#First Binder Anon

[my-castles-crumbling]

Anon Advice Asks - April 10

Outlet anon, outed anon, snape anon (new), episode anon (new), first binder anon

Outlet anon

My trauma wasn't even that bad.

Why am I so fucked up?

Why can't I believe someone would ever care about me?

Why did the world give up on me before I was old enough to spell my name?

How did I survive myself?

-outlet

Hi <3 I need you to remember that a lot of these thoughts are your brain messing with you. You are not fucked up and your trauma is valid. People DO care, and there are people who believe in you <3 and you WILL survive.

I got 100/100 on the research paper from a few weeks ago!!!!!

COngratulations!!! This is truly impressive. Want to write my papers for me? lol

Hey Cas, Outlet anon here.

I have a bio exam in a couple hours that I'm probably going to fail, but oh well. I gave up on studying two minutes in and I've already used up my medication for today.

'No beta we die like men' but it's my GPA

I'll let you know how it goes <3

-

Hey Cas, Outlet anon here.

I got 98/104!!

HA! PROOF! Sometimes, your brain is lying to you and telling you bad things about yourself that aren;t true. Obviously, you're very smart and capable of hard things. I'm so proud of you!

______

Outed anon

Hello Cas, Its Outed Anon here!

I have a pretty light ask but this is something ive been trying to work out recently.

Basically I have a friend - lets call her A for the record - and she's a really nice person! Like a motherly-ironic type. However, no matter how nice she is, she has actually no filter in what she says. Whatever she thinks she will say. While this is a good thing a problem i (and other friend K) have with her is that she never says nice things like that. For example, we all have a mutual friend who is really into her. Not only romantically but also as a person and he geniuenly cares about her and her opinion. His parents are divorced and he has two sisters so his mom works extra hard to afford the food and everything. Because of that she works late hours and the house isnt messy but its a bit chaotic (it actually is far from being messy but theres just a lot of things happening). But his house is really comfy and its our place to just chill. When he wanred to invite us over for his BIRTHDAY she said she wont come because (in her opinion) his house holds (and here i quote) "bad energy" & its dirty. (Its really not)

Im a pagan so im into witchcraft anf the house was really fine, so im not sure where the comment came from but it was very hurtfull for him.

Another thing is that she really likes helping. Shes the type of person to help a random girl whos crying on the street. Its really sweet but it is a bit annoying. Example: i did my homework badly because i really wanted to be done with it and she asked if she can copy it. I gave it to her but didnt really want to because (as i mentioned) it was done wrong (which she knew about) and because last time i gave her homework she gave it to other people which did made fun of me so i was taken aback. Again as i feared she gave the BADLY done homework to other students in out class. I asked her why did she do it if i asked her last time not to do so and she just said she doesnt thinj she did anything bad. After all she just helped our friends by giving them homework. Except it was mine and i didnt want to share cause IT WAS WRONG.

Yeah so i basically wanted to ask for advice how to gently imply to her that her actions & words are actually hurting people and she doesn't realise it. She also never apologise on her own and when she does say 'sorry' then its only because me or K told her she was rude and she just should admit to that.

Ok this was longer then i expected. Hope your week goes well & youre healthy BYE

(ALSO CHAPTER 11 OF TSATS??? ATE?? I LOVED IT SO MUCH)

Hi! Thank you for the love!

Honestly, this is the type of thing that you have to be honest about. You have to tell your friend that she's hurting people. I mean, you can even show her a version of what you wrote here, or tell her something similar: That you know she's caring and likes to help, but sometimes her actions hurt. I know you're afraid of upsetting her, but the alternative is that she continues to act this way, you continue to get hurt, and your friendship eventually fails. It's okay to be honest with people when they've hurt you <3 Just make sure to sit her down and approach the conversation seriously so she knows you're serious. If she gets angry from there, then it might be a sign to take a step back from the friendship.

Sending love!

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Snape anon (TW: SA mention)

I'm so confused right now.. so I just saw a Pro Snape post and it was about the prank and how the Marauders were wrong and everything right cool,but my problem is the post had "SA is wrong no matter the victim" (which true) and basically the Marauders fans are protecting perpetrators. And I'm confused cause I've never read the books, so I don't know the exact specifics of the prank, but I've never heard anything about SA up until now. Was everyone not talking about this, or is the person who made this post just lying, or maybe I didn't understand the post?? I don't know. Please clarify if you know what's going on here. I'm so confused.

Hi!

Yeah, I like to think I have a pretty good knowledge of canon and the marauders never SA'd anyone, nor did Snape SA anyone. They were all awful to each other in canon, absolutely, but not like that. The main instance in the books that I can think of is that Merope, Voldemort's mother, used love potion to seduce Tom Senior, Voldemort's father, which a lot of people consider SA. But yeah...people can correct me if I'm wrong, but I can't think of anything. I'm wondering if maybe they were making a comparison? Like saying bullying is wrong, no matter the victim, just like SA is wrong, no matter the victim? Which...bullying is wrong, a thousand percent, but comparing it to SA is wild, imo.

Edited to add: okay someone wrote in to remind me that in the fifth book, in the chapter titled "Snape's Worst Memory" when Harry sees James and Sirius bullying Snape, there is a moment when they have him upside-down and they take off his pants with magic. They then threaten to (but Harry never finds out if they actually) take off Snape's underwear. I re-read it to double check. According to wikipedia, which I acknowledge can often be wrong, "Pantsing, also known as depantsing, debagging, dacking, flagging, sharking, and scanting, is the act of pulling down a person's trousers and sometimes underpants, typically as a practical joke or a form of bullying." It also says "Pantsing can be used as a form of bullying and is technically the crime of simple assault." So it looks like legally, pantsing someone is considered a form of simple assault, not SA. At most, if the intentions were different, it sounds like it might be considered sexual harassment.

I have mixed feelings because I'm not a survivor of SA, so I can;t completely understand. So part of me wants to argue that this is not SA, and saying it is minimizes actual instances of SA. BUT given this context, I can see why someone might personally feel like this is SA because it is very exposing. Legal definitions aside, it was a very horrible and violating thing to do, obviously. I'm open to hearing thoughts, but please send them to my DMs, not in the comments here!

___

episode anon

congrats to me ik it isn’t that big of a deal but today i saw the “This episode contains (redacted) and may be upsetting for some readers.” and decided that I should not read the episode at that time.

I always thought that the TWs were for ppl with traumas or severe problems or phobias but today I decided that, yes, this thing upsets me and I probably shouldn't read it at 6:30 am

This IS a big deal! Trigger warnings are for everyone and you did amazing setting a healthy boundary for yourself! Awesome job!

____

first binder anon

hi!

so funny story i’m kinda out to my parents now

not entirely by choice

it’s kinda complicated, but my moms coworker basically used my new name to her (assuming she knew) because i’m friends with her son.

but it went ok enough

my parents were very nice about it, i think my mom was upset that her friend knew before she did and before i told her (which like— im not super happy about either) but like as far as these things go it went pretty well.

my binder hasn’t come yet (it’s supposed to come in 1-2 weeks, i think it was just shipped?) but i’m really excited!

- first binder anon

Hi! I'm so glad your parents reacted okay, but I'm really sorry the decision to come out was taken from you. That's really frustrating, no matter what the result was, and it's okay to feel upset about it.

Keep me updated, I can't wait to hear about the binder!

[sinofwriting]

Claiming - Max Verstappen (Dark Fic)

Words: 2,231 Summary: In a world where F1 drivers can claim someone as a wife while at a race, here is Max’s version. Note(s): DARK FIC, NSFW. Reader is essentially kidnapped. I’d like to thank lovey on Ko-fi for commissioning this. I had a lot of fun writing this and oh boy did it take a turn I wasn’t expecting. Takes place in 2023. Also, once again thank you to 🦢 anon for this idea and all your thoughts! Claiming wouldn’t be a thing without you.

Charles’ Version

Masterlist | Support Me! 

Since a month ago the emotion she’s felt most is confusion. From the moment a security guard and an FIA official escorted her from the grandstands to the Red Bull garage, to Max Verstappen’s drivers room. From him gently grabbing her hand and kissing the back of it, to the conference room where the FIA official explained things to her and god, she felt like she had only heard every three words, to now.

Max is the source of all her confusion, because he is confusing. He’s aggressive and dominant on track. So clearly hates press and events he’s forced to go to. If he likes you, he likes to make you laugh and make sure you’re happy. He’s attentive in a way she didn’t know was possible.

As soon as they were in Monaco after the race, after he claimed her, and she fiddles with the heavy diamond ring on her finger at the thought, he had taken her to the grocery store, claiming that his fridge and pantry were empty since he’d just come home from a triple header. She hadn’t realized then but as they walked through the grocery store he had watched her closely. Watched what shelves she paused at, what brands and items she put in the cart versus the ones she made small faces at. Making a note of them all.

It wasn’t until a few days later when someone came by to drop off groceries and she saw all that all the groceries were things and brands she likes that she started to realized that it’s quietness in the grocery store, him following behind her, hadn’t been him giving her a bit of space, some grace, but rather him making notes of what she likes.

She’s unable to hide anything from him, which is even more confusing, because he doesn’t know her. Had chosen her seemingly on a whim. When she was told why she got taken his driver’s room by the FIA official, she had thought it was some sort of prank, a joke, but as three different binders had been laid out in front of her and proof of everything had been shown to her, had proved that she had been claimed, that she was now married to Max Verstappen the odd, weird, confusing reality had sunk in.

She had honestly figured as she laid awake next to Max that night that she would be just kept at his place for quick relief. Asked to undress and roll or bend over whenever he needed a quick easy fuck along with someone to keep his place clean and cooked meals in the fridge. She hadn’t expected for him to not even touch her like that.

He did however like to look at her like that. Eyes darkening, just a little narrowed as his jaw would sometimes twitch, deep breaths through his nose. But he never touched her like that which made her more confused because he did touch her.

He kissed her hand in greeting, put his hand on her lower back, would sling an arm around her waist, put his arm over her shoulders. He’d make their legs intertwine in bed or practically blanket her with his body when he didn’t have her cuddling into him, head resting on his t-shirt covered chest. Max hadn’t even tried kissing her on the lips despite clearly wanting to with the way he would sometimes stare at them as she talked.

Max Verstappen is confusing.

—

Max knows that he was supposed to claim a wife much sooner than he did. He could have done so the day of his first win, when they pulled him aside and told him that he could. He knows that’s what they wanted. They wanted him to claim a wife, to calm down, to bring a little less negative press to the sport. Luckily it was up to him to decide and there was no way in fucking hell he was claiming a wife. He made that clear in his celebrations with the team and his private words to people about how the FIA could fuck off.

He was also lucky that Red Bull backed his decision. He was their first driver since Mark Webber to get to claim a wife, the youngest in the history of the sport. The FIA couldn’t pressure him into it or punish him for not claiming anyone yet, but they could try and flaunt options for him to choose from. And they did. They did every year at nearly every race until finally the start of the 2022 season happened and there was a number one on his car.

That didn’t mean they stopped during the 2022 season, it was just significantly less than before. And now in 2023, just a few races away from winning his third championship, they hadn’t bothered him at all. The end of Monza marked them never being able to bother him again, he thinks as he watches his wife look at the clothes he had delivered for her. His now three championship trophies somewhat framing her with how she stands in front of the large couch.

They were all in her sizes, some from brands that she already had clothes from and other’s from more luxury brands that he had to be familiar with. She liked the one a lot, her fingers kept going back to the two tops from there, rubbing the fabric. He’ll have to take her to their store after COTA, he muses. The heat in Qatar had been too much for his poor wife and it had even got the better of him.

“Do you like them?” He asks, wrapping his arms around her from behind, relishing in the sharp inhale she gives, the slight sped up breathing.

“I do. They are all really nice.”

He presses a kiss to the top of her head, making a note to not buy her anymore hoodies, or at least buy them for himself and wear them a few times. She had worn so many of his, he figured she’d want one or two of her own, but the hoodie was the only thing her eyes and fingers had not returned to. “Good. I have some jewelry coming for you tomorrow as well.”

“Oh, thank you, Max.”

“Of course, vrouw.” He smirks at the way her body shivers at the Dutch word for wife.

—

It’s been nearly three months since Monza, since Max claimed her, since she became his wife. Which means it’s been three months since the last time she got off, six months since she last had sex. The sex part she can deal with, but she doesn’t think she’s gone this long without masturbating since she learned what it was and started doing it. And it feels like it’s killing her.

Because Max… Max is handsome. She’s seen tweets and things about how Max is ugly and she can’t even begin to comprehend that. He has some of the bluest eyes she’s ever seen, a nice jaw just barely covered with facial hair, slightly pouty lips and god it kills her that she hasn’t kissed them yet, kissed the freckle that rests on his top left lip. He has broad shoulders, strong arms, large hands, fingers that make her thighs press together when they tap against her hips or press into her. And his thighs. Every time she sees them, whether it’s in shorts or boxers, she can feel herself clench around nothing.

Maybe he wouldn’t affect her so much if he didn’t so clearly want her back. But he does. His eyes more and more frequently watching her, want simmering in them. And he’s never been shy about his morning wood, but instead of tilting his hips away from her, scooting away, or just adjusting her so it’s not pressed against her, now he stays. Lets her choose to move away when she feels him against her.

She never moves away, not until they absolutely have to get up.

She’s reached her limit, however. She constantly feels turned on, a warmth always burning inside of her, sometimes getting stoked to burn a little hotter and she fears that if she doesn’t get off in the next few hours she will jump Max. It’s tempting to just get to it, just lay down and fuck herself quickly, but that won’t leave her satisfied. She needs more than one quick orgasm to satisfy herself and she’s in luck because Max is leaving the house, having been invited to a paddle match.

She accepts the kiss on the cheek he gives her, wishing him good luck and then waits by the front door for a few minutes before turning and nearly rushing to the bedroom. Her arms somehow get tangled in her tank top as she pulls it off and her fingers fumble with her pajama pants and underwear as she tries to push them down. It takes longer than she wants, but finally she’s undressed. There’s an urge to fall onto the bed, but she forces it away, forces herself to take a deep breath as she goes to their closet.

Going to one of her shoe boxes, she lifts the lid, breath shaky as her fingers touch the lace of a La Perla balconette. She had never spent more than seventy dollars on a bra before Max, had privately thought people who spent more than a hundred dollars on scraps of lace and fabric were crazy but as she feels this against her fingers, she understands why people spend so much.

