well” Tamamo followed up on. “Well actually it is possible for you to wield spiritual powers that are on par with yokai; however, the few that achieved that sometimes became yokai simpithers and with a little help became yokai” Tamamo continued. “Who were those humans” I asked? “Pristist, yokai hunters, humans who seek us out and kill us,” Tamamo grimly said. “Many Yokai settlements originated in Asia; however, hunters became so rampant that many moved to other nations like America. We even learned the language and a bit of culture. We were hoping they wouldn't expect to find us here. However, we believe that they might be catching on recently. In the last 5 years we found some pristist getting close to a few settlements. We had to kill them before they told any other priest,” Tamamo continued. “I never knew Yokai and yokai hunters existed,” I told Tamamo. “I’m not surprised by that, it tells us we did a good job hiding,” Tamamo replied. “However, we unfortunately have to kill any humans that come near this village” Tamamo said in remorse. “I might have to kill you Zack,” Tamamo said sadly. I immediately freaked out. Then Tamamo said “However it depends on the offer I am giving you. Zack….. If you want to live you must…. Become a yokai.” my face immediately lit up. “You see I mention it is possible for people with high spiritual power to become a yokai with help from other yokai; however, average humans with little to no spiritual power are near impossible. The survival rate is extremely low, often putting the human in extreme pain before death. I know fox spirits are not the nicest to humans, but we do not put humans through extreme cruelty. However, we don’t like killing humans either” Tamamo explained. I couldn’t believe what I was hearing. This is kind of fucked up. “However, I discovered a way to turn humans into yokai with a guaranteed change of survival. I am a highly skilled fox spirit after all and I don’t want to kill you. I captured you to try it out on you, but I really began to like you. You are full of charm and you are a friend to me. I know this is hard for you, but I really don’t want you to die” Tamamo said, hugging me. I was totally shocked, a part of me wanted to accept, but I don’t know what will be in store for me as a yokai. Then Tamamo said “ You don’t have to accept today or tomorrow, I’ll even give you a week to consider. However, do you trust me, do you like me, are you considering it?”

[gayagendaofficial]

Wait, what’s gay lingo? Like, what does twink, bear, etc. mean?

I AM SO GLAD YOU ASKED!

Before I get into actually defining these terms, I’d like to write about a few things:

So this is probably in reference to this post I made. Not to explain the joke to death, but that’s exactly what I’m about to do. I wanted to make fun of how people who aren’t mlm think they know what mlm terms like “twink” and “bear” mean and how they blatantly use them incorrectly everywhere, because they think they’re funny (bc gay men are a joke, right? //sarcasm), or because it makes them look “woke”. It’s an idea I had for the longest time when I saw something a str8 woman wrote about Zac Efron being a twink, in the present. Like yes, Zac Efron was a twink, past tense, but he is absolutely not a twink anymore (if you can even call a str8 man a twink). And she also implied that being a twink is something you can’t outgrow, which is laughable, because it’s kind of a meme among gay men that being a twink is something you grow out of whether you like it or not.

This mostly seems to be a problem among cishet women, since cishet men tend to be too concerned with their “masculinity” to touch gay culture. But since this is tumblr and virtually none of you are cishet, a lot of the times I’ve seen people misuse these terms on this site were LGBT+ people who weren’t themselves mlm. In those cases, the reasons seem more that these people are just misinformed, and they use these terms because mlm use these terms, and we share a community. Part of it comes from the fact that wlw might see the terms “twink” and “bear” as analogous to “femme” and “butch” respectively, which is not true in the slightest (Butch and femme are their own complex thing. What they actually have in common with twink and bear is that few outside their communities actually know what they mean lol).  Another reason might be that other LGBT people see mlm using these terms sarcastically and think they’re being used in earnest; if an actual gay man calls a bodybuilder a twink, he’s probably being sarcastic, and also probably trying to insult him (which is a whole can of worms I’ll open up in a bit).

I’m gonna try to define what “twink”, “bear”, and a couple of other terms actually mean, as well as give a little bit of context to how they’re used and controversy surrounding these identities within gay spaces, partially based on my experience as a gay man and partially based on casual research. I’m just one gay man, and I’m not an expert in queer studies or anything, so take from that what you will. I hope this will be useful to mlm who are just discovering their identities and exploring their sexuality/gender, who are new to the community, and I also hope to inform our siblings elsewhere in the LGBT community. This info could also be useful to cishet allies, although please be mindful of your intentions in using these terms.

Anywho, lets get to the definitions:

A twink is a young, smooth, slim mlm. The definition here is generally seen as being pretty strict on those 3 criteria, although “twink” is sometimes used for older mlm who are skinny and don’t have much body hair. Those last two criteria are the most important, because there are other categories for mlm that fit one of the criteria; an otter is essentially twink + bodyhair, and there’s a whole host of other words for other body types.

