#*wrig

[keekity]

the seven deadly SIMS

gluttony, wrath, greed, sloth, pride, envy, & lust sin incarnates ♪

[chewyhanniebug]

thinking about this again 💔

[gardhoulthehermit]

Here's a goblin ranger I wanted to run, Wrig Fertik.

[thealmightykiwi]

I love dnd and I love dming but ever since I started I haven't really written anything bcs all my creative energy goes into my campaign and I get instant validation from my players enjoying the campaign. And the desire to create weird little ppl goes into characters I play in other campaigns and I get to share those characters with ppl through that and I love it

but also I'm sad that my novel is just laying there unfinished, untouched for years

[skull-ishcloud]

I love how twig and wren when they first kiss they don't even go into a huge conversation of "that means we are boyfriends now?"you'd expect them to. They just go like "We kissed. what about it?". And it's so hilarious that I was already building up my brain because they would go into an awkward relationship they would not talk to each other. I love how it was done, it would be a pain if it turned out to be what I expected.

[teal-fiend]

hard vore pred who got too eager and swallowed down their prey whole accidentally

Now theyre like. Ew ew ew. Why is it still moving, why can i still feel it wrigging in there.... please just digest already.

They freak out when they see their stomach actually move- like the skin shifts as the prey struggles.

they try to clench their belly to squeeze the prey into submission, but it has no effect.

They are too afraid to touch the belly, they dont want to feel the squirming with their hands

So they sit, frozen, confused and mildly upset. As their stomach tries to digest something alive.

Even as the prey starts to move less to none, the pred still doesnt feel great. They have a whole, solid lump in their stomach. It feels stubborn. Hard. Their stomach is gurgling intensely, trying to work on the solid mass but it is not easy. They feel sluggish and bloated.

They complain that they have a belly ache and they feel really heavy, and theyre told that they should have chewed properly then.

[delusionalbitchinthehouse]

In which Omega is still alive, Terzo isn't, and Perpetua is horribly familiar. (Not a resurrected Terzo fic mind you)

It has been a busy week at the Ministry, everyone buzzing with excitement at the prospect of the new Papa finally being properly introduced. "Papa V Perpetua this", "Papa V Perpetua that", the man's name really is on everybody's lips. Omega keeps away from the gossips and pretty much everyone, as always since the third Papa's blood stained centuries old, indifferent stones. As uninterested in this new guy as could be, working quietly in his corner of the infirmary, a hollow shell craddling the crushed remains of a shattered heart.

It isn't real avoidance, simply a lack of any fuck to give. Until one evening, right before supper, when a soft clearing of throat interrupts Omega's endless paperwork filling.

The sight of Copia, even years after, still raises Omega's hackles. His stupid hand-wringing, his stupid awkward stance, his stupid gentle face, his stupid earnestness. Omega can't forgive him for being Terzo's replacement, can't forgive him for being so understanding, can't forgive him for triggering Omega's deeply rooted need to protect, can't forgive him for being anything but unlikeable.

So, naturally, the second Omega looks up above the rim of his glasses, his lips peel back in a snarl, thick fangs catching the dim light. Copia, too used to the sight, only takes a step to the side to reveal the man standing behind him.

"Omega...you weren't at the ceremony. This is Papa V Perpetua. He would simply be in need of a quick check up, after such an intense schedule, so many things to attend-"

Copia's rambling is lost to the ringing in Omega's ears, though. Was the instant the new guy came into view.

Stomach flip- the bad kind. Nausea, creeping up his throat so fast he has to clamp his mouth shut in fear of actually throwing up. Omega pushes up on his feet too quickly, knocking his chair down in the process. His head swims, his vision too.

Papa V Perpetua looks so much like Terzo.

He's not identical, not at all. Much more bedazzled, much taller, much less aloof. But purple robes, black-painted cheeks and equally as dark hair- those are Terzo, were always Terzo in Omega's mind. Somehow, it feels like getting a knife to the guts.

Omega doesn't even have the strenght to be mad that this Papa took Terzo's color, give or take a nuance or two. No, all he can do is stalk out on unsteady legs, shouldering past the two men blocking the doorway, grateful like he never was before for the full face coverage offered by the closed mouth mask Omega never parts with these days. Perpetua's confused, quiet question gets lost in the buzzing still wrigging Omega's eardrums.