Her fingers are surprisingly steady as she puts on the balconette and matching panties. As she looks at herself in the mirror, hands rubbing at the body, her breath catches. She looked good, hot even. The lace against her skin making her blood rush.

She’s nearly back into the bedroom when she spots the shirt that Max had been wearing to sleep in last night. It’s just barely hanging on the edge of the hamper, about to fall on the floor. Before she can stop herself, she snags it and throws it on, breathing in the familiar and nice smell of Max.

Laying on the bed, she runs her hands over her body, eyes fluttering shut as they go under her shirt. Her breath catches as they trail over her stomach, fingers pausing at the waistband of her panties before moving back. They trace over the lace details of her top, breath catching when the tips of her fingers catch on her pebbled nipples. Moaning as she twists and pulls at them lightly, thighs pressing together.

She continues to play with her breasts, enjoying the feel of them and the lace in her hands. Drawing moans and whines from herself as she squeezes them, pinching and twisting her nipples, grazing her nipples with the tip of her finger. She’s aching for more, her panties damp. Her dominant hand leaves her breast, fingers just about to slip into her panties and there’s a hand clamping around her wrist.

Her eyes fly open, a gasp leaving her. “Max.” Her other hand drops away from her breast.

His grip on her wrist tightens, eyes darker than she’s ever seen them. Her name comes out in a near growl.

Her tongue darts out, swiping across her bottom lip and Max’s eyes fall to them at the motion and she breaks. “Please. Max, please.”

“Please what?”

She takes a shaky breath, “Touch me, kiss me. Please, Max.”

It’s like she blinks and he’s on top of her, his hand no longer gripping her wrist but instead gripping at her hip as he kisses her. She moans at the roughness of it, not even noticing him adjusting her until he’s fully in between her legs, one of them hitched around his waist. She only notices when he grinds their hips together, the friction making her break the kiss, panting as her fingers rake over his back.

“Max. Please.”

“What vrouw? Am I not kissing you?” He presses a kiss to her neck, over the flutter of her pulse. “Touching you?” He rolls his hips into hers.

She throws her head back at the contact. “I want,” a whine leaves her as he dips his head, running his tongue over her still lace covered nipple. “Fuck, Max.”

His hand still gripping her at her hip tightens its hold and she hopes he leaves bruises. “What do you want?”

“I want,” She nearly loses her train of thought again when grinds into her again. “Want you to fuck me. Please, Max, want you so bad.”

He groans, head resting on her chest as he gives a slightly stuttered thrust.

The slight loss of control makes her moan, her other leg moving to wrap around him, encouraging him to grind against her. She wants him. She wants him to touch her everywhere, not leave a single place that hasn’t felt his touch. She wants to feel his breath against her lips, his teeth sinking into her skin. She wants the press of bruises as he holds her tighter than maybe he should. She wants him sinking into her over and over again even though she hasn’t felt it once yet. She wants and wants and she doesn’t think that doing this once, twice, a hundred, a thousand times, will satisfy that want.

[azsazz]

Over Ice

Hockey!Rhysand x Reader

Summary: Anon Req: I think we could really have fun with the different courts and Illyrian values on a thematic basis but ALSO if the reader is in something very artsy and hasn’t really been into sports and then she’s walking around Campus and BOOM right smack dab into Broody McBrooder!! She THEN finds out he’s the tutor for one of her hardest courses (personally Psych would be a good one) and they become super duper close with him and the team!!! She decides to wear Cass’ jersey to make him mad and when he finally gets a hold of her after the game: *cue innocent shrug* he asked me to!

Warnings: None.

Word Count: 3032

Notes: While I work on a plot for an azzy hockey x figure skater au, please enjoy a rhys hockey au 🤪

This was originally an Az idea but I thought it fit better for Rhys bby so here we are. I feel like I've forgotten how to write and this is shit (dont judge me im going thru smthin rn)

_________________________________________

A giant FU stares up at you.

Well, actually, it’s only an F, but it may as well be the former with the way it’s circled in thick, red ink.

Three. Fucking. Times.

Tears sting the back of your eyes but you refuse to let them fall. It never feels good, failing, and even if you’d gotten a C+ like you hoped, you would’ve still beaten yourself up over the grade because plain and simple: that’s who you are.

Two months ago, at the beginning of the semester, psychology had seemed like a breeze. The lectures were easy to listen to and intriguing, and you had no trouble following along with the professors’ slideshows as you took detailed notes of everything on the screen. Your assigned readings were completed in a similar state, though they weren’t graded but included important information you’d find on the tests.

Somewhere along the line, your grade slipped, and you don’t remember if it had been between studying for Biology or reveling in your newfound freedom away from your parents, partying and enjoying a true college experience with your roommates.

Whatever happened, the repercussions are hitting you right in the face, the taunting letter you have never seen before on any of your assignments throughout all your years of learning.

If your parents saw this, they would bring the entire house down with their scolding.

It’s not like you didn’t try. You studied, even if the word is a loose term for what material you used. Things started piling up this month, with it being a new semester and all. You didn’t schedule out the time to focus on psychology when the classes you were really interested in—Introduction to Nutrition and Kinesiology—took first and second place for your attention. Plus, with the number of social events your best friends—who are also conveniently your roommates—invited you too, it was almost impossible to say no. Friends are a vital part of the college experience and you were in desperate need of some fun after having spent the summer lounging at home with your parents.

You found a psych support group that met at the library once a week to study together. It wasn’t anything like you thought it would be, a bunch of clueless students with grades similar to yours. All they seemed to want to do with your precious time was bitch and moan about the professor instead of actually trying to conquer the areas of study for the upcoming test.

And now the consequences of your actions have made themselves known.

Grumbling, you shove the test into your binder before shutting it with a snap that does nothing to ease your frustration. A few students still trail from the room, though most bolted right after being released. Some linger at the bottom of the lecture hall where the professor sits, answering their questions.

You have about a million-and-one of your own but you’re too worked up about your grade to go down there and hash it out with Mr. Hybern. His peppery colored hair is perfectly coiffed on this terrible day, his beard trimmed close to his jowls. His gleaming, golden skin makes you think that maybe he’d spent his weekend grading tests out in the sun, and you have half a mind to stomp your way down the stairs and demand a second review of your test.

It wouldn’t solve your irritation, and it would certainly be embarrassing if in fact your F is correct.

Placing your binder, notebook, and pens back into your bag, you zip it, sling it over your shoulder, and make your way to the exit, holding your chin high because if there’s one thing you’re not going to do, is cry over your terrible, awful grade in public.

The waterworks will just have to wait until you’re locked in your private bedroom in your shared dorm.

There is good news. It’s Friday, which means you can snag the pint of your favorite ice cream that your roommates won’t dare touch because ‘no ice cream that’s worth it should have fruit in it, that’s like asking for a steak on your spaghetti.’ You have no idea what Mor—one of your roommates—was on about when she brought up the awful comparison, and in reply all you’d done is scooped out a chunk of cherries embedded into the creamy, pink goodness and stuffed it into your mouth.

With it being the weekend, you can also wallow well into the night without having to worry about hiding your puffy eyes in the morning. You’ll have all day tomorrow to figure out a plan of action, once you allow yourself the time to properly grieve and process…and maybe have a drink or two.

You shoulder through the heavy lecture hall door with your head down, hiding the red stain to your cheeks. So, maybe you’re not going to hold you head high as you trail back to your dorm, but you will not cry.

The door swings open and you barely catch the noise of surprise before you’re barreling into something that’s akin to a brick wall. Your breath leaves your body in a whoosh and your balance slips out from under you, arms flailing as you fall.

You squeeze your eyes shut, bracing for impact, but it never comes.

Slowly, mortified because you know exactly what’s cushioned your fall, you peek your eyes open, carefully meeting a sapphire gaze that surely would take your breath away should you have any left.

This close, you can see the perfection of his angular features: a long, straight nose, high cheekbones under the dusting of pink that caresses his own face. His lashes are dark as charcoal, the same color of his hair that looks as soft as silk.

Whatever it is that has you entranced by his beauty, the sentiment seems to be mutual. Those bright eyes trace across your features, carefully drinking you in. You don’t know if you’re thankful that your face is already as red as the marker on your test or if you want him to see the way your cheeks go molten.

There’s a warmth against your hips that you don’t notice until he speaks, his hands that have a solid grip around you, keeping you steady to his chest. His whispered breath brushes across your lips. “By all means,” he teases softly, “Take your time.”

“Oh, my Gods, I am so sorry,” you squeak, rolling off his chest. You can hear his chuckling as you scramble to climb to your feet, but your knees are so weak at the sight—and touch—of the most handsome man you’ve ever seen lifting gracefully to his feet, holding a hand down to help you up.

You try not to notice just how big his hand is in yours, and for the second time today, you fail.

“Don’t worry about it, darling,” he says, displaying an easy grin that makes your heart stutter in your chest. The door opens with a loud click and the both of you startle. His hand comes down warmly on your spine, ushering you out of the way of the student that’s beaming grin falters into apology at the idea of almost running you down, already on the phone with someone and gushing over their test result.

It’s hard to reign in your glare.

The student’s conversation seems to jolt the man out of his stupor. He blinks, shaking his head as if to rid him of a spell you might have cast on him, or maybe he’s testing to see if he has a concussion from the fall.

When he returns his attention to you, it takes everything in your power not to melt into a puddle beneath that gaze.

“Is Mr. H still passing out tests?” he asks, and you swallow the sourness that accompanies the name of your professor. You and he are not on good terms right now, not that this boy knows that.

“Yeah,” you answer, remembering you saw him sitting on his throne (desk chair) with his loyal citizens (students) kissing his feet (talking through their tests). “I think so.” Then, because you’re pretty sure you would remember a face like his if he were in your lecture, you ask, “Are you in this class?”

“No,” he answers with a scoff that tells you he breezed by this class. “I took Psych 101 freshman year, but I have Professor Hybern again for Cognitive Psychology and I need to turn in my paper early.”

Turning in a paper early? What is he, some kind of genius?

“Oh,” you answer lamely, “Cool.”

His answering grin cracks open the casing of the butterflies you didn’t know were living in your stomach, taking off in a flurry of emotion.

He shrugs like he couldn’t really care less about any of it, but to you, the fact that he’s managed to pass Psych 101 at all is an impressive feat, though you don’t know why he’d sign up for even more torture. “Sure. Look, I’ve got to run, but are you sure you’re okay?”

It’s nice of him to ask if you’re okay when he’s the one who had his back painted to the floor only moments ago. “Yeah, I’m fine, but I should be the one asking you that. Are you okay?”

His laughter is rich and warm, and you want to melt into it. Before you have the chance to make even more a fool of yourself in front of this handsome stranger, he answers. “I’ve been checked harder, darling. You have a nice day now.”

“Thanks, you too,” your words trail off as he catches the door on its next outswing, ducking inside without waiting for your response.

Jeeze, he must really be in a rush, then.

It’s when you exit the doors to the psychology building that you curse yourself. You should’ve gotten his number, his name at least. You could’ve invited him over for something more distracting and yummier than the ice cream you’d planned on demolishing.

At least you have something better to think about tonight than your test.

With a heavy sigh, you allow your backpack to fall off your shoulder. Now that you’ve arrived back to your dorm, you’re suddenly feeling more exhausted than ever.

The walk home from class had been nice, your time spent thinking about the boy you’d run into. The broadness of his shoulders you didn’t seem to notice until he turned away, stretching wide beneath his tight t-shirt. The bulge of his biceps beneath said t-shirt, flexing as he pulled the door open for himself. The shape of his ass in those snug jeans.

The sight of that is what had your eyes nearly popping from your head. What’s he doing that gives him such a bubblicious ass? Squats? Lunges? You can do those. You choose not to, but if there’s a guarantee that you’d have an ass like that, you’d start right this second.

Tucking your lip into your mouth in concentration, you plant your hands on your hips, making your way to the refrigerator that your ice cream is housed in, lunging your way there.

It’s not that far, the communal space in your shared dorm is small, but your heartrate is elevated by the time you’re two lunges away from your prize: your ice cream.

“What the hell are you doing?”

“Mother!” You shout as the voice of your roommate breaks your concentration. Your knees wobble and your thighs shake, unable to hold you up from the burst of exertion you used. You clearly need to get into the gym more, another thing to add to your already busy schedule. “You scared me!”

Mor rolls her chocolate-brown eyes, sliding into one of the stools at your counter. It’s not built for it, the laminate countertop doesn’t hang over the island far enough for your legs to fit, but you and your roommates thought they were cute, nonetheless. You can suffer having to hunch over your knees to reach your cereal bowls in the mornings in favor of having more space for company to sit.

When you haul yourself off the ground, you take in your roommate. She’s wearing some kind of jersey, one you’ve never even seen in her wardrobe before, and you probably spend more time in there than her because she has every item of clothing you could ever imagine. The top she’s wearing now totally clashes with everything that screams Mor: silk scarves, tight bodice tops, leather pants, and what she has on now isn’t even red, a color that’s a staple in her closet.

“Well, if you were paying attention,” she scolds playfully, flipping open the compact in her hand, checking her makeup in the tiny mirror. She makes a few faces that would make you chuckle if you didn’t notice how she looks like she’s ready to go out, and that means she’s going to try to drag you with. “You would’ve heard me walk into the room. I am wearing heels, you know.”

Of course you know. Mor doesn’t do sneakers, only when it’s five in the morning and the sun is still sleeping, the perfect time for working out where nobody will catch her. Maybe I should join her, you think, mind wandering back to that boy’s butt.

“Why are your cheeks all red?” She asks, planting her palms on the counter and leaning towards you, eyes narrowed in inquisition.

“Nothing,” you wave her off, reaching for the door to the freezer. It’s the last thing between you and the cherry chunk ice cream calling your name.

Before you can open it more than an inch, it slams closed, Mor’s sharp, bright red fingernails splayed out to stop you.

Damnit, how does she move so silently?

“What do you think you’re doing?” You question each other at the same time, biting back your smiles at the mistake.

She answers first. “Why do you look like you’re about to get the ice cream, put your pajamas on, and wallow in bed all night?”

“Because that’s exactly what I’m going to do,” you cross your arms over your chest defiantly. “So, if you’ll excuse me…” You trail off, hoping she’ll step away and leave you to your peace.