The definition of “bear” is a little more flexible than “twink”, although it generally comes down to the inverses of those same 3 criteria. The most important of these is the bodyhair requirement; any definition you find of bear includes something about being hairy. Almost as important as bodyhair is body type, although “bear” covers a slightly larger range than twink in that regard. Usually, “bear” indicates that someone is large or plus-sized, although it can also sometimes be used to describe someone who is muscular in the sense that they are beefy (if you can see a 6 pack, he’s probably not a bear). It’s also sometimes associated with being slightly older, but that’s not nearly as important, and “bear” can refer to any age. The term “cub” refers to mlm with the same body type as a bear, but who are smooth and young.

Now, let’s get into some misconceptions/controversies surrounding these terms. The first of these is that twink and bear are the only two options, and that all mlm fall into one of these two categories, or that other terms are simply variations on those two main terms. This misconception is really only one held by people who aren’t mlm themselves (or are, but are only just learning the terminology). These terms are extremely specific, and the fact of the matter is that the vast majority of mlm don’t fit into either of these categories. And that’s ok! There are a ton of other words mlm use to describe themselves. I’ve already mentioned “otter” and “cub”; there’s also “jock”, which refers to muscular mlm; “wolf”, which also refers to muscular mlm, but specifically hairy ones (with a bit of overlap with the “beefier bears” I mentioned earlier); the relatively new term “twunk” which you may know from this video as “a combination twink and hunk”; and many many more. In addition, all of these categories are really just physical descriptions of your body, and don’t have any bearing on anything else. You don’t need to fit into any of them.

That being said, there are a number of stereotypes associated with these terms, and it is important to address them.

Our next misconception is one that’s as common among mlm as as it is among everyone else: that twinks are by definition fem, and bears are by definition masc. “Masc” and “fem”, short for masculine and feminine respectively, come with their own host of problems, and that is a can of worms that I am not going to open up right now. This post is long enough as it is. If you want the sparknotes version of the controversy surrounding the masc-fem dichotomy, it basically boils down to misogyny, transphobia, and internalized homophobia. But back to twinks and bears: I would like to assume that it’s obvious that your body type or bodyhair has absolutely no impact  on your personal presentation of gender. There are plenty of fem bears and masc twinks. But unfortunately, most people don’t seem to get this. And this super important, because the gendered way we think of these terms affects everything else I’ll be talking about in the remainder of this post.

My next point, which is really and observation based on my experience in the gay community, is that bear as a term seems to be much less… loaded. However, being a twink myself, there might be a gap in my personal experience, so any bears feel free to correct me. However, from what I’ve seen, “bear” isn’t really used as an insult in the way “twink” is. Which is a bit of a miracle, considering how prevalent fat-shaming is in the gay community. From what I’ve seen, bear isn’t a term that’s forced on you, it’s a term that bears choose for themselves, almost always in a positive way. It’s a term associated with body positivity, and bear communities seem to be much less toxic than the gay community as a whole. Even when it’s used to describe someone else, it’s always a neutral statement of fact. I don’t think I’ve ever seen it used as an insult, or even sarcastically. The worst I’ve seen of it is that it’s used as a porn category, which contributes to the fetishization of fat people; but then again, twink and jock are also porn categories, so it would be weird for bear not to be. This isn’t to suggest that bears are treated better than anyone else in the gay community, if anything they’re treated worse; just that the word “bear” itself has neutral to positive connotations. (Again, any bears correct me on this if you’ve seen it used negatively!)

Twink, on the other hand, is absolutely used as an insult, and frequently. And while this may sometimes be harmless, more often than not it’s really problematic. If you’re plus-sized and you use twink as an insult in the same vein that Nicki Minaj said “fuck the skinny bitches”, that’s completely fine. Twinks are seen as being desirable (if they behave a certain way; more on that later), so effectively it’s punching up instead of punching down. However, a good 95% of the time that “twink” is used as an insult, it really comes from one of the many stereotypes that all essentially boil down to the idea that twinks are fem. And the idea that being fem is inherently bad and insult worthy is, once again, rooted in misogyny, transphobia, and internalized homophobia. 

This association between twinks and femininity also has a lot of scary implications on the beauty standards twinks are held to. I’ve noticed that twinks fill a niche in the gay community that is similar to the role cis women are supposed to fill in western culture as large, and that we’re only seen as sexually valuable if we perform the same behaviors and meet the same beauty standards that are typically reserved for women. We’re bottoms by default, submissive both in and out of the bedroom (yes I actually am a sub bottom, but that’s beside the point). We’re supposed to maintain a completely smooth, hairless appearance; a shaved ass is the bare minimum of hygiene. I once met a guy on grindr who demanded that I be completely hairless everywhere beneath my eyelashes, and while that’s a bit extreme, he was by no means an outlier. Just today I talked to a guy who wanted me hairless between my neck and knees. We’re often seen as vapid and stupid, and infantilization of twinks is rampant (some guys put way too much emphasis on the young part of the definition). And, to cap it all off, there’s the racism! Who’d’a thunk that all forms of oppression are connected? (sarcasm). Twinks can of course be any race, but the ones you’ll see men on grindr going after the most are white or light-skinned Asian twinks. Combine that with stereotypes of Black, Latino, and Middle Eastern men as dominant and aggressive, and you have a whole slew of white supremacist ideas painted over with a thin coat of gay porn.  (mlm of color who’d like to add or correct me on anything, please do so!)