Copia catches up to him in a darkened, long deserted hallway. He looks uneasy, eyes straying to the shredded carpets, the clawed open stone floor, the shimmering stains left by unleashed quintessence, all leading to the spell-enforced, unyielding door. Omega vaguely wonders if Copia ever pushed it open - surely now he has the key -, ever checked wether someone scrubbed the floor clean of any trace of Terzo's brutal end. Of course, no one has the power to erase the marks of a creature from hell's despair, so the hallway stayed that way, a visual reminder of the damage a ghoul gone feral can do. It's a miracle Omega never got sent back after this little stunt.

"Omega..."

"Ask Aether," the quint grunts, throat tight. It comes out much weaker than he meant it, almost like a plea. "Or Phantom. Just- I can't."

Copia's eyes are sad- they're always kind of sad, Omega noticed, even when he smiles, but now the line of his mouth follows, and it makes the man look like a sad, wet rat. For once Omega can forgive him how pathetic he looks. He himself feels much the same.

"It's not just me then. He really does look like-"

"Don't," Omega cuts him off. Copia speaking Terzo's name out loud, in here of all places, might just shatter him for good. Copia's mouth snaps shut. His features soften. It's unbearable how obvious the man's affection for Omega is. By all mean, Copia should hate the quint, for how he snarled and spit venom-clad words at him for years, when he didn't outright ignored him. But, no, of course not. For some twisted reason, Copia seems to hold Omega in high regard, to sincerly have some sort of fucked up soft spot for him.

"He should look like you," the quint grits out, eyes on that damned door, "he shouldn't look like-"

Copia's hand instictively makes to reach for Omega, but he has the presence of mind to stop himself before he can actually make contact ; smart man. There is a long silence, one in which Omega's ears finally clear, only to latch onto the choppy sound of Copia's unsteady breathing. It takes a few beats for the man to steel himself.

"I know you hate me, Omega. And I don't blame you. But if you ever...if you ever find yourself in need of anything, I will do my best to help in any way I can."

Omega's teeth grind together. Thing is, he's not even sure he hates Copia. He's not sure of much, these days. He feels so weary, suddenly. Maybe he really is getting too old for this. Maybe getting sent back to the pit after Terzo's death would have been a kindness.

"You and I both know what I need, I'l never have again," Omega answers quietly, shoulders slumping. Copia's eyes fleet to the door again, and he nods, sickeningly understanding.

"Don't stay alone tonight," the man sighs, "i'll go fetch Aether."

With that, as well as one last concerned look, Copia leaves, stranding Omega in painful memories. Slowly, the quint shakes it off, pushing his exhausted body in the direction of the ghouls' wing. He feels drained, down to the marrow, so ready to fall into bed, curl around Alpha's overly warm body and pretend they're not both grief-stricken shadows of what they used to be, clinging to one another in one big shipwreck of a relationship.

Most importantly, Omega doesn't want to think about half smiles, obscenely explicit flirting and soft skin under his unworthy hands.

[bookishtickles]

Hey! I love your Harry Potter fics! I was wondering if you could do a longer one where Sirius decides he wants to test Harry's ticklishness (even though he already knows he is incredibly ticklish). Chaos ensues. If not thats okay to. Thanks!

Hey sooo I know you sent this 3 years ago and I don’t know if you still want this or even remember it, but I’m active again and going through my prompts, and you’re the first one I’m doing!

Also, breaking canon

—

Sirius went up to where Harry’s room was in Grimmauld Place. The 13 year old had just moved in, and he knew Harry would be waking up right about now. He wondered if Harry remembered any of the night before: when Sirius, teasing him, poked him in the belly and heard Harry squeak and claim he’s not ticklish, he was just scared

Little does Harry know, Sirius already knows how ticklish Harry is: he tickled Harry when Harry was just a baby, and remembers how much the baby laughed when Sirius blew on his belly or tickled his ribs

Luckily Harry was already awake, looking at one of his books: Quidditch Through the Ages. When Sirius walked in, Harry grinned brightly

“How was sleeping in your new bed?” Sirius asks, sitting on the bed next to the small boy. Harry said it was good, and then Sirius continued, “By the way, you know I have to test out what I learned last night, right? And see where you’re ticklish and how much.”

Harry’s green eyes widened in an almost comical way. He stammers, “I-I’m not- d-don’t—!”

“If you’re not then you have nothing to worry about!” Sirius says mischievously as he grabs Harry’s foot and scribbles over Harry’s heel and sole

Immediately, Harry’s giggling loudly, wriggling around, trying to free his foot. “Sihihihirius!”