She doesn’t. That’s not Mor.

“I had a rough day!”

“You say that every day,” she whines, stomping her heel-clad foot. “Don’t you even want to know what I’m inviting you to tonight?”

“From the look of your clothes, no, I don’t want to know what you’re doing tonight, Mor, and no, I don’t want to join you, either.”

Your roommate scrunches her nose, tipping it towards the ceiling. “I’ll have you know that this outfit is cute.”

“Yeah, if the definition of cute changed to ‘not pleasing or appealing to look at.’”

“You take that back,” Mor shouts, full naming you.

As your lips part in apology, because that was rude of you, your other roommate pads out of her room. Her reading glasses are perched up on her nose, blue eyes round and wide, and it always looks like she’s looking around the room in wonder. She has a blanket thrown over her shoulders and looks every bit of cozy you wish you were.

“Gwyn,” you sigh in relief at the sight of her. “Please, help.”

“I already said no,” she offers you a sympathetic wince. “I don’t think there’s any getting you out of the hockey game, sorry babe.”

Now it’s your jaw that falls to the floor. No, it falls through the floor and about five more floors down, hitting the lobby with a crack that echoes through the building.

You whirl on Mor. “Hockey game? Since when have you been interested in hockey?”

“Since my cousin got named team captain this year,” she says smugly, and you don’t know why she’s acting vain, it just means that he’s captain of the douchebags now, even you know that. Mor turns, showing off the back of her jersey. The number one stands out like a beacon, and you brush her blonde hair over her shoulder to read the smaller patches spelling out what is in fact, her family name.

Cunningham.

“Think of all the parties we’ll get into,” she says over her shoulder, and she does have a point there. The athletes at your college are a group of students that you don’t ever interact with, nor do you care. Mor is all about connections though, and if she wants to go to the hockey game, then it looks like you’re going with her.

You wonder what excuse Gwyn used to get out of it. She looks mighty comfy right now, slinking over the plop down on the couch and turn on a movie.

“Why do we have to go to the game? Can’t we just go to the parties?” You ask, grasping for anything to get out of this. You don’t want to go sit in the cold arena and watch a bunch of guys wearing full-body padding slide up and down the ice. Why couldn’t her cousin have been on the baseball team? They have nice, tight uniforms.

“Because,” Mor emphasizes with a glare, spinning to face you once more to give you the full effect of her irritation. “I’m a good cousin, and if we don’t attend the games, we’re going to be blacklisted from the parties,” she grumbles, the fight leaving her a little bit. “I’ve already argued about it with Rhys, I don’t want to have to argue with you too.”

It’s with your sigh that Mor brightens. “Fine. I’ll come with you, but I’m not going to be happy about it. And don’t expect me to cheer.”

Her squeal pierces the sound barrier. What the fuck have you gotten yourself into?

Mor grabs your hand, dragging you towards the empty single room that’s left in your dorm. She uses it as an extension of her closet until someone else gets placed with you. So far, you’ve been lucky, living here since freshman year, just the three of you. “Great! I got you a shirt!”

_________________________________________

Over Ice Taglist:

[discomxcabre]

hello hello! i’ve asked a few other writers this one but no ones responded… but.. t4t tmasc vik x tmasc reader scissoring/thing humping? idk it’s been on my mind for waaay too long and i just need to get it out 😔

anyways have a great day/night! xoxo 🤍🤍

we under the stars // my thighs between your thighs

viktor x transmasc reader (t4t)

cw: thigh humping, drunk fucking, making out, semi-clothed fucking, reader wears a binder, crying (both vik and reader), slightly dom!reader but you both end up a wet mess at the end už nemůžu = i can't anymore in czech summary: viktor gets needy after some shots of vodka, so you both leave the party for a couple minutes note: you wanted t4t humping you get t4t humping, anon. btw the title is not a song lyric (or maybe it will be for a song in the rockstar fic but idk). also this takes place in the xix century house from my other drabble if you squint !! (wow this is longer (and wetter) than i planned)

 art by nikkontrast on ig, edited by me

Bass music from the speakers made the floor bounce. You watched people partying as you rested on the couch. Some danced, some leaned on the walls and talked, some were sitting alone. The mirrorball reflected the lights onto the hundred-year-old ceiling paintings, that showed oranges and olive branches. Viktor was beside you. He took another shot of vodka, then you tasted the first sip of your drink.

Three songs later Viktor hugged you closer. Almost sitting on your lap. His palm laid on your chest, other hand wrapping around you. His warm, drunken breath hit your skin.

You slid your hand in his hair. Viktor whined. You felt as he tugs on your tie.

“Miláčku…” His pupils widened and his pale cheeks were all red. He shifted his gaze to your crotch.

“Hm?”

“Can we go for a couple minutes?” With the other hand, he squeezed your thigh.

“Of course, Viki.” You smirked, then looked at all the people. They’ll be alright left for ten minutes without their hosts. You handed him his cane.

You went to the elevator. Viktor’s free hand tried to reach the button, but he missed, instead tapping the tile. Oh, how drunk he was. Instead, you pressed the button, picking the highest floor – the observatory.

Usually when taking it, Viktor studied the mechanisms of the elevator, never getting bored of its gears and screws. But right now, he was studying only you. Eyes set on your face, observing you sipping from the glass, hand touching your fingers as he leaned his chin on your shoulder. You grabbed him closer by his tiny waist and laid him on your chest. His chapped lips frowned as he let out a high-pitched whimper. Viktor’s warm breath tasted of pure Czech vodka. All of his body was heated. He slid his crotch between your slightly bent knee.

“Be patient.” You laughed, putting your hand on his hip. “All in the lab, okay?"

You pulled him slightly away. Viktor whined, pursing his lips. That was him, your genius boyfriend, known for his composedness and competence.

He hugged your arm and you put your hand on his thigh, your thumb rubbing his skin through the material of his trousers, so close to the crotch. This might’ve been cruel, but why not tease him a bit?

The observatory-lab was quiet, except the muffled sound of music on the first floor, sounds of the road nearby and breaths of the two of you.

You barely closed the door and Viktor started unbuttoning your shirt. You grabbed his hip with your free hand and watched as your brilliant scientist’s face fills with desperation. Pupils widened and skillful engineering hands tinkering with your buttons like with a new project. After taking the last sip of your drink, you grabbed him with the other hand.

You sat on the lab couch and pulled Viktor to straddle your thigh. He thrusted his hips on the clothed material.

Your finger slid through his chapped lips. Viktor whimpered with a half open mouth.

“Miláčku… Please.”

“Viktor, sweetie, you will get my pants dirty.”

You rubbed the button on his pants like it was his clit, teasing the metal with circling touches. The contact he did not even feel made him rock his hips into you, whining. You unbuttoned his pants, exposing his boxers. Smell of his wetness brushed your nose.

“Hah—please… Touch me.” Viktor breathed onto your cheeks. He licked your lower lip. One of his hands laid on your binder, while the other gripped your shoulder, like it was begging.

You ran your finger across his crotch, slightly feeling the wetness inside. “Shift a bit, so I can undress you first.”

Viktor shifted so you could take off his leg brace. With every buckle you slightly rubbed his thigh. You made him so wet you would get your pants dirty anyway.

The metal brace hit the floor. You slid down his pants and threw them on the tiles. Then you took him off your lap and undressed yourself from yours.

Viktor took his cane it in both arms. With its help he pinned your torso to the couch and started straddling your thigh.

You made him so wet – with every rock of his hips, he made a watery sound through his soaked boxers. The white material turned gray from the juices. You could feel his clit pulsating under them. His back arched and you pained that he was wearing that shirt, with no mirror behind him, which prevented you from seeing his back. Adam’s apple sticked out from his skinny neck, and his dark hair hung down like willow branches.

The cane, with a bit of your help, fell on the floor.

You smiled lazily, letting him hump you through his boxers, savoring the feeling of their soaked material on your bare skin. You knew he will leave a puddle on you but you let him hump you. His inner brace scratched you, but you didn’t care. Enjoying the show he put on for you, you laid your hands behind your head. Viktor didn’t even try to suppress his lovely moans.

And fuck. Ethanol finally conquered your system.

Viktor took off his boxers and continued humping you, now letting you feel how much he was soaking. The wetness got smeared all over your thigh. His dark bush was tickling you, and its hair was damp from his juices. His trembling clit warmed your skin.

You took off your underwear. He indulged in humping you, but you still barely felt anything from him. You craved his delicate skin under your touch.

“Please- …please, come closer, Viki.” You whispered, putting your hands on his waist, covered by his shirt and back brace. “I can barely feel you.”

You pulled him lightly, then shifted your hand from his waist to his thigh, putting it on your crotch. Finally, you got to feel his soft skin on your sensitive spot. The contact made you let out a breath. Your head landed on the cushion, hanging limp.

“That’s it, Viktor. That’s my boy.” You groaned. It felt hard, but you landed your gaze on him with eyes half open. “Come here.”

You reached out your arm to his tie. You pulled on it and Viktor muffled his squeal. Drawing him closer, your hand laid on his bony back. He positioned himself on his hands.

His face, now flushed with bloody redness and desperation, was so close to yours.

You hooked your free leg on his hips. By that you opened your sensitive spots. Friction from Viktor’s bony thigh made you moan gutturally.

You pulled him down to your lips. His lower lip, was so soft, while you were nibbling it. His saliva merged with yours. Viktor tasted heavenly, of sugary moans and Czech alcohol. Pleasuring you with his thigh on your crotch, sending waves up your spine.

There was definitely a puddle from him on your thigh, but he was not the only one. His desperation made you drip too.

You didn’t know how to clean couches after such things but it wasn’t important. Viktor was, and nothing else.

You slid your tongue inside his mouth and your hands under his shirt. The material soaked from his sweat. Your touch lingered on velvet skin covering his protruding bones. You felt his shoulder blades moving and caressed his porcelain vertebras.

Viktor humped you slightly weaker now – his hips slowed down, now with lingering moves, accompanied with high pitched breathing.

You left his mouth. A string of saliva hanged between your lips and his lips.

Viktor mewled.

“What happened, Viki? Are you tired?”

“Yes…”

„Do you want to change positions?”

He nodded.

Now you were sitting on your knees. Viktor sat beside you with a thin cushion in the bend of his weaker leg. His thighs between your thighs, soft, damp skin that covered his femur under your crotch. Same for him.

The two of you moved without a rhythm, both whining as your mouths were tied to one another. Viktor’s hands clung on your back and shoulders. You felt his sweet saliva on your tongue, as it penetrated his mouth. You grabbed him closer by his waist and you felt his chest swaying.

You parted with his mouth.

You both were panting, tongues out, mouths open with a string of saliva connecting you. Viktor’s pale face was all flushed in pink. His golden eyes got hazy, almost watercolor.

“I love you, Viki.”

“Miláčku…” He mewled. Saliva was shining on his lower lip, and a crystal-clear drop dripped from his mouth. “I love you too.”

“Are you close?” Your lips arched into a lazy smile.

He nodded.

“Me too… Come here.”

You started unbuttoning his shirt. Just to see more of him. Button after button, you got a look of more of his back brace, then his small, flat stomach with a happy trail leading to his bush. Drops of sweat were shining on his abdomen.

One hand of yours settled on his protruding hipbone, other tied with his. His soft skin touched your lips and teeth, as you sucked on his filigree collarbone. His sweat tasted of salt and vodka. Viktor moaned, arching his head back. Soft ah-ah-ah’s leaving his lips motivated you to suck harder, alongside the trickles of his wet slick dripping from your thighs down onto the couch, leaving the puddle under the two of you.

Viktor started to rub you harder, his body got warmer, and his breathing faster. You hugged him and felt how heated his metal back brace got.

„Kurva, kurva, kurva…” He cursed in Czech, with his head on your shoulder, and his whole fragile body shivered in your arms. He squealed, as his hole squirted out juices all over your thigh. “Už nemůžu... Ah-”

You hushed at him. His hole was pulsating, all heated up. “Just a minute, Viki… Let me come too.”

He has squirted on your thigh and now was shaking, limp in your embrace, hiding his face in the crook of your neck as his alcoholised breaths warming you.

You rubbed yourself on his thigh, one hand embracing his frame, the other tangled with his fingers. He mewled.

Your leg stroked Viktor’s wretched hole, making him squeeze his thighs around you. His leg brace dig into your skin, but you didn’t care. He was whining harder, pitch getting higher. Drops of his tears dripped down your back.

You hissed and squeezed him tighter. Tears blurred your vision, one of them dripping down your cheek, then your neck till it merged with the mix of yours and Viktor’s sweat. A lightning electrocuted your spine, making you shiver. Your eyes were rising backwards till you saw nothing.

You landed on the couch, your body now laying limp. Your ribcage was rising and falling. Viktor laid on your chest, wet from juices, droll, tears and sweat and limp from overstimulation. A string of sweat dripped down your forehead, running down under your ear. Both of you were heated up and half melted. You ignored a puddle you two made on the couch.

The night sky over your heads was clearer than ever. Stars shined on the dark blue, almost black firmament. You recognized every constellation that Viktor has taught you on this couch.

Under you, bass music got turned up. The speakers now played some silly parody songs. And people were laughing.

“This was remarkable… Thank you, miláčku.”

“It was for sure.” You smiled, running your hand through his hair, wet from sweat. “Are we going? The guests are waiting.”

As an answer, Viktor only snuggled into you and whined. He was almost asleep.

[4barbatos]

✦ seatmate!venti drabbles

— modern high school au

fluff + mild crack .ᐟ ( fem reader )

a/n: this one’s requested by anon !! tysm for the idea <3 i enjoyed writing this sm hehe :3 hope you like it too !! pls keep sending silly venti fic ideas i am thriving off of him being annoying and in love.

✦ seatmate!venti rests his head on your shoulder and pretends to be asleep so you won’t make him move.

“venti, get off.”

he fake snores. loudly.

“you’re literally awake.”

“shhh,” he whispers. “you’re my pillow now.”

you sigh. he smiles. ten minutes later, he mumbles,

“you’re really warm…”

you don’t move.

✦ seatmate!venti asks if you two can be lab partners “in life.”

“venti, it’s just chemistry class.”

“exactly,” he says, wiggling his eyebrows. “chemistry.”

“no.”

“denial is the first step to love.”