I’ll end this already long post with a comparatively brief discussion on who these terms apply to. Basically, if you’re an mlm and you fit the definition of “twink” or “bear”, congratulations! You’re a twink/bear! “Can bi men use these terms?” Of course! “What about trans men?” Are you attracted to men and male-aligned people? Then of course! That last one might be controversial to some cis gays, and to that I say fuck right off. However, it does get a bit muddier with trans women and transfem nonbinary people and the word twink. Trans women are absolutely not mlm, but many of them have been a part of mlm communities for a long time, often before they even realized they were trans, and some may be reluctant to give up the word twink (I haven’t seen this for bear, although again, lmk if you’ve seen evidence to the contrary). And on top of that, a lot of cis men looking to have sex with trans women conflate trans women and cis twinks. Because remember what I said about twinks filling the niche of women? It’s often a niche they share with trans women, except trans women have it even worse, because they are actually women. My two cents is, if a trans woman wants to refer to herself as a twink, she’s more than welcome to. Just don’t go around calling trans women “twinks” unless they specifically say you can; it’s a gendered term, you are misgendering them, and, once again, you can fuck right off. (trans women also please comment if you want!)

Well, anon, I bet you weren’t expecting a post this long. At least I hope y’all learned something! Be gay do crimes!

[tilltheendwilliwrite]

Warrior Daughter

Chapter Nine

Previous Chapter

Pairing Steve Rogers x Reader  |  Word Count: 3732 Warnings: Language, smexy

Song: Raise Hell by Dorothy

Steve woke with a jolt, his heart racing, and breath coming on short gasps. The dream had been far too vivid, a mixture of his Howling Commando days, Sokovia, and when Y/N had fought the ljå.

Everyone dead or dying, men screaming, his girl crying out for him to save her only to be impaled by that creatures claws. It left him shaken and sweating when he slipped from the massive bed to walk out into the other room where the fire still glowed in its grate.

He was wound up now. Antsy. Usually after something like this he would go for a run or beat the hell out of a few heavy bags, but here he was stuck without an outlet and walked out on the balcony in his shorts.

It was really flipping cold, silence his only company. That and the dual moons of Asgard. Here again, he shook his head in wonder and stared out at the slumbering city. Was it any wonder humanities early ancestors thought Asgardians were gods?

A soft hand landed on his back, but he didn't startle. With how hard his heart had been pounding, he figured he'd wake her but had hoped distance would make a difference.  Apparently not.

“Sorry to wake you,” he said as she slipped beneath his arm to press her naked body to his. “Baby! You can't be out here like that!”

“You're out here like this. Fair is fair, Rogers,” she teased.

“Sweetheart, no one cares if I'm wandering around in my shorts. You haven't got a stitch on. You'll catch your death!” He could already feel the gooseflesh rising on her arms.

“I assure you, sjelevenn. Many a woman would care quite a bit if they found you dressed like this on a moonlit evening,” she snickered. “But yes, I'm freezing my tits off out here. Come inside and tell me about it.”

She took him by the hand and led him inside. Closed the door and took him to bed. He couldn't help but admire her ass as she walked, and let her usher him back into the huge bed where she fussed and plumped pillows and dragged furs up around them after climbing in, scooting into a sitting position, and patting her chest.

“Come tell me all about it, baby.”

Steve chuckled softly but wasn't about to pass up the opportunity to cuddle and wrapped his arms around her waist as he rested his head on her chest. Her fingers ran through his hair, stroking gently, while the opposite hand traced patterns on his shoulder.

“Just a bad dream. Things get jumbled up sometimes. Old mixes with new to make all new nightmares.”

“Do you have them a lot?” she asked.

“Not usually. Not like after the ice.” He'd had them nightly for a while, finding it difficult to relate to this new reality.

She hummed softly. “Don't walk away if it happens again, Stevie. I could feel how upset and terrifying it was. You don't always have to be strong with me. You don't always have to be Cap. If you need just to be Steve and have a cuddle, that's okay too.”

He sighed and relaxed into her soothing touch. “I know, sweetheart. I know.”

“You want to talk about it?”

“Not really.”

“Okay,” she said, smiling as she kissed the top of his head.

“My mom used to do that.”