“I thought you said you weren’t ticklish?” Sirius smirked, tickling with more ferocity and Harry’s laugh went up a notch, but not as much as when Sirius went to the toes. Harry yelped, toes curling

“WAHAHAHAIT!”

“For what?” Sirius smirked, eyes gleaming evilly from the poor boy’s sensitivity. He dragged Harry closer to where he was sitting, raking Harry’s pajama top up to his ribs, exposing his belly. But Sirius didn’t immediately jump to his feast on Harry’s tummy, he had other spots to try before digging into his dessert. Sirius instead went to Harry’s knees, spidering them into Harry’s knobbly knees, sitting himself on Harry’s legs

Harry covered his mouth, trying to stifle his laugh, embarrassed and cheeks burning red at this situation. He shook his head no while he squeaked and giggled, but he was so touch starved for so long he didn’t mind this actually. Sirius also noticed Harry took no bother to pull his shirt down and protect his tummy…

Sirius moved up, now sitting on Harry’s waist, fingers lightly moving up Harry’s sides, “You know, I’m starting to get a little hungry.” Sirius said in a low, dangerous growl

Harry’s stomach dropped as his heart simultaneously jumped. He was all too familiar with the “I’m hungry” act from Fred and George

“A-are you?”

“But before I go eat-“ Sirius says and then spiders in Harry’s neck. This was unexpected: Harry’s shoulders scrunch up and so do his hands, trying to push Sirius’ hands away

“AGHAHAHAHA- NAHAHAHA!” Harry laughs loudly, trying to twist away

“And where do you think you’re going?” Sirius chuckles, kneading into Harry’s belly

This got him the best. Harry squeals in laughter, glasses falling down crooked, and now he’s really trying to wriggle away. “EEEEHEHEHEHE!”

“Now, what do we have here?” Sirius growls evilly like he’s only just noticed Harry’s belly as he grabs Harry’s wrists, pinning them down by Harry’s head. “I think this will do for my meal!” He says as he slowly leans down to Harry’s tummy

Harry could feel his heart racing and his belly tremble at the incoming attack, but also secretly excited and even happy that Sirius is making sure he won’t be able to wriggle away, nor push his head away or even try to cover his tummy because with Fred and George, it’s fun, but his instincts to wriggle away take over. But now that won’t matter

“Oh nohohoho,” Harry couldn’t help but squeak out at Sirius

“Oh yes,” Sirius says dangerously and darkly, leaning down to Harry’s belly, and blew

Harry immediately squealed, wrists futilely pulling at Sirius’ hands, and legs kicking but all he could do is throw his head back and squeal in his laughter. Sirius smirks, then leans down and blew again, his sharp, rough beard makes this tickle so much more than when Fred or George does it. Harry pleads, “NOHOHOHO MOOOORE!”

“Alright alright,” Sirius lets him up, but not without chuckling, “I know all your spots now. And I think your tummy may be my breakfast every morning from now on.”

[myattman]

re: my tags:

we back at the bar sipping electric lemonade and waiting for a concert to start

[swordscomic]

Wrigged Fight

[darkficsyouneveraskedfor]

Black Light 9

Warnings: noncon, namecalling, violence, other dark elements. Proceed with caution.

Note:thank you for waiting! Please let me know what you think as it helps me a lot with ideas and I love interacting with you all.

Part of The Club AU

You gape for a moment before you’re certain this is real. You wet your lips with your tongue as you sway nervously in the doorway. You are poorly prepared for company.

“Um, I’m not allowed to have boys in my bedroom,” you say.

August scoffs and stands. His deliberate slowness underlines his size and has your brows popping up your forehead. Oh, he is very big and strong. Of course, you knew that already, you always thought he was built like the Terminator, but it’s very obvious at that moment.

“I’m not a boy,” he growls as he takes a step forward.

You chuckles nervously and drag a foot back as your heart races. The questions bubble up all at once; how did he get in here? Why is he here? And most concerningly, what does he want?

“Sorry, uh, sir, man,” you babble, “I just…” you blink and look around, “I wasn’t expecting–”

You spin and race down the hall, gripping the towel for dear life as it flaps dangerously. You hear him barreling behind you and you let out a shrill cry.

No, no, no. Why is he doing this? You’re a friendly person, all you ever do is be nice to him, so why is lifting you up right now? Why are your feet kicking in the air above the carpet as he drags you backwards?