✦ seatmate!venti writes your name in his notebook with his last name.

“what are you doing.”

“manifesting.”

you look. there’s a little “mrs. venti” in cursive surrounded by sparkles. he’s coloring it in with glitter pen.

✦ seatmate!venti makes you a playlist titled “songs that remind me of us (even tho we’re not dating YET)”

“this is literally just twenty versions of ‘can’t take my eyes off you’.”

“and???”

“…and it’s kind of good.”

“so you admit it.”

“i didn’t say that.”

✦ seatmate!venti calls you his “favorite distraction.”

“you’re staring at me again.”

“yeah. i have a type.”

“what, people who ignore you?”

“people who look cute when they’re trying not to smile.”

✦ seatmate!venti keeps sending you notes during class even though you’re sitting right next to him.

you unfold the fourth one in five minutes. it says:

“do you like me?

☐ yes

☐ yes but in denial

☐ venti please shut up”

you circle the third box and throw it back at his face.

✦ seatmate!venti insists on carrying your bag even though it’s literally heavier than him.

“venti you’re going to snap in half.”

“then i’ll die doing what i love.”

“being annoying?”

“carrying your heart. and also your alarmingly heavy physics binder.”

✦ seatmate!venti gets jealous when someone else borrows your eraser.

“who’s that?”

“albedo. he asked for my eraser.”

“do you give everyone your erasers or am i just not special anymore.”

“…venti.”

“this is worse than betrayal. this is heartbreak.”

✦ seatmate!venti brings you snacks and calls it “wooing.”

“i bought you chips.”

“you got these from the vending machine.”

“with my own two hands. for you. because i’m courting you.”

“you’re unbelievable.”

“you’re welcome.”

✦ seatmate!venti keeps calling you “my muse” while doodling on the corner of his notes.

you glance over. it’s a badly drawn stick figure with little sparkles around it.

“is that me?”

“yes. look how radiant you are.”

“…you gave me three strands of hair.”

“it’s called art style.”

✦ seatmate!venti makes a dramatic scene every time you’re absent.

“the sun didn’t rise yesterday,”

he says when you come back.

“i was gone for one day.”

“i wrote you a poem.”

“venti.”

“would you like me to perform it.”

✦ seatmate!venti keeps quoting love poems dramatically when you pass him a stapler or something.

“i would staple the stars to the sky for you.”

“venti i just asked if you’re done with the assignment.”

“and i am. done. with pretending i don’t love you.”

“i am begging you to be normal.”

✦ seatmate!venti sends you good morning texts even though you literally see him in class an hour later.

“good morning sunshine 💚 did you sleep well? i had a dream we got married. anyway see u in biology hehe”

“please go back to sleep”

“can’t. thinking about u. also i haven’t done the homework pls help”

✦ seatmate!venti says “i love you” every time you lend him a pencil, but today he says it a little too soft. a little too real.

you hand him a mechanical pencil without looking. he takes it and says, like always,

“i love you.”

it’s routine by now. he says it every time. you never respond.

but this time, it’s quieter. gentler.

you glance at him.

he’s not even looking at you. just focused on his notes, twirling the pencil between his fingers like nothing happened.

“venti,” you murmur.

he hums.

you open your mouth to say something — then the teacher calls on you and you lose your nerve.

you don’t bring it up again. but you don’t take your eyes off him for the rest of the period, either.

[rhettrosunsets]

Papers And Pad Thai - Natasha (Phoenix) Trace X Fem! Reader

Pairing: Natasha (Phoenix) Trace X Fem!Teacher Reader

Category: Fluff!! Hurt/Comfort

Summary: You've had the worlds longest day, between grading papers, a spilt lunch, and not having heard from your girlfriend in almost a week while she was deployed? You just wanted to get home and drink some wine so you could cry while wearing an oversized hoodie and watching some bad tv re-runs. But little did you know what would be awaiting you when you got outside, and how much better your day would get.

Based off this ask

Masterlist

Word Count: 2,151

Warnings: Mentions of a child throwing up, reader is having a very shitty day, mentions of deployment, Natasha does pick reader up and reader wears Natasha's hoodie but there are no descriptions of the reader outside of this, no use of Y/N, use of pet names for reader.

Notes: Eeee!! This was my first ever ask, based off this ask here and I was so excited to get to write this, anon that requested this I hope you enjoy it. I had so much fun getting to write this!

Your brightly decorated classroom was silent for the first time since 7am,

Your shoulders slumped forward as you clutched your pen loosely between your tired fingers, your head throbbing as you stared down at the last math test in the pile, taking a deep breath as you closed your eyes.

Somehow, a simple batch of easy subtraction problems that was supposed to be an easy test for the kids had managed to create at least six different new number systems that even Isaac Newton would have to sit down for, three small doodles of frogs, one child just writing sorry next to every answer with a frowny face, and one heartfelt love letter to your class guinea pig.

You let your head fall to the desk and groaned muttering “I love my job. I love my job and I love my kids” you repeated muffled against the wood desk. “I love my- okay, you know what? Maybe not today, and that’s okay.” you sighed out heavily to yourself, your body deflating as you tried not to cry.

You had stayed after school yet again to grade papers because the idea of bringing home another binder full of pure chaos made you want to sob. Fridays were supposed to be for movie day and early dismissal, something you reveled in every Friday, for the fact that you could finally get a small break. But Instead, today, three kids had cried over what pencils they got to use during the test, a kid threw up all over the classroom floor and had to go to the nurse while you tried to console the other kids, and you’d spilled your yogurt all over your lesson planner leaving you without lunch, and without a lesson planner.

And to make it all sting even more? Natasha still hadn’t messaged you. You didn’t blame her though, she was still deployed and you knew better than anyone how spotty their comms were when the squad was off on a deployment. But it’d been a week since her last message “We’re all okay, Miss you, Peach.”

No FaceTime calls, no bright smile and warm eyes, no warm voice whispering “Hey, baby” like she always did when she knew you needed it the most, you hadn’t even realized how badly you were missing her until today, when all of this rained down on you at once.

You tossed the finished paper on top of the pile with a huff before you gathered your bag, did a final check of the room, flipped off the lights and locked up your door, before stepping outside where the sun was just beginning to set, the golden hour hue illuminating the parking lot. The parking lot was mostly empty with all parents and students gone for the day, most of the administration having left hours ago when the bell rang, and just a few tired teachers also shuffling to their cars, waving half hearted goodbyes. You yawned into your elbow and reached into your bag fumbling for your keys, rounding the corner of the building with heavy lidded eyes, already picturing Natasha’s oversized hoodie and a glass of wine waiting for you at home.

Then you stopped dead in your tracks, because someone was leaning against your car. But it wasn't just anyone, it was your girlfriend. Your girlfriend who wasn’t supposed to be back for at least another week. She was still in her flight suit, the sleeves rolled up to her elbows, her thick boots planted firmly on the ground with one leg crossed over the other as she leaned against the driver’s side door, her arms crossed wearing that same cocky smirk that had made you fall in love with her in the first place.

She raised her brows, her cocky smirk never leaving her face as she saw you standing there bewildered, like you don’t believe she’s really there. “You gonna stand there all day ogling me? Or are you gonna come kiss me, Peach?”

Your knitted bag fell off your shoulder and the bag hit the pavement with a thud, but none of that mattered right now. The next thing you knew, you were running at full speed, and you crashed into her with so much force that she stumbled as she was forced to take a step back, leaning further into your car, laughing as she caught you in her arms.

“Woah easy there sweetgirl” she teased, pulling you tightly against her, lifting you off your feet, as you wrapped your legs around her middle. “You’re gonna knock us both over.” She said laughing happily at the fact that she got to hold you in her arms again.

You buried your face into her neck, inhaling her scent that smelled like jet fuel, soap, and the San Diego sun. It smelt like home. You tightly wound your arms around her neck like you were afraid she’d disappear if you let go, and maybe you were, because part of you still didn’t believe that she was really here, holding you, and calling you Peach.

“I-I didn’t know you were coming back today’ Tasha” you mumbled your voice thick and wobbly against her skin as she slowly set you down, placing your feet on the parking lot ground still keeping you pulled tightly against her. “That was the point baby” she mumbled gently, pressing a kiss to your temple. “Wanted to surprise my girl.”

A surprised, watery laugh left your lips, as you started to cry, the exhaustion from waking up at five in the morning, the grading of papers that made you want to pull your hair out, the stress from the day, the loneliness you felt earlier, all of it came crashing out of you at once as ugly hiccupping sobs started pouring out of you, making you clutch at her harder.

“Hey, hey" She whispered softly taken aback at your reaction. "Oh, Peach, don’t cry baby. It’s okay, it's okay. M'here.” Natasha said softly, pulling back from you just enough to cup your face in her hands and study your expression.

Her thumbs brushed away your tears as her thumbs rubbed gentle circles on the apples of your cheeks, and she kissed your forehead over and over again, like she could kiss the sadness away, and get her girl to feel better with just that, which to her credit worked as you calmed down enough to say “I missed you so much you choked out, your voice breaking as you did so.

“I know, sweetheart, I missed you more.” Natasha spoke back as she looked at you, trying to calm you down to the best of her ability. You shook your head, sniffling as you tried to speak trying to truly let her know how much this means to you “I-I’ve had such a long day, and then I saw you, and I thought I was dreaming, or I thought maybe it was the two coffees I had on an empty stomach and I was finally losing it. ”

“You’re not dreaming” Natasha promised with such authority that you couldn’t even question it, as she rested her forehead against yours. Her voice was low and steady, grounding you and soothing you in a way you’ve needed since she left. “I’m here, right here Peach. And I’m not going anywhere besides home with you, so we can go rewatch some shitty rom-coms and drink some wine.”

More tears fell from your eyes and she held you through them rubbing your back in slow circles and every few seconds she’d press another kiss to your cheek or your nose or the edge of your jawline.

“I really didn’t think you’d be back for another week” you whispered eventually, voice hoarse from crying. “We finished early, and no one got shot at. I call that a win, Peach.” she joked lightly, grinning widely when you choked out a teary eyed laugh.

“God, I love you’ Tasha” you blurted out, your voice full of emotion. The look on her face softened completely, “Yeah?” she asked, rubbing your cheeks with her thumbs as she smiled at you, staring into your eyes. “I think you should say it again” she whispered out, a small smirk perking up in the corner of her lips.

You smiled through the tears and mummured “I love you, Natasha Trace.”

She leaned in and kissed you slow, gentle, and full of everything she couldn’t say over a radio message or a letter. And when she pulled back, her eyes were warm and glassy. “I love you too, Peach,” she murmured. “So much so that it’s absolutely stupid.”

You burst into small giggles at the nickname, your face flushing as she peppered your cheeks with more kisses. “I’m serious, Peach” she insisted between smooches. “I was halfway across the world on a serious mission, and here I was thinking about you in a pencil-skirt, handing out stickers for good spelling, and smiling at those kids like they’re your own.”

You snorted as your head fell against her collarbone “Sorry to break your fantasy, but that’s not what I wear 'Tasha.” She shrugged, a smirk quirking up at the corners of her lips. “No, but I think that’s what I'll continue thinking about when I'm gone. It gives me good motivation to get back here.” she said, glancing down at you seeing how your eyes brightened when she did. “You’re an idiot” you say your voice full of fondness as you wrap your arms tightly around her again.

“But I'm your idiot, Peach” she corrected. You stayed like that for a while, just swaying slightly in the golden hour sun. Her hand rubbed slow circles over your back, and you could feel her smile against your temple. Finally, she pulled back and looked you over, taking you in fully after the emotions of the last few minutes. “You look exhausted, baby.”

“I am exhausted” you admitted with a yawn, before continuing, “It was a long week, one of my kids tried to eat a glue stick on Tuesday, I had a kid puke all over the floor today, and the math tests I had to grade today had declarations of love to the guinea pig instead of the answers to the questions.”

She winced at your retelling of your long week, “Yikes, Peach. No wonder you're dead on your feet.”

“I didn’t even get to eat lunch today because it got spilled all over my lesson planner” you whined out dramatically. Natasha gasped playfully and took your face in her hands again. “That’s criminal, baby. No lunch?”

“I know, you’re lucky I didn’t wither away before you got here to surprise me.” You reply back, in a dramatic tone, bringing your hand to your forehead as you lean back closing your eyes for the effect.

“Well, lucky for you, Peach, your incredibly hot, sexy, brave, and thoughtful girlfriend bought you takeout.” Natasha said in a teasing voice. Your eyes lit up, and a wide smile graced your face at the mention of something to eat “You brought me food?”

“I brought you Pad Thai, those egg rolls you love, and enough mango rice to last us a week, baby.” she said proudly, before continuing “And wine, lots of it, I also prepped the couch with tons of fuzzy blankets, and extra snacks for after dinner.”

You blinked up at her, absolutely stunned. “Are you trying to marry me ‘Tasha?” She gave you a wide smirk “Is it working?”

“Yes” you said without hesitation, no amusement even present in your tone, “God, yes.” She kissed you again and whispered against your lips, “Then let’s get you home and get some food into you, future Mrs. Trace.”

You grinned widely and kissed her back, your heart beating loud enough in your chest that you thought she could for sure hear it. She did a 'give me' motion with her hand, as you grabbed your bag from where you had dropped it and handed her the keys to your car.

She opened the passenger side car door for you, before tossing your bag into the backseat, and even buckled your seatbelt, giving you one last kiss on the forehead before sliding into the driver’s seat, and starting the car up. On the drive home, you reached for her hand and laced your fingers with hers, relishing in the feeling of her being home again. “I still can’t believe you’re here right now” you said softly, taking in her features, a disbelieved smile still present on your face. She brought your hand to her lips and kissed your knuckles, “I missed you more than words can convey, Baby.”

And when you got home, she wouldn’t let you lift a finger. She carried you up your driveway and through the door just to be dramatic, laughing loudly as she heard your loud fit of giggles. She put you on the couch, and immediately curled up beside you under the mountain of blankets she had prepared before heading to the school to come surprise you. She fed you bites of sticky rice between soft kisses and laughed every time ended up getting sauce on your nose or on the side of your mouth.

And later, when you finally started to drift off against her chest as a cheesy 2000’s rom-com played in the background, you knew everything would start to feel okay again.