“Yeah? Back when you were shorter?” she teased.

He chuckled a little. “Bucky used to use me as a leaning post.”

“I bet you were adorable, all grumbly and pouting.”

“Well, I've always seen adorable.”

“And so modest.”

“Hey!”

“I'm just teasing,” she laughed.

He rubbed his whiskers on her in retaliation. “I'm perfectly modest!”

“And so humble!” she giggled.

He yanked her down and rolled on top of her, pinning her to the bed from wrists to thighs with his weight. “Say, Steve is a humble and modest guy.”

She giggled and bit her lip, but shook her head. “Nope.”

“Say it,” he growled menacingly.

“Steve is…”

“A humble and modest guy.”

“Steve is a… man in trouble!” she laughed, flipping him to his back, sending sheets and furs flying. “Now,” she snickered, “what were we talking about? Oh, right. Y/N is the greatest Avenger.”

Steve slowly stretched his arms up, dragging her higher on his chest. Her perfect breasts now dangled inches from his face. “Y/N,” he murmured and flicked his tongue over the nub of one nipple. “Is the greatest,” he licked the other, “Avenger,” he whispered and sucked her into his mouth. The warmth of her pleasure bloomed over his chest and rippled down his spine.

“Steve,” she sighed, her body going soft against his.

He rolled them back over easily. “You’re so pretty like that. All soft and warm and pliant.”

She arched and stretched beneath him, rubbing her silky smooth skin against his. “Steven,” she sighed again, wiggling her hands free of his grasp to slide them down his back and dig her nails in gently.

“Baby,” he purred against her jaw where he was lazily pressing kisses. “Want you again.”

“I always want you, Steve,” she whispered.

“Gonna love you real good, baby girl.” He kissed the corner of her mouth when she whimpered and ran his hand down her side to grab a handful of her ass.

“Big talker. Let’s see you prove it,” she snickered.

He chuckled even as he proved it.

***

“You are sure you do not want us coming with you?” Thor asked for what felt like the hundredth time.

You sighed but patted his arm. “I think it best you don’t. With what Eira had to say, it is better if you let us go alone. Having the King show up may inflame things. Give us a day. Let me make my assessment, then send Sif. I’ll give her my report and let you know if there is anything I need.”

“Well, I am going with you,” Loki stated and crossed his arms like a petulant child.

“No, you are not,” you said through gritted teeth. “I have a plan, Loki. You need to stick to it, and do your part.”

He pouted and turned his face away. “Fine, but if something happens to you, I will never forgive you.”

“Ugagn,” you sighed and punched him in the ribs. “Shut the hell up.”

He grunted, but it wiped the pout from his face when Loki smirked at you. “Be careful, Sváfa.”

“Always.” You nodded your head and turned away to jog down the castle stairs to where the two spiffily groomed and tacked pegasi waited. Bucky looked slightly irked, but it couldn’t be helped. To reach the valley quickly, you had to fly, and as a pegasus could easily take two, he would ride with Eira.

There was something there. At breakfast, the conversation between Bucky and Eira had been a little… chilly, but those were concerns of later, and Bucky was going to have to suck it up. He looked good in his armour though. You wondered if Loki had a hand in picking it out for though it was similar to Steve’s own massive burgundy set, Bucky’s was a blue dark enough to be mistaken for black. While Steve’s was heavily carved with knots and runes, Buck’s had been decorated with the symbol of the clan of Sváfaland, a pegasus rampant, wings spread wide, with a wolf snarling at its feet.

While some people might have looked at that image and assumed the wolf and pegasus did battle, you knew the truth. The wolf faced away from the pegasus. One sought to protect the other, just as Sváfaland had always lived at the foot of the Valkyrjur.

Steve’s lands, the mountains, valleys, and keep had once helped supply the Valkyrie with the things they needed. With the area no longer being inhabited, you wondered if that too had affected things in the Valkyrjur, but you’d kept that question to yourself. Steve’s responsibilities were to Midgard, not Asgard, and you wouldn't have him feeling pressured to assume a role he didn't want.

In full battle dress, Steve looked enormous standing at Hemme’s head. Today his shield had been slung over his back. Loki had produced a harness similar to what Steve wore with his suits at home to allow it to attach to his back. While it wasn’t the electromagnet gauntlet of his current suit, it was still magnetic and kept the shield available but out of the way, and when Steve threw his cloak on overtop, you couldn’t even tell it was there.

Both he and Bucky were scruffily unshaven, and you figured by the time you returned to Earth, they would be sporting beards like Thor.

“Are we ready, Eira?” you asked, noting the slight anxiety on the woman in the trickle of sweat on her neck and the quick beating of her heart.

“Yes, your majesty.” She ran a hand over her steed’s neck. “He’s never flown pillion before.”