His thick arm traps you against him, writhing as you fling and arm out trying to grasp onto anything. You whimper as your fingers claw over the pictures of your parents’ many couples’ trips and your annual camping excursions. 

“Why are you doing this? Please…” your hand hooks around the doorframe as he turns into your room, grunting as your head hits his chin, “please, I didn’t do anything.” He yanks you away from the doorway, your fingers bending back painfully. “Please don’t murder me. Please. I don’t wanna be a story on a podcast.”

He turns and flings you so you land on your bed, bouncing jarringly as you barely keep your towel from flying completely open. He stands at the end of the mattress, hands on his hips, looming over you. His eyes narrow as his nostrils flare.

“Alright, well, we can cut a deal, make it fast?” You plea, “I don’t think I can handle torture–”

He rolls his eyes and grabs the middle of his shirt. You flinch as he swoops his shirt over his head and tosses it away. It catches and dangles from your SpiderGwen figure. Good, she doesn’t need to be a witness.

He reaches for you and you shriek. No! You can’t go out like this. You saw too many movies on Jack the Ripper not to put up a fight. You kick out and he swiftly deflects your foot with his elbow. He latches onto the towel and rips it away, leaving you naked and stunned.

You look down and push yourself up, trying to cover yourself as you curl into a ball.

“Hey dude, can I at least die in some clothes?”

He huffs again, giving you that look you get, the one that says ‘stupid little girl’. You furrow your brow as he snakes his hand along the front of his shorts and tweaks a brow. He grabs the bulge there, the one you hadn’t noticed behind the swish fabric.

“Oh,” your head clicks, “ohhhhh…” a cold river flows down your body, “well, that’s flattering but I don’t know if I’m ready–”

He rescinds his hand and shakes his head, muttering under his breath. He goes to your dresser and pulls open the drawer. He sifts through the contents as you watch in confusion. You uncross your arms and put your heels on the bed as you keep an eye on him.

You shimmy towards the foot of the bed slowly, trying not to break his attention. He has two of your belts in hand, the braided white leather and the glittery pink leopard print. You get closer and lower your legs down until your soles are on the floor.

You stand and he spins. You cry out as he just as swiftly strides back to you, grabbing you by the throat. You whimper as he pushes you down to the bed. You wriggle helplessly and touch his wrist.

“I didn’t mean to run into you…” you gurgle.

He snarls, irritation needling between his brows. He runs his hand to your shoulder and flips you over. You yelp and he smacks your ass, hard. You kick your feet and whine.

“Ouch! Okay, look, I agree there's tension here but you're a bit above my age range--”

“Quiet,” he sneers as he grabs your arms and pulls them back behind you, “must you make everything difficult.”

“Uh, I think I have every right– to make–this— difficult,” you try to pull free but he overpowers you easily. He winds the belt around your wrists, tight until your hands throb, and knots it.

He stretches a knee high sock above your head then swoops it around your face, gagging you with it and tying it at the back of your skull. You garble around it, unable to close your mouth fully as it saps the moisture from your tongue. You wiggle, like a snake and he turns you onto your back.

“Now,” he stands before you and hooks his thumbs in the elastic of his shorts, “no more talking.”

[cowboyemeritus]

Il Suo Campione (Copia/Reader)

Chapter Four

Series Masterlist

Summary: You contend with an unexpected visitor. (+18)

Content Warnings: smut, dub-con if you squint really hard

Read on AO3

Notes: last chapter was all plot, no porn. this is all porn, no plot. duality of man.

feedback is always welcome! :)

You freeze, hand on the doorknob.

There’s got to be a rational explanation for this. Maybe Mary came home early? He’s supposed to be at band practice until this evening, and then meet you at work. There’s always the possibility they had to cancel, but knowing those die-hards, that’s unlikely. Mary literally got hit by a bus one time and still showed up.

You always lock the door. It’s a compulsive behavior. But could you have forgotten this time? What were you thinking about when you left?

Stupid fucking Copia!

You have no choice but to confront whoever’s in the apartment. It’s not like you can call the cops. One look at your battered face and bloody knuckles and they��d book you on the spot.

Would Copia bail you out? Does he need — or want — you that badly?

You feel fairly confident that you can fight off one guy, maybe two if you’re mad enough. Throwing caution to the wind, you quietly open the door just enough to slip inside. You try to listen for any kind of noise, any indication that you’re not alone, but there’s nothing. Could you be imagining things after all?