[reorientation]

ive lurked on here for awhile but i finally have an excuse to actually send an ask sooo…

im ftm & in college and im living with 5 male flatmates and ive never felt more like a girl in my life…

they all walk around in their boxers and stuff and, like, that’s fine, we’re all guys, right? so i started getting more comfortable with that, too. but i can feel their eyes on me everytime they see me in my underwear.

theyre all straight, one of them says hes bi but he only started saying that after he found out i was trans, so i think hes only saying that to try and get into my pants…. he’s only ever dated girls, and he’s wayyy friendlier with me than with the other guys. and fuck, i actually find that so, so hot. is that pathetic???

i hear the way my housemates talk about girls when they think i can’t hear. about their bodies and their thighs and their tits and i know they notice how my body is the same way. everytime i go into the kitchen without a binder on. everytime my pants are a little tight and the lack of bulge is obvious.

i’m so much shorter and smaller than them. they’re all at least 13cm taller and WAY stronger. it’s stupidly hot. they’ll reach stuff on high shelves for me or open jars or whatever like im a girl. its especially embarrassing when i try to prove that i can do it myself but i cant. it’s embarrassing and it gets me wet.

ive always overcompensated for my lack of natural masculinity by deepening my voice and trying to be into « manly » things but ive lowkey been playing up my femininity now… like i kinda just wanna be a girl for these guys.

i have a skirt or two buried in the bottom of a drawer that i never show ANYONE. and im thinking about maybe wearing one around the apartment. should i??? it feels so fucking… girly. which i usually hate. but its also kind of hot. god. helppp </3

-🧨 anon

I wonder, sometimes, how much the popularity of girls becoming "boys" is rooted in the bureaucratization of the world. Maybe when you're young and in school - when everything is about the rules your teachers set for you, before you really understand the difference between the sexes - you get the idea that "gender" is just a box on a form, and you can check "M" to get sorted with the boys.

But now that you're a little older, and out from under the watchful eye of authority figures - it hasn't taken long at all for the reality to become obvious, has it? There's a bulge in their boxers, and none in yours. They're tall and strong, and you're not. They banter about getting between a girl's thighs, and it makes you exquisitely aware that you're not like them.

You have a real point of comparison for the first time in your life, and it's making you see how much your whole "identity" is just play-acting - pretending to be something you could never really be. No wonder you want to let your femininity show: it's what's left when you finally realize how flimsy your "masculinity" always was. It's what makes you valuable, instead of laughable.

It hardly even matters if you actually put on the skirt; they've all been thinking about how you'd look in one, anyway. But you still should. Any man would be proud to know that he's made a girl want to slip back into her role.

[ram-bles]

Plsplspls daisuke and reader romance hcs and my soul is yours

gn/transmasc whichever you prefer thank you so much

daisuke x reader | headcanons

part 4:

Romance edition

pay up anon 🫴👈 /j no, bc I have notes about this already and I saw you pop up in my notifs.

⚠️: 🔞 gn pronouns and masc pronouns* used, fluff, nothing explicit but there is implied sex (don't worry, it's optional. I put it at the end so you can skip.)

*bonus transmasc!reader category

🌺 Mentioned in a previous post. You fall first, he falls harder. He doesn't even notice until later on when he's doing the most mundane task and he catches himself smiling - "Oh."- while thinking of you. "Shiiiit."

🌺 The D in Daisuke stands for dense. Dense, dense, dense. To be fair, you guys are close and everything you've done together was seen as platonic. Heavy on was.

"Are you really bros if you don't cuddle to sleep?"

🌺 C'mon. He'll treat this like a romance visual novel game and you are the main and only love interest. It makes him less nervous this way.

🌺 Daisuke - for the life of him - could not use endearments. It makes him cringe. Will most likely call you by nickname or dude/bro (gnc).

"Babe... Baby... Honey— PFFT-" "Daisuke." Last name mouthwashing. Followed by whatever his last name was. You gave him a warning tone. "I can't help it!" He stifles his laughter but it turns into a fit of giggles.

🌺 Best friends to lovers is a perfect trope with him. I feel like the confession will come in naturally. You become best friends, blur the lines of platonic and romantic without realizing it, and the next thing you know, you're dating.

🌺 Experience wise? He's had a few relationships in highschool. Doesn't even know if he considers it as a relationship if he were honest. More-so flings.

⚠️ Implied sex. Ignore if uncomfortable.

🌺 If I were to lean more on to his mature side, then maybe things got too intimate. No promises of what happens next, but surely, you'd both question it. Don't get me wrong though, definitely an each other's firsts situation still.

Your sports watch vibrates on the table side, its buzz louder against the surface it was on. Groggily, you sit up, stretching and flinching at how sore you were before orienting yourself, unconsciously tugging the blanket closer to you. The faint sound of the shower beside the shared room reminds you of the events last night and your brain felt like it was about to shortcircuit, thoughts silencing quickly as you hear the bathroom door open, making you snap your head back up and you felt like having another wire shorting in your brain at the sight, but you push it away for now. "Mornin'!" And he says your name so sweetly, enthusiastically. Your heart ached. "I didn't take too long right? Did you just wake up?" Your silence scared him, even more so when you hung your head low. He calls your name. "Did you not like last night? Ah, fuck- Is anything painful? I'm sorry. We don't have to do this again. I'm s—" "Daisuke?" "Y-Yeah? What's up? Seriously, you're worrying me, dude. Did I hurt you?" "What are we?"

[ Bonus: Transmasc!Reader ]

🌺 Seeing your binder for the first time?

You two were back at your shared quarters. The day had just ended and you just wanted to change into your sleepwear and crash. "Dude, that looks uncomfy. You sure it ain't too tight?" "Nah. I made sure it fit. I have looser ones just incase. Don't worry, Dai." You were about to remove it when you notice him staring. Before this, you've been changing in the bathroom already, and at times he'd just turn away when you tell him to. He only realizes when you haven't moved for awhile and he instantly flinches. "Oh, sorry- turning riiiight now!" "We're dating already... It's okay." Plus, totally normal to see dudes topless. He tilts his head curiously as he watches and it would be a lie if it didn't make you slightly conscious of your appearance, but you trust him. The smitten look he has makes you feel better. His eyes dart down to the small dents on your skin left by the band and his hand twitches. "Can I massage it?" "What? My tits?" He calls out your name in mock frustration before laughing. "Y'know what I mean!" "Yeah, yeah. Make some space on the bed then."

🌺 Probably would love pressing the marks away. Also, he gets to cling onto you while at it so win-win right?

🌺 Top scars?

"Duuuuuude. That's sick as fuck." His head was hanging by the edge of the bed, watching you change while upside down. "Hm?" "The scars. How'd you gettem? Don't look like it's from an accident." "... Surgery?" "Oh?" He stays quiet for a moment trying to piece two and two together. You wait for him with an amused expression. "OHHHHHH." Right, he didn't know. "Still sick as fuck though."

🌺 feeling dysphoric? he already treats you like a king, but hopefully you won't get too overwhelmed with his advances when he notices you feeling down.

"hey, handsome." "pretty boy!"

🌺 if he didn't know you were trans and you tell him, he'd be confused but in a way that's like, "I still love you, y'know. That ain't changin'!"

[ Updates: ]

🪓 i'm working on another ask at the moment and it involves a pilot intern!reader. they req afab!reader but it's difficult for me to write femmes and i usually go for gn or transmasc readers :(( I hope that's alright. I can try to make a separate post and do femme pronouns. What do you guys think?

it's going to be longer than my usual posts so it may take some time. so yeah! hopefully the anon who req it sees this.

That's all, thank you for reading!

[hermit-lover]

Hello! I love your writing so keep up the good work :D

I would like to request Ren, Doc and Scar (Separate or not) with a ftm reader, preferably platonic.

It's completely fine if you don't want to though!

(Also if you end up doing it, may I please be ✨️ anon?)

A Moment Of Calm

--------------------------------------------------

Character: DocM77 x Reader, Rendog x Reader

Type: Blurb (1.8k)

Theme: Platonic, Comfort

Summary: The grind of Season 8 and The Octagon have been wearing you thin, so you take a moment to recuperate after a great success.

TW: Dysphoria

A/N: Welcome ✨(Sparkle) Anon! Sorry it took so long, but I hope you enjoy. :)

It’s been a loooooooong couple of weeks, and that's almost an understatement. You thought joining in on Doc and Ren’s shenanigans this season would be entertaining, but didn't account for Doc’s affinity for shooting for the moon (heh). Seeing his projects in seasons past you should’ve guessed it would be equally as crazy, but something in you rationed that maybe he would take it easy. Big mistake. Considering it started with somehow creating a super-chunk of a horrifying amount of spawners. You have been endlessly grinding copper and logs to fuel the shops, hearing shulkers grumble in your sleep, and building up the centre of your new base of operations. The Octagon. It was honestly huge, with complex corners and shape lending to the mechanical aesthetic you’ve leant into this season. It wasn't one you typically built in, unlike the mad scientist, and you’d be lying if you said you didn't miss the ease of terraforming. Soft dirt and plants under palm instead of gritty redstone that has long since dyed your nails. But being part of this team was rewarding in its own right.

You settle into the wooden seat sat on the floor, grunting as your knees crack with effort, and your ribs protest. How long has it been since you’ve taken off your binder?- ah no matter. A sigh pulls from your lips at the chance to relax, a crackling campfire soothing your nerves. The seat isn't necessarily the most comfortable, but after a long day's work you were looking forward to the staple of your meetings. A barbeque. Stretching your shoulders against the tight fabric under your shirt, you look to your teammates as they arrive, chattering animatedly. Ren’s voice carries first, agreeing enthusiastically to something Doc was explaining. Ever the enabler, or hype man as he would prefer. An arm is strung across the goat-hybrid's shoulders, half tugging him into a hug. Doc responds, waving his prosthetic hand to help visualize the words- a habit of his you noticed finally being close to him this season.

“Then if we attach the redstone to the power core as shown in the blueprints-” Upon coming to the crest of the hill, Ren’s gaze catches your own, and his grin widens.

“Hey dude!” The werewolf waves exaggeratedly with his free arm, completely interrupting Doc mid-sentence. He sputters out something about manners, but rolls his eyes and nods in greeting. A rush of warmth splits your own face into a grin. It was nice to have them as friends.

“Took you long enough. I was about to dig in without you.” You tease, earning a playful swat from Doc as he moves to settle in the seat beside you, Ren already taking his place as ‘the meat master’ as he would insist the title be. Laying perfectly seasoned steaks on the grill over the fire.

“You say that as if you weren't late to our last meeting.” Doc grumbles, unable to hide his smug smirk at being able to hold it over your head. Groaning dramatically you flop further into your chair.

“It was one time! You try being on time when Scar has filled your starter base with pandas-” Ren snorts, and you shoot him a glare. Doc hums in debate, he of all people understands Scar’s menace. Doesn’t mean he won't find it funny. “We still have to enact revenge for that.” You remind the pair, causing Ren to perk. A dangerous glint in his eye.

“We should infest Boatem with those bot guys Doc designed.” He suggests, “Cover their landscape with mite-bots!” Arms swooping in a wide arc, you can picture it vividly; The tailored landscape of the builders covered in clicking, scurrying bots. Like chickens but harder to kill. Not a bad idea at all. Your so caught up in the visual it takes a second for it to click what exactly Ren has just called the bots-

“Mite-bots?”

“MITE-BOTS?!” Doc’s cry overlaps your own, so suddenly all you can do is blink. “They aren’t mites! I’ll have you know I modeled them after viruses- which happen to look very cool.” The goat’s instant defense of the odd robots makes you stifle a chuckle, especially when Ren simply flicks his tail sassily. Void, they were so childish sometimes. For as much as Doc tries to seem mature and scary, it wasn't hard to wind him up.

“Mites-viruses same thing my dude. ” The werewolf shrugs, flipping a steak casually with his bare hands. It sizzles loudly and your stomach clenches with hunger, gurgling in protest. The scent of cooking meat making your mouth water. Doc grumbles unintelligibly under his breath- but you get the gist of his complaints for ‘respect’. A common thing he insists upon, despite secretly enjoying the banter. Glancing back to Ren, his gaze is already on you, smiling slightly in knowing. “Hungry?” He asks gently, eyes twinkling with affection despite the bags. He was so chipper it was hard to tell he was as tired as you are. You’d guess having his body be mostly robotic this season meant he likely felt the effects less, but there was still evidence of wear-and-tear. His metal body was scuffed and dirty, not being polished like it should be, pale skin also covered in a thin layer of grime. The evidence of hard work across the three of you is a testament to how hard you were working to complete the project before the end of the season. It was a grind, all hands on deck as you all knew it would be a shorter one.

Blinking back to reality, you realize you’ve simply been staring back at him, neglecting to actually answer the question. You stumble to answer quickly-

“Ah- yea, it smells good.” You manage out, smiling sheepishly back to his patient look. For a brief moment Ren accepts your answer, and you all lapse into peaceful silence. The crackling of fire and sizzling meat overlaid the chirping of crickets and waves lapping on the shore as the sun descended over the horizon. You truly think you can be happy here- friends, good food, enjoyable projects- and then Ren clears his throat.

“I don't mean to nag at all my dude, but I’ve gotta ask…How long have you been wearing your binder?” You inhale sharply, suddenly aware again of your aching ribs and strained breathing. Ah, shit. Of course he would notice-

“Mm Ren’s right, I haven’t noticed you without it- or taking enough breaks for me to assume you’ve removed it.” Doc agrees, sitting up a little further to watch you carefully. The pressure from both of their gazes is almost a physical weight on your skin, prickling an embarrassed heat on your face. Deep down you knew they only cared about your well-being, but the thought of being without it- “Breathe. We wont force you to change if you truly don't want to, but it isn't safe to wear it for so long.” Doc’s reassuring rumble soothes your nerves a tad, as a clawed hand rests gently on your shoulder. Lingering just-barely there as to not spook you, but there enough to ground back to your body. Realistically you know you should change, but the thought of having to exist looking so unlike your true self-

“Here.” You tune back into the present, face-to-face with a plaid ball of fabric. There's a moment of silence as your brain lags behind- then it dawns on you what it is.

“Your shirt??” You glance mildly horrified at Ren- and see much to your relief he is still currently wearing clothing. He chuckles, waggling the shirt ball enticingly.

“You wish I was showing off my abs, baby” He teases, not taking to heart the disgust you can't stop from flashing across your face. Doc huffs a laugh at your reaction, squeezing your shoulder reassuringly. “But I don’t want to attempt to out-man the ultimate man, my dude.”