You joined her and looked the grey over. Well conditioned with sturdy limbs, a deep girth and heavy flank, you nodded. “He’ll do fine. Bucky’s an old horseman,” you smirked his way when he snorted.

“Was that a dig, dollface?” Bucky asked. He looked intimidating standing there in all his gear.

“And if it was? There’s nothing you can do about it, old man,” you sassed. “Get on the pegasus, Buck.”

He rolled his eyes but stepped up beside Eira to run his hand down the equine’s neck. “Sorry about the weight,” Bucky muttered. “What’s his name?” he asked Eira.

“Røyke. It means smoke in the old tongue,” Eira explained.

“Good choice,” Buck murmured, skirting Røyke’s wing and stepping lightly into the saddle before shifting himself behind it. “C’mon, little girl. Let’s get this show on the road.”

Eira scowled and mounted. “Do not call me that. I am not a child.”

“Sure thing, princess.”

“I will have Røyke buck you into a lake, Sergeant.”

“Children,” you sighed and nodded to Steve already aboard Hemme. Both appeared highly amused by the two bickering behind you.

“C’mon, baby girl.” Steve held out his hand and simply lifted you into the saddle. “Bucky just doesn’t want to admit he’s nervous.”

“Fuck you, Rogers,” Bucky snarled. “I’m not nervous.”

“Then you’d best hold on,” Eira glanced your way and smiled before she turned Røyke and sent him lurching forward. Three hard strides and they were airborne, Bucky scrambling and swearing to maintain his seat.

“Thank you for never doing that to me,” Steve chuckled and held out your helmet.

You smiled at him before putting it on. “You’ve never been dumb enough to piss me off before a ride.”

He laughed and wrapped his arms around your waist, grabbing the heavy leather strap on the front of the saddle for just such a purpose. Hemme gathered himself and pushed into three long strides before his wings caught the wind and you rose up to follow the grey.

Eira wasn’t doing Bucky any favours, and neither was Røyke. The little sides slips and rough wing drags were making for a terrible first flight, and you sent Hemme after them with more speed to hover to her right.

“Eira, you dishonour yourself,” you reprimanded, “and you embarrass your mount.”

Both hung their heads. “Forgive me, your majesty. I will stop.”

“A prank made in jest is one thing, but you must know when to end it.” Bucky was looking a little green, but his colour was returning quickly. “This is Steve and Bucky’s first time to fly over Asgard, and much has changed since last I was here. Maybe you could play tour guide on the way?”

“Of course, Queen Sváfa!” she smiled, her voice carrying on the wind.

“Well done, my queen,” Steve breathed against your throat.

“She’s young yet, and I think… something happened between them last night. They’re at odds today. I can’t have that, Steve.”

“I know, baby. I’ll talk to Buck. You figure out Eira. Are you really okay with this whole Sváfa thing?”

It had been decided you’d revert to your original name. It made for less confusion. Here that was who you were. You were Queen Sváfa reborn, even if Y/N was who lived in your heart.

“Yes. It’s fine. When you’re born Valkyrie, and reborn into those memories, it is easier to shed the old life. Had I been born here, trained, and returned as Sváfa, Y/N would have been easy to put aside with only fourteen or fifteen years in that life. But I lived a life as Y/N. It’s who I am on Earth. Can I put it aside to be Sváfa again? Here? Maybe, I think so. But when we go back to Earth, I want my name back, Steve.”

He held out his hand with the large blue sapphire on it. “And I will be taking this off,” he chuckled.

“I would expect nothing less,” you snickered. “Don’t let Tony see it. He’s already put out you’re a king.”

“Yeah, there’s three of us, and none of them are him!” Steve chuckled.

***

The flight over Asgard was pleasant, Eira a knowledgeable guide, pointing out many of Asgard’s wonders on the way. But when you made the turn to approach the Valkyrjur, you felt it.

The shadow which hung on the mountain. The evil that lived in the heart of the valley.

“Can you feel that?” you asked Steve quietly.

“Yeah,” he murmured. “What the heck is it?”

“Darkness. Evil. Something…” You shook your head. “It’s wretched.”  Something needed to be done and quickly.

“What’s that?” Steve asked. “The long run of green up in the mountains.”

“The Valley of the Pegasi. It’s where the mares stay, and the foals are raised,” you smiled.

Bucky let out a long low whistle. “Damn. That’s a big place.”

The Castle of the Valkyrie rose in the distance, a keep of stones and mortar. Unlike Asgard, it had never been modernized on the exterior. Traditional held sway and the stones were as ancient as the Valkyrjur itself.

“It once housed five thousand Valkyrie,” Eira said. “Now there are only three thousand.”

“Three!” you gasped. “There should never be less than four! And how many are accolades?”

“Four hundred, my queen.”

“And maidens?”

“Three hundred more.”

“Fuck! Twenty-five hundred Valkyrie! That is unacceptable! How many Jegere are there?” you asked.