The front hall is clear. Making as little noise as humanly possible, you tiptoe closer to the kitchen, stopping just shy of the threshold. Again, you hear nothing, but mentally prepare yourself for whatever might be in there.

“I thought I told you to rest today, dolcezza.” Copia’s voice startles you, an electric pulse running down your spine. Peering into the kitchen, you find him leaning against the counter, examining the polaroids pinned to the fridge with tacky magnets Mary has collected over the years. He takes one of them, a photo of the two of you at a party last year, and slides it in your direction. In the picture, Mary is clearly hammered, and you’re staring at the camera looking like you want to die.

“Who is this,” Copia asks, leering. “Your boyfriend?” You’re taken aback not only by the question, but by the accusation within it.

“My foster brother,” you reply. “Fucking gross.” Copia quirks an eyebrow, a look of delighted surprise on his face.

“Oh, so she is feeling disobedient and mouthy? Today cannot get any better!” What is his fucking problem?

“Your dad spank you or something?” The words leave your mouth before you can consider their impact. Copia’s face immediately darkens at the mention of his father. There is something almost murderous in his eyes, but you remain steady in your anger towards him.

“What has gotten into you, signorina? It’s not like you to be such a brat.” Indeed it’s not, but he’s asking for it. He’s been asking for it since he toyed with you last night. Balling your fists, you stalk towards him.

“You can’t just show up here. How did you even get in?” Since the beginning of your arrangement with Copia, you and Mary have had a strict rule about not leaving a spare key anywhere. The only copies in existence are yours, his, and the landlord’s.

“Did you think a cheap, piece-of-shit lock like that could keep me out?” He scoffs. “You’re practically inviting people to break in.” There’s a pause. You’re now face to face. “I thought you would be happy to see me.”

“Fuck you.”

Before you can react, your back is pressing into the edge of the counter. Copia has you boxed in, pinning you against the linoleum with his body. He grips your chin roughly, trying to force you to look at him. You intentionally avoid his gaze.

“Be careful now, amore,” he growls. “You are already in enough trouble as it is.”

You could kick Copia’s ass. You should kick his ass. But you’re fucking weak, and the feeling of him against you has your blood racing in all the wrong ways. When he presses into you further, you can feel he’s already hard. You make a sad attempt to wriggle out of his grasp, but you’re only using a fraction of your full strength and he knows it, holding you in place.

He grinds his erection into you. “Tell me you don’t want it.” The words are stuck in your mouth, choking you. Your face heats up, ashamed of how easy you are for him. “That is what I thought.” Without another word Copia kisses you harshly. Though you’ve acquiesced somewhat, you’re still mad and not about to let him walk all over you. When his tongue swipes across your lips, you refuse to let him have access, pursing them just a little tighter. He grunts in frustration. You’re not expecting it when he lightly bites down on the split part of your lip. You gasp, mouth opening slightly, and that’s all the opportunity he needs; he’s halfway down your throat before you can blink. One hand comes up to roughly grab your breast, his fingers digging into the flesh. You squirm, not used to him touching you like this.

It’s not long before Copia is yanking down your sports bra so hard you hear threads snap. Your tits spill forth, bouncing with the force of the action. He tweaks one of your nipples, hard, and you can’t stop the moan that rises out of your throat, burning like bile. With one hand fondling your breast, the other migrates behind you, slinking upwards to finally snake into your hair, still soft and fragrant from his lavish treatment the night previous. His grip tightens and he pulls, wrenching your head back. There’s a pop! as your mouths disconnect. Your scalp stings.

This pain is nothing compared to what you experience in the ring, but it feels entirely new coming from him. There’s a part of you that wants to dwell on this, to let it feed your rage until you explode, but you can’t let that happen. It’s better, you reason, to take what has to give you rather than do something you might sorely regret. Besides, it’s hard to be angry with him when he’s so close. There’s something about his touch, even when it hurts, that sucks all the malice out of you.

You get the sinking feeling that might come back to bite you someday.

Your neck bared to him, Copia immediately begins attacking the exposed flesh, sucking and nipping at it while he grinds his crotch into yours. He ruts against you like a wild animal, the zipper of his suit pants catching your clit just right through your shorts. Something about the pain contrasts the pleasure in a way that amplifies it, and soon enough the dampness between your legs is impossible to ignore. Your knees begin to wobble and Copia releases his grip on your hair, that hand coming to rest on your center back in order to support you. The irony of such a gesture is not lost on you.