It's clear he's trying to flatter you, but you let yourself take the compliment. After all, it was clear he simply cared deeply. Finally reaching out, you grab the flannel being dangled in your face. It's impossibly soft and plush, clearly well loved. The deep red fading away slightly with how many washes it's been through. Ren smiles at that, placing both hands on his hips. “It’s even oversized on me, so I figured it would be comfortable for you to lounge in- if you want.” The offer makes your heart clench- they notice, and more importantly they care enough to try and find a solution where you can all be happy. This server is going to be the death of you- and you already feel a little choked up with emotion. After a moment of debate you nod, and Doc gently removes his hand. You miss the warmth of it, but he smiles reassuringly.

“You can change in the van, we’ll save you a steak.” He jokes lightly, and you scoff.

“You better!” Pointing a finger accusatorily at him, you rise from your seat. “This better not be a ploy to eat my share of the food.” Doc chuckles deeply, choosing to not answer as Ren pretends to look guilty. Feigning annoyance at their lack of an answer, you stalk to the van, nerves building with every step took away from them.

Stepping into the rocket-van the door clicks shut behind you, plunging you into an eerie silence. If you listened closely you could hear the fire- and the low voices of your friends just outside. If you truly wanted, you could just leave now and not change-and they would ignore it because of your emotional comfort- even if they did worry. Or…you could be comfortable physically with minor emotional discomfort. And they would be happy.

… That doesn't make it fair, huh? You pull off your shirt quickly, opting to rip it off like a band-aid. The struggle out of your binder was always a little embarrassing- but you shrug on the soft flannel in no time. It hangs on your frame, doing its job at hiding any shape of body beneath. Instead creating the illusion of one solid shape. You still knew your body was under there- but…it was as comfortable as you could get. Taking a deep breath, you step out of the van and trail back towards the campfire. Doc and Ren are talking in-between bites of food, both their gazes flicking to you at your approach.

You brace for a comment, of any mention of you wearing the flannel and accepting their offer- but Ren simply extends a hand out, holding a steak.

“Dig in! It's not getting any fresher.”

It's that simple moment of acceptance that solidifies it for you; Doc and Ren are true friends.

[my-castles-crumbling]

Anon Advice Asks - April 7

First Binder Anon, galentines anon, caved anon (new), burden anon (new), grounded anon

First binder anon

hi!

it’s first binder anon!

ok so first of all, the charge on my debit card shows up as the company i bought it from, and how much i spent, not what i spent it on (ik it works differently depending on what your bank is but this is how mine works) my parents have never checked mine, to my knowledge. they like to have a very “you do your own thing and you have a right to privacy unless it endangers you or others” attitude.

also! i do my own laundry so that won’t be an issue (pros of doing more chores amiright) and if they saw it they’d prob just assume it was a bra that they’ve already bought for me.

uhhh yeah! ty for your advice and stuff!

Oh awesome!! I'm so glad your parents seem chill! Did they end up asking about the package? I hope you like the binder, I was so thrilled when I got my first one, it's a very exciting experience <3

____

galentines anon

Hii its galentines anon

It's my birthday today (yayy closer to college)

so my dad is in one of his moods, cant i ask for one day pls

my mom isnt well but she isnt listening to me to rest

my brother is the only one im not mad at or worried about but even he doesnt let me talk normally has to interrupt 10 times in between (its okay tho he is 7 i can let this much go)

my friends idk they dont seem to give a fuck, i go all out at their birthdays, posting stories at midnight, writing long paras and everything. they couldnt even post anything properly.

the couple of gifts i got were some of the most unthoughtful gifts. like they went to the store and got the nearest thing they saw. you've known me for so long can't you think of one thing ive shown an interest in ?

ik this makes me sound like a pompous and ungrateful prat but this really hurt idek why.

anyways thankyou for listening.

Happy birthday hon <3

I don't think this makes you sound ungrateful at all! It's hard to have moments where you feel unappreciated, or where you feel like you've put more into a relationship than someone else. I wish I could say something to make you feel better, but remember your feelings are valid and I am sending you love <3

____

caved anon

i had to buy myself a mobility aid today and its genuinely the most disheartening thing ive ever done. im 20. im barely into my life but im struggling to walk more than 5 minutes at a time some days. i was going to wait until after i could get a doctors appointment but im struggling to get that too so ive caved and i hate it so much. i feel like it makes it worse mentally for me that i was the glass child growing up bc my brother had issues in school and my sister is also disabled (though hers showed more prevalently and since shes older i was 'late to the party') (also not the same disability, just to note) so i feel like i just wont even be believed by my family next time i visit (i dont live at home). plus im scared of how people will look at me in the street. a 20 year old shouldnt need a walking stick and i hate that i do sometimes

Hi hon <3

I can't pretend to know how you're feeling at all, so I'm not going to sit here and give you advice. But I want you to know I'm proud of you for taking care of yourself by getting the mobility aid even though it's upsetting.

Please remember that no matter how people react (your family, people on the street, etc), it doesn't diminish your needs and your reality. Nobody is in your shoes or feels your pain, so they have no right to judge you or look at you differently. sometimes 20 year olds DO need walking sticks and that's okay.

I'm sending you so much love <3

___

burden anon

Hi! I could really use some advice!

(redacted)

Anyway, I don't want to burden you, but I just don't know who to turn to.

Hi <3

If you are scared, it's already time to tell someone. I know you're nervous to take a safe person from her, but, to be blunt, if she's gone, she won't have safe people either, and you don't need to keep that guilt forever. You're not burdening me with this, but this IS a burden on you, and an adult needs to know. It's okay to ask for help.

Sending love <3

____

grounded anon

Hello again.

Tysm for the previous advice, I don't think k I will pull a Sirius black anymore.

So, things have cooled down significantly since then. Me and my mom have made a deal that if I don't tell anyone I'm gay anymore, shell stop looking through my shit and we'll stop arguing.

The thing is, she doesn't understand that I have found a safe queer community within my school,people who are very accepting and queer themselves. I can't tell her this, however, because I'm not about to out my friends. She also, I'm pretty sure, there away my sketchbook (which I was PROUD OF) because of all the 'evil' in it. (Okay so maybe I had a page full of docs but that was ONLY as a joke istg) and also lots of boys kissing and pride flags. She still has not given me my shit back, and I'm afraid to ask because k don't want to start another argument.

Again, sry if the spelling is shitty (the autocorrect on this thin SUCKS)

-grounded anon

Wow, that's a shit deal, and it pisses me off. The fact that a parent is asking their child to do that is horrible.

Yeah, I don't think there's anything wrong with you having your safe place with your friends, as long as you're careful to keep their identities quiet, especially from your parents. It seems like the goal for you will be to not piss your parents off for the next few years, until you can move out, you know? Which sucks a lot, but I'm glad you're at least safe and you have an accepting group of friends.

I'm so sorry that you have to deal with this, you deserve love and acceptance, and I'm sorry about your sketchbook as well. Keep building your accepting community and remember that things will get better <3

[velvetvexations]

Saw your tags on that binder post and I thought I’d share that my first introduction to chest binding was actually through the lolita community! A lot of big name japanese brands are not exactly size inclusive and did NOT cater to anyone with more than an A cup, so I did see quite a lot of safe binding advice and methods on blogs and forums back in the day before more inclusive brands became available, ranging from sports bra to actual proper binders. I’m probably not the only example of the “binding to fit into an angelic pretty dress” to “binding to fit into an angelic pretty dress and gender reasons)” pipeline, but plenty of other lolitas I know are still cis women who just do it on occasion or for specific pieces that aren’t very forgiving on the tits! I doubt that a single niche fashion subculture is the reason for those binders being marketed towards cis women so heavily, but I thought this was a funny anecdote :)

Fascinating!

patricia taxxon shit really fucking hurts. i dont want to be effected by a random internet microcelebrity not liking transdudes, that happens often enough. but god her music and essays got me through really rough shit and it really hurts to see someone i looked up to for well written essays and work fall back on the bullshit arguments used to deny my lived experiences. it really really fucking hurts, especially with how it feels barely anyone will talk about or call it out. i thought trfs were something id have to look hard for, and seeing their rhetoric creep into the fucking music i listen to and tumblrs i follow really truly scares me

I'm sorry, anon. I love you a lot. <3

“You shouldn’t break up the trans community into groups!” The TRFs literally came up with a way to break up the community via TMA/TME. They are actively distancing themselves from the community by baking fearmongering into their ideology. God forbid we create a term about sticking together against a group within the community that’s inherently dividing?

lmao literally

Just had my first time getting sexually harassed by a woman as a percieved cis man and commiserating afterwards with a cis man about how we're all just supposed to be cool with being treated like that. It's a weird experience and somehow going through the same things mostly from women as a girl then nonbinary then a trans guy it feels the same but the flavors change. I know the discourse is literally nothing but it makes me feel like my feelings shouldn't matter because of the male privilege. And I even did my civic duty and took the brunt of it away from the other trans man who was getting it worse because of his percieved feminine traits which people also like to pretend doesn't happen. All of it is just stupid.

It's fine, she was a woman and you're a man so that was praxis sexual harassment.

honestly i think a better predictor of how much autonomy a child is able to have over their presentation is probably whether the child is disabled moreso than agab, like i not only wasn't allowed to have my hair too short, i also wasn't allowed to have it too long for a chunk of my childhood because it took me awhile to understand how to brush my hair (because i was afraid to because i am hypersensitive to touch and my mother would always brush my hair in a way that hurt so much i would cry), and my mother would bitch and moan about how difficult i was about it (because she was hurting me and did not listen when i told her this) and so i wasn't allowed to have longer hair until i could brush it myself. ultimately the biggest factor is always the attitude of the parents though

God, so much of my shit with my mother was over my hair, it still really gets to me.

TRF is like the whole voting for face eating panthers. But it’s like TERFs are the panthers and TRFs are a cheetah, like “I’m a kind of cat too so they won’t eat my face as long as I eat faces too right?” WRONG they see you as prey, they won’t spare you because they see a fellow cat, they’ll eat your face cuz you’re not a panther!

cis women will like me if I explain to them how I'm -taxonomically- a woman

it’s insane to me that ‘it’s bad to hate someone for an uncontrollable part of their identity no matter who they are’ is a controversial take now

we've regressed

when people say ‘um ackshually i can say i want all men to die and if you tell me “men see these things and go far right because they think it’s true” then you are blaming women for men’s bad behaviour’ i just immediately assume that this person is stupid as fuck like. if a teenage boy goes online to see what feminism is about and is bombarded with ‘kill all men’ ‘all men are rapists’ etc then OBVIOUSLY he’s not gonna want to be feminist. it is really not that fucking hard to understand. people don’t wanna be in spaces that are cruel to them for an aspect of their identity that they cannot control it’s not ‘blaming women for misogynistic men’ to say that. it’s just fucking true. people are so stupid it actually pains me

unfortunately radfem juice is addictive

[morgana-larkin]

helloooo!! I’ve been reading your fics for a while and I just had a prompt for Melissa that I’ll hope you will consider writing!

So it’s set in that episode where Abbott goes to a field trip to the park and Melissa is beefing with that teacher from the other school. Reader is a teacher from Abbott and that other teacher takes an interest in reader and flirts with her and tries to ask her out BUT Melissa and reader are dating so if Melissa didn’t like that teacher before, she most certainly despises her now. You can choose what Melissa does as a show of jealousy 🥰

Hi! I’m happy you’re enjoying my fics, anon! And I do love to write a good Jealous Mel fic. No there isn’t smut in this but there is a reference. And I did skip a few prompts and wrote this one first but hey you get two fics in 2 days soooo…. Anyway, not edited in the slightest and I hope you like it!

On another note: I got a big fic that I’m currently writing, I’m not saying anything about it but I think all of you will love it. 😉😏. Also I asked @babytakeittothehead to create a gif from the episode specifically for this prompt so thank you 🙏🏻

Park Rivalry

Warnings: Jealous Mel, reference to smut, a bit of swearing

Words: 3.26k

“Field trip worksheets, hot off the press!” Jacob says and hands you and Melissa a binder.

“What in the hot hell is this?” Melissa asks and you snort.

“Jacob, nobody needs this.” Barb tells him and hands the binder back to him. “You pulled off a field trip with no money and no help. Baby relax.”

“Yeah, we’re going to the park. Kids don’t wanna work. We don’t wanna work. Ava definitely doesn’t want to work.” She says and you nod as you place an arm on her shoulder as you both look at the binder.

“I never do. And today I get to not work while lounging in my air chair. I love furniture that rhymes.” Ava says and walks away.

“Yeah. So knock it off with the worksheets, or you’re gonna ruin this trip.” Melissa says to him.

“Ya Jacob, field trips are supposed to be fun, not educational and boring.” You tell him as you hand your binder back to him.

“Ah Morton. For all your flaws, I know you appreciate the value of education.” Jacob says and hands Mr. Morton a binder.

“Ah thanks buddy. You’re a lifesaver.” Morton says and then proceeds to use one of the papers as a napkin and throws the binder in the trash. You see the disappointment on Jacob’s face and you proceed to laugh and he gives you a pout.

You, Melissa and Barb get off the bus and you see Ava running around trying to fill her chair with air.

“My air chair needs air, and there’s no wind.” She says, disappointed.

“Try running north to south.” Barb says and you try not to laugh.

“Ms. Schemmenti, a kid pushed me.” A kid runs up to Melissa and you start to walk off with your kids to another spot in the playground, you do hear Melissa’s response and you love seeing her with the kids.

“Oh, no. You okay kiddo? Which kid?” Melissa asks her.

A few minutes later and you see the camera crew pulled Melissa aside and asks her a few questions.

About 10 minutes later you make your way over to where Melissa, Barb and Jacob are talking to the Liberty teachers.

“We just, you know, want to keep things fair.” Melissa tells them as you make your way over to her side and you put your hand on her lower back.

“Alright well you know, life’s not fair.” She says as you, Jacob, Barb and Melissa start to walk away. “You have to teach at Abbott so…” The teacher adds and all four of you turn back around.

“What?!?” You say.

“Excuse you!?!” Melissa snaps as she surges forward with anger.

“The audacity!” Barb says at the same time with a step forward.

Jacob holds both Melissa and Barb back and gives a reply. “No, we get to teach at Abbott.”