Eira frowned. “What is… Jegere?”

You stared at her in shock. “The hunters, the seekers! The Valkyrie with the talent for finding those who should be brought to the Valkyrjur.”

“There is no such thing, my queen.”

“That’s not possible! Gundborg herself was chosen! She should know of the Jegere. The temple should know of the Jegere!”

“Y/N,” Steve murmured. “Calm down. You’ll get this sorted out.”

“I thought… people just applied to be one,” Bucky murmured.

“They do,” Eira said. “I was sent by my family because of the circumstances of my birth.”

You shook your head. “Yes, that also happens. Many young girls dream of being Valkyrie, but there are others still who are born for it. They are meant to be Valkyrie. The Jegere would ride once a year to attend the halls of Kings and the longhouse of the Earls, they would stop at every town and every village, search every farm. Always they returned with a girl or two each.”

“It has not been so as far back as I know it,” Eira said. “I don’t even know if my father would know of such a thing.”

“What about, Thor? Or Odin? Wouldn’t it have been weird that it just… stopped?” Bucky asked.

“I don’t know, Buck. These are Valkyrie things. The Jegere never made public what their purpose was. They would find a girl, speak with her parents or her guardian, and return with her. It was an honour to be Valkyrie. To have one descend upon your hall, and then recommend your daughter return with them? No one said no.”

“But… what about the other sjelevenn?” Steve asked. “Shouldn’t the other Valkyrie remember?”

“Gunborg is the only one to be reborn in some time,” Eira murmured. “I know some died in battle, others of advanced years, but no one has returned in centuries.”

“None?” you gasped. “Ragna, Begita, Sarka? Not even Gislaug?” Eira shook her head. “And no new bonds have formed?” She shook her head again. “Not one in a thousand years?” you asked, shocked.

“Not one,” she murmured and looked away.

“Jesus!” you snarled. “Some shit’s gone down, Steven. Some major shit. I’m going to have me some answers, goddammit! Starting with them,” you growled, eyeing the spires of the temple set away from the keep you flew over.

“What’s that?” Bucky asked, pointing past the castle.

You laughed at his amazement. “That, Bucky, is the Hall of Valhalla!”

The magnificent building spread out long behind the castle. Its doors were currently closed but would swing wide later tonight, inviting all the Einherjar to feast within. Two stone wolves stood guard at the entrance, and a stone eagle with wings held aloft curled its talons into the peak of the roof.

“If you think it’s something from the outside, wait till you see the inside!” Eira laughed.

“Alright,” you called to her. “Let’s get this over with. I have a Fullmakt who needs an ass-kicking.”

Circling the holdings of the Valkyrjur a final time, you led the way, descending to land in the stone courtyard where women in white armour stood waiting in row upon row. Girls in blue lined up in front of their sisters.

“How many you think?” you asked Steve, wondering if your estimate was on or not.

“Fifteen hundred at most,” he murmured.

“At most. Fan-fucking-tastic,” you grumbled, the clatter of Hemme’s hooves on stone covering your voice when you landed beside the statue of Freyja.

Instantly there was a rumble of noise, a wave of whispers rippling through the crowd as the similarities between the helm you wore and the one on the statue registered. You swung your leg over Hemme’s neck and jumped to the ground, Steve following suit. Bucky and Eira doing the same.

Shrugging back your cloak, you lifted your chin and took long strides toward the group of waiting women before coming to a halt a few feet away and took the helmet from your head to hold in your hands.

“I am Sváfa, daughter of Tove, rightful Queen of the Valkyrjur. Too long have I been gone, but I am here now. To those of you who have done me the courtesy of being present for my arrival as commanded, I offer my thanks and my gratitude. You do not know me. I do not yet know you. But I am here now to return us, the Elite of Asgard, to the proper order of things. In one hour,” you lifted your hand and parted the group of them, “those Valkyrie to my left will present themselves at the training ground for assessment. In two hours, those of you on my right will do the same. Come prepared to show me your best, sisters. Full battle dress. For those of you who are accolades still, your assessment will be held tomorrow.” You arched a brow, waiting for a response.

“Yes, my queen!” rang a chorus of disjointed voices.

“Excuse me? Did some of you think that was a request?”

“No, my queen,” said a small girl with huge eyes at the front of the group, her awe clear.

“Then what should everyone’s response have been, novate?”

“Yes, my queen!” she shouted loudly.

“Excellent!” you smiled at her. “Dismissed!” you shouted but crooked your finger at the novate who’d showed her courage. “What is your name, little sister.”

“Ilsa, my queen.”

“Ilsa. Do you know where the rest of my Valkyrie are?”

“Waiting in the throne room, my queen.”

“Thank you, child. I hope your bravery today is a reflection of your work tomorrow. Are you assigned to the barns?”

“Yes, milady.” She nodded.