Once Copia has seemingly had his fill of humping you, his hands settle on your hips. It takes some effort with you resisting, but eventually he’s able to spin you around and bend you over the counter. The cold surface is a shock against your hardened nipples, and you try to prop yourself up on your forearms to get away from it. A hand finds the back of your neck, though, holding you down.

“You are only making this worse for yourself,” he says, squeezing you like he’s trying to scruff a dog. You hiss, lightly kicking at him in retaliation. “Piccola marmocchia!” Copia smacks your ass hard and you jolt, startled by how the sensation travels directly to your core. His fingers hook into the waistband of your shorts and underwear and he tears them both down, his nails raking across your skin. The garments pool at your feet. Copia then drapes himself over you, his hand moving from your ass cheek to your pussy. Two fingers run across your slit, feeling the considerable wetness there, and he snickers.

“You like being a bad girl, don’t you, dolcezza?” You elect to not dignify that with a response. He doesn’t give you time for it anyway, the digits delving inside your tight heat with an embarrassingly loud squelch. You grit your teeth, trying not to moan as he starts brutally fucking you with his fingers. He palms himself with his unoccupied hand, and when he groans you can feel the rumble in his chest against your back. “Papa’s bad girl…”

As much as you hate to admit it, you are.

Suddenly you become aware of a third finger prodding at your entrance. You’ve never taken that many before. There’s resistance as it slides in, the stretch burning delightfully. Finally you can’t hold back any longer and moan pitifully, your pussy fluttering around the intrusion. Copia continues to pump his fingers in and out, angling them so that he hits the most sensitive spot inside you each time. You’re a writhing, moaning mess beneath him, the slick beginning to drip down your legs.

The feeling of Copia’s thumb tracing the tight ring of your other hole startles you out of your trance. It’s too much. “Don’t,” you growl, using your full strength to rise up off the countertop, craning your neck to glare at him. Copia doesn’t acknowledge your demand, but to your relief he backs off. Still, you remain propped up, carefully monitoring the situation. He rolls his eyes at this, withdrawing his fingers and making a show of spreading them, strings of your slick connecting the digits and snapping as they grow farther apart. He flashes you a shit-eating grin and you have to turn away, humiliated by your own desperation for him.

At long last, you hear the telltale sound of Copia’s belt buckle coming undone. Soon after, the head of his cock, hard and hot, is running through your folds. There’s no time to brace yourself before he bottoms out, fully seating himself inside you with a groan. His hands fly to your hips, pulling you into him. Your mouth opens in a silent scream as he starts moving, fucking into you at a punishing pace. Once he establishes a solid rhythm, one hand snakes around to your front to toy with your clit. Your back arches and you press yourself into him, pounding your fist into the countertop. A string of whispered curses leaves you, and you’re so caught up in the rapid approach of your climax that it takes you a moment to realize Copia is talking to you.

“…Old bastard thinks he can use you against me, that he can take you away if I do not live up to his standards.” Something in your stomach drops with the realization that Nihil knows of your existence. “But — fuck! I will not let that happen.”

For the love of God, never say that to me again.

“You wouldn’t fight for anyone else, would you, dolcezza?” There’s an edge to his voice that tells you it’s not a rhetorical question. It gives you pause. He thrusts hard and deep, punching into your most sensitive spot. You cry out, head dropping. “Answer me.” A part of you knows you shouldn’t say it; you shouldn’t encourage him.

“No,” you pant. “Never.” You hate that it’s the truth. Copia rewards you by drawing his fingers in tighter circles around your clit, and suddenly you’re teetering on the edge of a powerful orgasm. You feel delirious. “Papa, I-“

“Say it again.”

“Never. I’d never-“ You’re cut off by your release. It washes over you like a tidal wave. Copia fucks you through it, your spasming eventually pulling him over the edge as well. He stills with a groan, a rivulet of his spend running down your thigh as he softens inside you. When he finally pulls out, shuffling over to the sink, you silently mourn the loss of his touch. After cleaning himself off he takes a few sheets of paper towel, wets them, and then returns to where you’re still bent over the counter, catching your breath. Without complaint you let him tend to you. Once he’s done you pull up your panties and shorts. Turning to face him, you lean against the counter, crossing your arms.

“Still feeling pissy?” His tone his lighthearted now.