“Ya well I get to be lactose intolerant.” The teacher replies with and the Liberty teachers walk away.

“I shouldn’t punch someone at the park right?” Melissa says.

“No.” Jacob immediately tells her.

“You know I thought if anyone was gonna ruin this field trip for the kids it was gonna be you.” You hear Melissa tell Jacob and you giggle. Melissa hears you laugh as you stand next to her. “Hey Morton, are your students having any trouble with the Liberty kids today?” She says and Mr Morton comes up to you all.

“I honestly have no idea. I’ve been angrily texting my ex-wife all morning. She thinks she should get the grill. What’s a woman gonna do with a grill?” He says with a confused tone.

“You’re scum.” Jacob quickly tells him. “Listen, these Liberty teachers have got to be stopped.” He says and you look at Melissa.

“Wait, your students are having trouble with the other school students as well?” You say to them and Melissa turns to you and nods. “I’ve been talking with one of the teachers all morning to try and sort it out but nothing is being solved.” You say with a bit of annoyance in your voice.

“Which teacher?” Melissa asks and you point at the one.

“The one we were just talking too, Ms. Barco.” You tell her and she huffs.

“We’ve been dealing with her as well. And she keeps throwing insults at us.” Melissa tells you while Jacob is pacing back and forth.

“They’ve been insulting you?” You ask surprised and she turns to look at you.

“She hasn’t insulted you?” She asks.

“No, she’s been nice but like I said, they’re not doing anything about their students' behaviour.” You tell them and Melissa angrily looks at the teacher.

“Y’all need to let it go, it’s not that deep. I’m trying to listen to an oral history of oral history, and I can’t hear it over all y’all’s pettiness.” Ava pipes up then puts her earphone back in.

All of a sudden, a red ball comes bouncing your way and Melissa catches it. You all then look at where it came from and see one of the Liberty teachers stepping forward.

“Hey uh, that’s our ball. Toss it back? Just as far as you can. Don’t want you to hurt yourself.” She tells Melissa and you widen your eyes at the comment towards your girlfriend. You surge forward a bit but you get held back by Jacob and you then look at Melissa who seems to get an idea of what to do with the ball.

“Maybe not throw it at her face.” You tell her and she looks at you and huffs.

“Fine.” She says and then kicks the ball and the Liberty kids complain as well as the teacher who just insulted Melissa.

“Seriously?” The Liberty teacher says, annoyed.

“Slow down, you don’t wanna hurt yourself.” Melissa teases and you giggle. Melissa wraps her arm around your shoulders while she gives Barb a high five.

About 10 minutes later Melissa is watching you and Ms. Barco talking and she decides to go and see what you’re talking about. She was about to start walking when she freezes in place when Ms. Barco touches your arm and you both continue talking like it didn’t happen. Melissa balls her hands into fists.

“She ain’t getting away with that!” Melissa says angrily and Jacob and Barb turn to see what she’s looking at. Jacob runs a little to stop Melissa when she started storming off to you and Ms. Barco.

“We can’t have more conflict with that school.” Jacob tells her and she gives Jacob a glare.

“She’s flirting with my girl.” Melissa says angrily and points to you. Jacob takes a look at you and then back to Melissa.

“It doesn’t look like Y/N is flirting back with her.” Jacob says calmly.

“I know that, but it doesn’t matter. No one can flirt with my girlfriend and get away with it, especially a Liberty teacher.” Melissa says and tries to free her arm from Jacob’s grip.

Melissa sees you walking away from the teacher and start walking towards where she is. Jacob sees all the rage leave Melissa so he finally lets go of her arm. Melissa meets you halfway and puts an arm around your shoulders and sends a glare to Ms. Barco behind her.

“What did she say to you?” Melissa asks you and you look at her.

“Not much, we were just talking about what we do outside of school.” You tell her and you feel her grip on you tighten. “But how about we just have some fun. They’re over there and we got the good side of the park.” You tell her and she smiles at you as you continue to walk where all the kids are.

At lunchtime you all walk over to the trees where you put your lunches.

“Ok kiddos. Let’s go get us our lunches and get in the shade.” Melissa says with you walking right beside her.

“Oh thank goodness, let’s get out of the sun.” Barb says while trying to fan herself.

You then all look at the shady spot and see Liberty school there. You see Ms. Barco there as well and she sees you all looking at her.

“Oh, we had to move your little lunches. I hope it’s not a problem.” She says with a fake apologetic tone while pointing to where they put Abbott’s lunches in the sun. The kids start whining at that as you all walk to your lunches.

“That was supposed to be our spot.” Jacob says furiously.

“They threw our lunches into the sun!” Barb says dramatically.

“I have never known evil like that, and I have been to a cowboys home game.” Melissa says and you hold her hand to help calm her down. “You two.” Melissa says as she spots Janine and Gregory. “Where have you been? We’re at war here.” Melissa says and she takes a deep breath when she feels you squeeze her hand.

“War?” Janine says confused.

“With the park?” Gregory asks, just as confused.

Jacob then ushers Gregory to another spot to chat while you and the other teachers make sure that all the kids get their lunch and sit somewhere.

You, Melissa and Barb sit on one of the benches when everyone starts eating. “You know hot PB&J is considered a delicacy in a lot of places. It’s like a panini basically.” Melissa says and takes a bite. “So we’re being fancy.” She adds on and chuckles. You giggle at her actions from right beside her and she looks at you with a smile.

“Ha! Y’all did this to yourselves.” Ava says with a laugh.

“Ava, you’re deflating.” Janine says unimpressed.

“Hey, how are your warm, toasty sandwiches?” Ms Barco says as she walks over with a cold drink in hand and takes a sip.

“What did you say about our sandwiches?” Melissa says while standing up, anger activated immediately. She goes to stand in front of Ms. Barco while you and Barb join her so she doesn’t do something stupid.

“I just wanted to come and ask if Y/N wanted to come join us in the nice shade.” Ms. Barco says confidently to Melissa then looks at you with a flirty smile. Melissa immediately moves you to go stand behind her.

“I’d rather eat with my friends in the sun.” You tell her, half behind Melissa, who is giving a death stare to the teacher.

“You know what, why don’t we just not interact for the rest of the afternoon?” Barb suggests.

“What if I want to interact with Y/N?” Ms. Barco asks while looking at you and winks.

“Like hell you will!” Melissa says, almost with a growl to her voice.

“And why can I not interact with her?” Ms. Barco says and crosses her arms.

“She’s an Abbott teacher not a Liberty one, and most importantly she’s MY girlfriend!” Melissa says with a lot of anger.

Ms. Barco chuckles. “You’re together?” She asks in disbelief and you nod. “Must be slim pickings at Abbott, how about I take you out on a date instead?” She says with a flirty look in her eyes. You and Barb had to hold Melissa back when she began to charge forward, wanting to punch the teacher that just asked you out.

“Melissa, no punching anyone.” You tell her in a whisper. She glares at the teacher while still seething inside but you keep a firm grip on her arm.

“Look, we are about to take our students to the slide, so you all have a nice day.” Barb tells Ms. Barco. Ms. Barco looks at you and Melissa then back to Barb.

“Actually we’re going to the slide right now. So…”

Just as she says that, Melissa scoffs and Barb says “say what?” At the same time.

“Although I’ll make an exception for Y/N and her class.” Ms. Barco says, she just keeps digging a bigger hole for herself.

“She ain’t going anywhere with youse.” Melissa says while pointing her finger at her.

“Oh my god, let it go. This is stupid playground beef. Y’all are being more childish than the kids.” Ava says annoyed.

Then Crystal, Ava’s arch enemy shows up and Ava declares a relay race.

“Winner takes all! The slide and the pride!” Barb shouts in excitement.

“Yeah, so just those two things!” Melissa says and you can’t help but giggle at her comment.

“Today! These two crews: Abbott Elementary…” Ava says loudly so everyone can hear.

“And Liberty rings!” Crystal says and all the Liberty teachers and students cheer. Ms. Barco makes eye contact with you and winks at you. You get nervous that she’s not backing down since she was told that you’re in a relationship, if anything, she’s flirting with you more. Melissa saw the wink and she slips an arm around your waist while glaring at the teacher. You lean into her touch and Melissa sends a smirk to the teacher.

“Will battle it out, will battle it out, park style!” Ava adds. “A relay race through the playground. You all know the risks. It’s what you signed up for.” She finishes.

“And winner gets dibs on the big wooden slide!” Crystal adds and then everyone cheers.

You’re all in a huddle before you have to do the relay race. “Clear eyes, full hearts, elbows out, hip checks, whatever it takes. Let’s be aggressive out there.” Ava says and Melissa nods in agreement.

“Yeah, especially with Ms. Barco.” Melissa says.

“Wait. Where’s Janine and Gregory?” Jacob says as he looks around.

“Oh, who cares? Janine would just slow us down. She’s got little limbs.” Melissa says and you send her a look.

“Melissa!” You scold her and she gives you a confused look.

“Do you want to beat them or not?” Melissa asks you.

“And let’s be real, Gregory’s never really been one of us.” Ava adds.

“Look, we need everybody. I can’t carry this team all by myself.” Barb says

“Mmm. All right.” Melissa says and then Ava goes looking for them.

“Y/N! Why don’t you join the winning team!” Ms. Barco says and motions for you to go over and join their team and you look at her and blush a bit. You weren’t attracted to her but she keeps singling you out, and in front of Melissa.

“That’s why she’s with us! We’re gonna beat your asses!” Melissa tells her and Ms. Barco rolls her eyes.

Ava returns a few minutes later with Janine and Gregory and you go over what everyone is doing.

“Alright, everyone know what they’re doing?” Ava asks.

“Yeah.” Barb says.

“Wait. I want the monkey bars.” Janine suddenly says.

“What? You got a bet on the other team or something?” Melissa says and you have to agree with Melissa.

Janine ends up getting the monkey bars and you all go to take your places around the playground. You know Melissa is going to be standing next to Ms. Barco for a few minutes so you lean into her before you part.

“Don’t punch or kill her.” You tell her and she sighs.

“I’ll try, but only because you’re asking me too.” She tells you and you go over to the hopscotch place that one of the kids drew. As you see the relay race start, you look over to Melissa and she keeps glaring at Ms. Barco and then she looks your way and then watches the relay race. You see Gregory on the tricycle, pedalling towards you and he claps his hand with yours and you do the hopscotch perfectly and quickly before Liberty and then you run towards Melissa and tag her.

“Go Melissa!” You cheer her on and then she tags Janine and you run towards her. Ms. Barco is near you guys and she puts an arm around your waist as soon as you’re next to her.

“Hey baby.” Melissa says and then smirks at Ms. Barco. You both watch Janine do the monkey bars. “Go Janine! Come on Janine!” Melissa yells.

“Go Janine!” You yell as well. “You got this!”

You both watch Janine finish the monkey bars before the Liberty teacher does and then she starts dancing and you look taken back.

“Stop dancing, Janine. Stop!” Melissa yells and then Janine tags Barb. You and Melissa run to the finish line to cheer Barb on and to see who will win. “Go Barb go!” Melissa yells as she exits the small tunnel.

“Wooo-ohh, let’s go Barb!” You shout as she’s ahead of the other teacher. She then starts slowing down, thinking she’s got this.

“Satan right behind you, girl!” Ava yells.

Barb looks back and immediately starts running full speed again and makes it to the finishing line before the Liberty teacher and all of the Abbott teachers cheer, hug and high five each other. You and Melissa hug each other and then you give her a kiss.

“You’re welcome kids!” Melissa says and then you all look around and notice all of your kids are missing, even the Liberty ones.

“Kids?” Jacob says and you all go off looking for them.

“Let’s check out the slide, maybe they’re there.” You suggest and you all walk to the slide. Sure enough they were all there and both the schools were getting along just fine.

“Looks like the children can get along quite well without us.” Barb says with a smile.

“Okay, but her kid shoved my kid.” Melissa says, almost sounding like a 5 year old.

“No, your kid shoved my kid.” Ms. Barco replies back with.

“We’re done.” Barb says, not bothering to turn around.

“I guess the adults are to blame here.” Crystal says. “I’m sorry, soror.” She says to Ava.

“And I’m sorry.” Ava says. “That we had to beat your ass!” She says after a second and all the Abbott teachers begin to cheer again.

“Boom!” Melissa says as she gives Jacob a chest bump, causing him to stumble into another teacher. You and Melissa then kiss again and then Melissa looks over at Ms. Barco who was looking at you two and she crosses her arms and huffs before turning to face the kids. Melissa smirks at her actions, knowing that she got the message. Melissa puts her arm around your shoulders and rubs her hand up and down your arm and smiles at you.

When you and Melissa get home, Melissa begins kissing you roughly and you know exactly what she wants right now. She then picks you up bridal style and carries you to the bedroom.

The next day, Gregory comes walking in, with Jacob limping behind him. Gregory looks at Ava with a cast around her neck.

“Shut up, Gregory.” Ava says while pouring a bunch of sugar in her coffee.

“I said nothing.” He says as he takes in all your injuries. “But I did tell you all to stretch.” He says with a smile on his face.

Just then Mr. Johnson comes in with his pants way up to his chest.

“You all look ridiculous.” He says with a smile.

“Us? What about you?” Melissa says as you all take in his outfit, you try to hold in a laughter. “Where does your waist end and your neck begin?” She says with a small chuckle.

“If that’s supposed to be a pick up line, it’s working.” He says while looking at Melissa and then walks out.

Melissa gives a weird and confused look to the camera and you burst out laughing.

Taglist: @esposadejoyhuerta

@imaginesmultifandoms

@idonothingalldays-blog

@sexysapphicshopowner

@dvrkhcld

@lilfartbox1

@ricejucie

@unicorniusfallapatorius

@a-queen-and-her-throne

@sleep-deprived-athlete

@og-kxsh-420

@sasheemo

Let me know if you want to be added!

[raven-at-the-writing-desk]

(Can I take 👁️ anon? That way I can just preface with that emoji whenever I'm sending something here)

Anyway, for the Trein event: Ruggie trying to ask Lucius about the answers to an upcoming exam?

👁️ Anon is all yours!

A Storied Past.

Trein frowned upon sneaking, among many other things. “To sneak is to hunch over and creep around in unsavory locales. It’s simply distasteful,” he’d declare with a dismissive huff. “You are young gentlemen and esteemed students of Night Raven College, not riffraff. Your posture and behavior should reflect that.”