“Then I ask you to take Hemme and Røyke and see them groomed and settled. Hemmelighet will need the large box stall at the end of the barn made ready for his use.”

“Oh, but Valkyrie Gunborg has claimed that stall for Merrion.” She fidgeted a little. “He’s… not exactly the nicest mount.”

You wanted to mutter ‘ornery like his rider’ but kept it to yourself. “Hemme? You think you can bully an interloper out of your stall without destroying the barn?”

He snorted, then lipped Ilsa’s hair.

“Then it’s settled. He’ll kick Merrion out, you get the stall ready, and tell Medina I expect Hemme’s stall to be sparkling.”

“Yes, my queen.” Ilsa took hold of each mount’s reins and led them away, hooves clacking merrily over the stones.

Once she was away, you clenched your hands into fists. “I may kill the Fullmakt.”

“My queen?” Eira gasped.

“If what I think is about to happen happens, I may be left with no choice.” Heaving a heavy sigh, you made to put your helmet back on, stopping when Steve’s hand landed on your shoulder.

“And what’s that?”

“They’re going to fight to keep my throne from me.”

Blessed darkness surrounded you with the helmets return. You were getting better at discerning shapes and colours, but the information from your eyes after so long without was disorienting, and you would need your wits about you for what came next.

“If they come at you, can I act?” Bucky asked.

“If the words Queen’s Challenge haven’t crossed anyone's lips, you do whatever you think necessary, Buck. You too Steve, Eira.”

“And if they do throw out a challenge and someone intervenes?” Steve asked.

You looked up at him, knowing he would see hard eyes without mercy. “Than you put that fancy sword of yours through their heart. No one is allowed to interfere with a Queen’s Challenge. That is still a death sentence, right, Eira?”

Her smile was sharp. “Yes, my queen. That rule is very much still enforced.”

“Excellent!” you smiled wickedly before striding toward the doors. “Let’s go raise a little hell.”

Next Chapter

[bbhoneylt]

IFD2019 bottom louis rec list!

Hey, for international fanworks day here is a bunch of larry fics i’ve read and love! these will all be bottom louis cause i’m a blouis stan and cant read bh, sorry 🤷‍♀️

almost all of these are one shots, they are only chaptered if stated otherwise assume it’s a oneshot

also, all of these are finished 👍😉

Worth Dying For by whoknows (44906- finished)

summary: “You’ve got to be kidding me,” Louis says, leaning back in his chair and crossing his arms over his chest. In the center of the table, a set of three glossy photos stares up at him, mocking him.

“A security detail is non-negotiable, Louis, you know this,” his mum reminds him, tapping the middle photo with two fingers.

Louis doesn’t look back down at the pictures, gesturing towards them wildly, over-dramatically. “This is not a security detail!” he protests. “This is a lanky college student. In what world do you hire someone like this kid to protect me?”

Ain’t No Tellin’ Who’s In Charge Here by whoknows (14562- finished)

summary: The thing about Louis’ and Harry’s dynamic is that while Louis is the instigator of 99% of the foolishness, Harry will always come back at him with something ten times dirtier than whatever Louis had thought up. Of course, Louis can’t let that go, so he does something else, so Harry has to do something else, and then it’s a vicious cycle that continues until one of them makes a plea for a truce.

It’s like that even when they’re at home. Sometimes it’s like that especially while they’re at home, because Louis gets bored easily and Harry is just such an easy target. The point is that the kind of foolishness that Louis is known for doesn’t stop when the cameras stop rolling, so when Louis lets himself into Harry’s bedroom at 5:30 in the morning to annoy Harry into waking up before he goes for a run is completely normal and to be expected.

Except that it turns out not to be so normal.

As Wicked As Anything Could Be by whoknows (21775- finished)

summary: It starts when Louis decides that he wants to lose his cherry and announces that he thinks the best way to do that is by going to a gay club. Naturally, Harry can’t let him go alone, so he tags along and spends the night rating guys with Louis until someone finally catches Louis’s eye.

Harry shoves him out to dance with the guy, and he can already tell that it’s going to be a quick and dirty hook up, so he’s not surprised that Louis and the guy disappear into the bathroom ten minutes later.

It is a surprise when Louis comes out not even two minutes later, pale and clammy, grabs Harry by the hand and drags him right out the door.

Somehow Harry comes to the decision that it would be a good idea for him to be in the room with Louis while Louis gets laid.

It’s a stupid fucking decision.

I Would Follow You (To The Moon And Back) by Dick (20355- finished)

summary: Everyone has baggage, some people sleepwalk, some have obsessive exes, and others turn into anthropomorphic wolf-like monsters that destroy furniture and run rampant in the forest. Perfectly normal.

Or the one where Harry and Louis have been dating for six months, Harry is a werewolf, and it's a full moon. This time they're going to get it right.