“No,” you answer, unable to meet his gaze. For now, it’s the truth.

“Me neither.” There’s a pause. “Mi dispiace,” he says, reaching out and brushing his thumb lightly across your cheek. “I was too rough. I shouldn’t have brought that meeting here.” You’re about to brush it off, to dismiss his earlier declaration like it was nothing, but then the front door opens.

“Hey,” Mary calls, the sound of his footsteps drawing closer. “We had to end early today. I thought we could get dinner before-“ There’s a horrible silence as he takes in the scene, a myriad of emotions playing across his bony face.

“Hello,” Copia says with a wave. He seems completely unbothered. Mary nods.

“Hi.” He puts on a strained smile, but there is venom in his eyes, especially when he takes in the damage done to your face. “You must be Copia. I’ve heard so much about you.” He saunters over, extending a hand. “Mary Goore.” Copia shakes it, an almost smug look on his face. If you could spontaneously drop dead, now would be the perfect time.

“Piacere, Mr. Goore. I hope you do not mind my dropping in. I was in the area and could not resist seeing your lovely sister.” The way he says it makes the nature of his visit clear. Mary’s eye twitches just a little bit.

“Not at all. Any friend of hers is a friend of mine.”

“Yes, a friend.” There’s another tense silence. “I should really be going.” He steps around Mary, walking himself to the door. “I will be in touch, bellissima. Ciao!” The two of you stand there quietly as he leaves, taking a moment to process what just happened.

“So,” Mary says after the sound of Copia’s footsteps finally fades away. “Dinner?”

[talesfromtheenchantedforest]

The Rules of Courtly Love

as relayed by the King of Love, in a long allegory within a dialogue between a nobleman and a noblewoman where he is mansplaining why she should sleep with him, thank you Andreas Capellanus:

Rule I: "Thou shalt avoid avarice like the deadly pestilence and shalt embrace it's opposite": A strong start. No objections here.

Rule II: "Thou shalt keep thyself chaste for the sake of her whom thou lovest". Look if it weren't self-denying and a little perhaps contradictory it wouldn't be courtly love

Rule III: "Thou shalt not knowingly strive to break up a correct love affair that someone else is engaged in." My affair with your wife is none of your damn business

Rule IV: "Thou shalt not choose for thy love anyone whom a natural sense of shame forbids thee to marry." A real can of worms wrigging around in this one, we'll just fly on by to:

Rule V: "Be mindful completely to avoid falsehood." Good fucking luck with that

Rule VI: "Thou shalt not have many who know of thy love affair." BE COOL

Rule VII: "Being obedient in all things to the commands of ladies, thou shalt ever strive to ally thyself to the service of Love." Do what she tells you, man

Rule VIII: "In giving and receiving love's solaces let modesty ever be present." Lights off, I guess?? Hands behind your back and eyes closed?? Good luck and godspeed

Rule IX: "Thou shalt speak no evil." Snitches get stitches

Rule X: "Thou shalt not be a revealer of love affairs." I SAID, SNITCHES get STITCHES

Rule XI: "Thou shalt be in all things polite and courteous." Sure. Fine. Good advice for us all, I suppose

Rule XII: "In practicing the solaces of love thou shalt not exceed the desires of thy lover." No, I meant it up there, seriously, do what she tells you, man

Anyway what more romantic advice could anyone possibly need? I think this covers all the bases, good luck following your heart and other associated organs in Troyes c. 1170

[imustbesogay]

New fear🔓

I just watched a Starbucks employee wrig out a paper towel into someone else's drink. I wish I had that on camera I would call them out on it or post that tiktok. I get that customers can be rude but you shouldn't do that to someone. When I worked with a customer and they were being rude I would make the crape look kinda ugly and call it a day.

[walkergirlsposts]

https://www.tumblr.com/ioccasionallyknowwords/635916059526971392/one-of-the-most-disturbing-things-about?source=share

When destiel shippers get angry at the wincest shippers because they started to use the wrig tags. Destiel have been doing this for years under the hashtag of dean/jensen and sam/jared

Right? Why TF is destiel in that post?? That's why I give zero fucks when they complain! They've been doing it for YEARS!!!!!

[zimnezelki]

https://youtu.be/-lEd4gHmhW8?si=_iq6zqSMaaR1f2HD

(plz watch the vid I swear it's not weird HAHA) ( happy wrigging day )

thaat was beautifull thank you so soo much 😢