Pinkies Never Lie by emma1234 (83615 CH.7/7- finished)

summary: “I just think if we’re both into it and neither of us is looking for something serious, why not?” Harry asks, eyes soft and voice sweet. He pauses and gives Louis a moment or two to answer.

There are countless reasons why Louis shouldn’t agree to this, but in the end, none of them really matter. This will end with Louis in pieces, but he’s been in love with Harry for four years. There was only ever one answer.

“Yeah,” Louis answers finally, hoping his voice sounds normal. “Why not?”

AU in which Louis hates his job and loves Harry, Harry just wants a distraction, everyone else wants them to get their shit together, and Louis learns the hard way that new beginnings are only possible when something ends.

Enter The Rose Garden by angelichl (10387- finished)

summary: Soft heats make omega Louis clingy. Enter alpha Harry.

Sweet Dreams Are Made Of This (29982- finished)

summary: Loosely based on The Wedding Date. Inspired by 27 Dresses. Basically, Fake Boyfriend AU with a twist. Louis' sister is unknowingly getting married to the ex who broke his heart. When faced with the prospect of turning up alone, Louis panics and hires a corporate escort named Harry. General chaos and epic jealousy ensues.

Your Touch Is The Only Thing I Feel (15979- finished)

summary: Liam. Liam was finally here. Louis kept his eyes closed and cuddled farther into Liam’s side, revelling in the pheromones Louis’ body desperately needed. He wasn’t sure how long Liam had been holding him, but Louis figured it had to have been at least an hour by the way his body had loosened. The need of an alpha’s touch seemed to have been temporarily lifted from his mind.

Louis listened to the sounds of the pub around him. It was louder than before he had fallen asleep and he briefly wondered why Liam hadn’t just woken him to go back to their flat.

“Who the fuck are you?”

Louis’ eyes flew open at the sound of Niall’s voice, and the arm that had been around Louis shoulders lifted in the same instant. He missed the warmth immediately.

Louis looked from Niall’s stormy face over to the person who was definitely not Liam. The alpha Liam impersonator, who smelled a lot better than the actual Liam now that Louis was alert, looked back at Louis with wide eyes and familiar furrowed brows.

Or the one where Louis refuses to settle for just any alpha despite intense touch deprivation. Fortunately Harry isn't just any alpha.

Out Of The Wild by jaerie (21502- finished)

summary: Louis has spent most of his life as a wolf in the wild, Harry has spent most of his life as a human in the city. Their worlds collide during the audition process for the hottest new singing competition. What happens next should have expected.

Just my Style by thoughtsickles (15443- finished)

summary: Harry is sick, and the only thing that might help him is the pheromones from his mate--problem is, he hasn't got a mate.

Louis' just been disowned, and taking part in a medical study where he has to cuddle with some strange alpha seems to be his only option for earning a bit of cash.

The hippies and Omega Rights campaigners are busy changing the world--but all Harry wants is a chance to live.

Louis Lucas by theteapirate (67,999 5/5-finished)

https://archiveofourown.org/works/610929/chapters/1100722

summary: Pornstar!AU. Louis is a pornstar with more issues than he can drink away. Harry is a bisexual singer/songwriter who is desperate to be signed to a major label. Zayn and Liam are Louis's long-suffering best friends (who also happen to be pornstars, and also happen to be dating each other). Niall just wants to play his guitar.

Time Out by Speechless (27539 5/5- finished)

https://archiveofourown.org/works/15617757/chapters/36263115

summary: "I'm a mermaid." Louis decides, wrapping his arms around Harry's neck. "You're on holiday. Somewhere tropical, like-"

"No, no-" Harry mutters, leaving what's left of his sandwich on the desk. "You're a fairy." he says, bending down to mouth at his neck.

Louis scoffs.

"I was a fairy last week, Harry." he complains, barely resisting as he gets pushed towards the bed.

"You're my pretty, small, delicate fairy." Harry ignores him, sneaking his hands under Louis' shirt, dragging them up his back. "You're so small." he rambles, as Louis rolls his eyes, hides his smile. "If I'm not careful I might hurt you."

Harry and Louis are perfect for each other.

Everybody knows it.

They know it, their friends know it, everybody knows it.

That's why Zayn, Liam and Niall won't let them get away with breaking up.

No chance in hell.

The flatmates by centao592 (48425 14/14- finished)

https://archiveofourown.org/works/1797769/chapters/3855268

summary: Harry is a cheeky Alpha who vows never to settle down.

Louis is a hurt omega whose Alpha died just before they could bond officially.

Zayn is an artistic Alpha who doesn’t understand privacy, or personal space.

Liam is a curious Beta who is convinced the world is going to end.

And Niall is a drunk Beta who keeps falling asleep randomly without finishing his sentences….he might also suffer from narcolepsy. None of the lads know for sure.

Or

The story where five lads all respond to the same ad about an available flat and move in.