Well, Ruggie thought as he squatted low to the ground, it’s not a problem if you don’t get caught, right?

The hyena chanced a glance from behind the desk he hid behind, surveying the teacher’s lounge. The adults had vacated to take lunch in the cafeteria, granting him a 30 minute window of opportunity to do that which Trein so loathed: sneaking. Ruggie had already picked the lock to the door and rifled through the papers kept in the drawers—other actions Trein would find reprehensible—but to no avail. The man’s answer key was nowhere to be found.

He was so screwed on that next unit exam. I’d have the time to study for it if Leona-san weren’t runnin’ me ragged just before the test…!

Ruggie’s gaze fell on the black and white lump gathered in one corner. It stared back at him with unblinking, feline eyes. The fearsome beast that guarded the teacher’s lounge.

“Mrrrow.”

“If it isn’t my good ol’ buddy, Lucius-kun~” Ruggie broke out into a mischievous smile. This, he could work with.

He made no effort to conceal his presence or to provide an excuse—even caught with his hand in the cookie jar. Ruggie instead casually approached while lying on his belly, both hands balled into paws. His words were traded for meows that easily rolled off of his tongue.

(“How’s it goin’? Don’t mind me, I’m just sniffin’ around for a tasty morsel. You won’t squeal on me to ol’ Trein, wouldja?”)

Lucius yawned, either unsurprised or disinterested. (“Depends. What are you willing to do for me this time?”)

“Tch. Always gotta be a dealmaker, huh? You’d give Azul a real run for his money,” Ruggie grumbled to himself. Fixing his grimace into a grin, he shook a paw at the cat. (“I’ve got a nice can of fancy tuna with your name on it!”)

Lucius sniffed. (“Just the one?”)

(“What, you want more? I know you love the stuff, but if you have too much at once then Trein might start getting suspicious about how full you are.”) Ruggie made a face. (“I’ll give you one can of fancy tuna and a some catnip to chew on afterwards. How about it?”)

(“Two cans or nothing.”)

(“Two cans,”) Ruggie shot back, (“one now, second one a week from now. We don’t want to risk being caught.”)

Lucius inclined his head, considering. (“… Alright, I accept.”)

(“Sweet, thanks.”) A pause. (“By the way, you wouldn’t happen to know where Trein’s keeping the answer key for the next exam?”)

Lucius rose from his spot and scampered over to the bookshelf along one wall. Getting up on his hind legs, he tapped on the spine of a thick binder marked GAINS!!

(“Isn’t that Coach Vargas’s stuff?”)

(“You'd think so, wouldn't you?")

Lucius pulled the binder free. It fell to the floor and opened, revealing weekly schedules, exercises, and protein (and egg)-rich meal plans. Ruggie cocked a brow expectantly. Lucius rolled his eyes and tugged out a loose piece of paper free with his teeth. He deposited it before Ruggie.

Several bubbles littered the page, a single dark circle in each row.

The answer key.

("He suspected cheating on the last exam because of the higher than usual grade average, so extra precautions were taken to hide this one. Vargas collaborated with him.")

("Whoo-hoo! Way to go, Lucius-kun! You're the CAT!") Ruggie cheered, snatching the sheet up. His eyes greedily ran across it, committing each answer to memory. ("Always a pleasure doin' business with ya!")

("Yes, yes. Now then, about that first can of fancy tuna...")

[alter-ego-xxx]

hear me out hear me out

t4t moonwater who originally only begin talking through sirius because he knows their experiences are similar and they get so close so quickly, and they see eachother without binders/glamours etc and they just find eachother so hot that one night when theyre talking they kiss and suddenly theyre naked and fingering eachother

bonus points if its their first time either as a whole or with another trans person

nsfw

anon, this is one of the hottest things I've read in a while. They're just talking about the struggles they share and then the topic falls on changes due to testosterone and they talk about their bottom growths and Reg is like "look, I know that this is tmi but I can't talk to anyone else about this, so does yours also do *this* or look like *that*" or whatever and then Remus is like "yeah hold up let me see... wait how does this feel?" and boom, there you have it. Suddenly they're fingering each other and making out and how about one of them tells the other about the new strap they just bought? Mhh yeah, it's gonna be an *educational* evening...

[notsopersonalcharlie]

Won't Let You Go, Belle

Biker!Bucky Barners x afab!reader smut

Summary: A flashback to Bucky and Belle's first date... and to fulfil some of Bucky's longstanding thoughts.

Warnings: MDNI 18+, porn with plot, kinda long, mentions of previous shitty boyfriend that i've referenced before, Bucky is bad at dates but good at sex, daddy kink, fingering, oral (f receiving), multiple orgasms, praise kink, p in v sex, i think that's everything

Notes: bringing anon (and my) dreams into reality. It did end up a little sweeter than expected but its because im a SAP. More Biker!Bucky content here

You stared at yourself in the mirror of the bathroom. You had put on makeup in a way you never did for other dates. You were usually very internally strict about what you did to make a date go well. Something about Bucky though... After he had ensured his extra helmet was strapped comfortably across your chin and your feet were in the right place, so you didn't burn your calves, it had felt uncomfortably natural to wrap your arms around his thick chest. You were sure he could feel your heart beating overtime in your chest when you leaned forward. You just hoped the rumble of the bike made it impossible to feel it.

Bucky was an experienced biker. He knew that. His friends knew that. Every piece of his instinct that came from riding across the country, in war zones, and across the city all came in handy as soon as he felt your hands tighten around him. You chest against his back made his heart beat so loud he thought there was no way you wouldn't hear it over the rumble of the bike.

"I've never been on a motorcycle before," you said quietly when you stopped in the driveway of the garage. The hum of the bike stopped made everything sound quiet in your ears. You understood Steve's loud projection which had startled you earlier.

"Well, I'm glad you had a good trip. Steve should be here soon," Bucky said gruffly, taking the helmet gently from your hands and stowing it away. He led you into the office of the shop. There were a few people sitting with bikes and chatting or working on cars inside the garage, who watched passively, but you followed into a closed office and Bucky left the door open behind you before sitting down on the other side. You felt awkward, but sat in the seat across from him. It felt odd after being so close to him for ten sweltering minutes. You could feel it between your legs.

"Steve'll be here soon." Bucky looked down at some papers and pulled open a binder.

"You said that already." His blue eyes flickered to you and you tried to take a full breath, but it ended up being loud and strange. You tried to stifle the expression you wanted to make out of your awkwardness.

And now you were standing in the bathroom of this steakhouse, feeling exactly the same way. Bucky had been nothing but sweet, interested in what you did and ordering what you wanted. It felt good, but there was a barrier between you that you hadn't felt when you sat behind him on that bike, chest to his back.

"Get yourself together," you muttered to yourself, carefully wiping away the dark lipstick you had opted for. It had felt appropriate when you thought about the biker the man was, and the vibe of the bar he owned next door. You only had it because of a Halloween costume. You felt a little bit more like yourself when you stepped out of the bathroom and took your seat at the table. Bucky was taller than your ex and you knocked your knee against his thigh as you crossed your legs.

His head tilted, scanning your face before his blue eyes focused in on your newly glossed lips. He chose not to comment.

"Dessert menu?" He was sweet for asking, but it had felt like the night flew away despite how physically uncomfortable you had felt the whole time. It felt natural.

"Of course! I love chocolate." Bucky smiled, reaching for his scotch and taking a long sip. You tried not to stare at his lips.

Bucky stared at the letters, but they felt like they were swimming on the page. He flipped the binder to a random page. He could still feel where your thighs had sneezed around his hips when he turned a corner too quick.

"I have to take a look at the car before I can give you a quote. The restaurant-" he looked at his watch, "-the bar next door is open and we'll come in and let you know when we have a diagnosis on the car." You blinked at him before nodding and slowly rising from your seat.

"Okay, uh, could you-" Bucky stood rapidly and nodded, showing you out the side door and into the Howling Commando Bar and Grill. Sam gave him a little smirk when he left you at the bar, and Bucky bared his teeth before heading back to the garage to wait for your car, and maybe take a few deep breaths and resolve the issue in his pants.

"And a dessert menu?" You blinked, trying not to think again about Bucky's warm hand at the small of your back when the waiter had led you to the table.

"Yeah, and a coffee for me," Bucky said.

"Me too," you chimed in. Your eyes met again as the waiter walked away. You second guessed the want in his eyes. Maybe it was just- His knee brushed against the middle of your thigh, then the other from the other side. He leaned forward, dangling his empty scotch glass from his fingers. His lips were wet again. You thought it should be illegal.

"Do you..." he took a quick breath, "I think you should come home with me." If it had come from anyone else, you thought you probably would have rolled your eyes and left him with the check, but you swallowed.

"I know I should." You stared at each other, Bucky's other hand resting on the side of your knee waiting for the waiter to arrive. When he came back you stuck out your card, which caught Bucky by surprise.

"We actually decided to skip dessert if you could take this for the check." The waiter looked shocked, but she walked away quickly.

"You didn't have to do that."

"I figured it would be quickest."

The two of you walked out into the humid air, and Bucky slid his extra helmet on your head, carefully strapping it below your chin. His tongue stuck out between his lips just slightly as he made sure it was tight enough. He put on his own helmet and then stepped over to sit astride the bike. He had now driven you on the bike four times, and it had gotten easier to use his shoulder to lever yourself onto the back, your feet naturally sliding onto the little foot rests. Your knees knocked his hips and he reached back to squeeze one of them.

"You're getting to a natural," he laughed, the bike starting over thought and drowning it from your ears. It wasn't a long drive, and you saw that he lived within spitting distance of the garage and bar. He let you get off the bike first, and then got off himself, helping you pull off the helmet again. He smiled sweetly at you as he pushed some of your hair back behind your ear. You were sure it looked a mess, but you couldn't help but stare a little moon-eyed up at him.

"I owe you back for that dinner," Bucky muttered as he unlocked the door to his apartment. You bit your lip, considering if you should let the statement out of your mouth before you decided it was the correct choice and said, "I was hoping maybe coming back here would do exactly that." Bucky's blue eyes were dark with... something when the door swung open and he pushed you in before him.

"I think I could make it worth it, depending on how badly how you want it, pretty belle." His voice was raspy, focused. You couldn't help but feel the heat between your legs growing. The nickname was warm and wrapped in affection that should have sounded out of place from this man who was a stranger only a few days ago.

"I want it very badly." The door shut behind you two, plunging you both into darkness, the only light coming from the streetlights through the window. You thought maybe you ought to be scared, but Bucky's arms were suddenly around you, his hot mouth on your neck, mapping its way up to lips against yours. The kiss made you breathless, the first in years, and you were at his whim.

"What do you want, pretty belle?" His lips continued on what felt like a natural path back down your neck and following the hem of your shirt.

"I want you, Bucky," you whined, your head lolling back as your fingers found purchase in his hair. He made a sound of displeasure in his throat, despite his hands pushing restlessly against your shirt, fingers skimming your now bare waist.

"I want you, daddy," you groaned again, knowing your fingers had gone still against his scalp. There was a stillness between the both of you for a moment, before Bucky moved, his hands tight against your thighs, pulling. You jumped and suddenly your only tether to the ground was him.

"Fuck belle, I want you too." It was dark, and you had no idea how long you were kissing down Bucky's lips to his neck before you were laid down on his bed. His jawline was sharp and the stubble tickled your lips and the feel of his pulse against your tongue as your traced the line of his neck was intoxicating. You could feel how wet you were as you shifted your hips against his. His groaned before pulling away reluctantly.

"Sorry, one second close your eyes." You followed his instructions and you could feel the lights turn on. He was muttering to himself and you opened your eyes to see him shooing a gray cat off the bed.

"For fucks sake Alpine, do you really want to ruin my chances," he was whispering as he closed the door behind the cat. He looked absolutely delicious now that you could see him. His blue eyes were entirely overtaken by lust, his cheeks pink under his stubble, and his lips wet. There was hickey forming at the hem of his shirt and you were certain you could add a few more.

"Sorry. Alpine's bedtime was like two hours ago." You smiled up at him, suddenly feeling a sweet flutter in your chest.

"Where were we?" Bucky over you in the light was entirely different and even more enticing than it was in the dark. He was in all black, his leather jacket tossed to the floor, his tshirt showing off tattooed arms that you knew you would be drooling over shortly.

"You were about to entirely fuck me up," you responded, bottom lip between your teeth. Bucky took a breath that read as controlling himself. Not at all what you wanted.

"I mean that," you repeated. His eyes met yours.

"You gotta be sure about that, honey." He was being honest, his arms bracketing your shoulders, halfway to a kiss.

"I mean it," you said again, your eyes refocusing on his lips, waiting for a reply. Instead you got a strong, warm body against yours, lips near attacking yours before they traced down your jaw and throat to your shirt. His hands were tugging at your hair.

"Fuck, belle, I want to see it all." You were happy to oblige as he pushed up your shirt leaving hungry kisses against your stomach and ribs, you undid your jeans and kicked them away. Bucky forced your arms up and pulled your shirt over your head, leaving you in only the matching set you had put on in the hopes that the night would go anywhere. He stared at you, licking his lips as eyes raked over your near naked body on his bed.

"God, I think you're an angel sent to me," he mused, retuning his lips to yours. Your hands wandered, feeling out of place but very aroused but the fact that he was fully dressed but you were entirely naked. His shirt came off, and you didn't have nearly enough time to stare at the tattoos that covered him. Again you thought about mapping them with your tongue.

Bucky's hand explored as much as his tongue before you managed to wrestle his black jeans came off to reveal more of his tattoos.

"Please, Bucky, I want more," you whined, the slick between your legs making you shift your hips against him. You could tell he was huge in the confines of his jeans.

"How'd ya want it, honey? I gotta pay you back." You wanted to balk at the way he insinuated this was a favor, but you were near gushing between the legs.

"I want all of you," you whined, "Daddy, please. Anything." Two of his fingers ran against your panties, and he groaned at the wetness on contact.

"You are soaking, belle. I bet you taste as good as you sound." Bucky was quick to kiss down your chest, his hands' singular focus on getting your panties off. You groaned at the way he stared at you from where he knelt against the floor.

"Good thing we skipped dessert," he chuckled to himself, his hand wrapping around your ankle to pull one leg over his shoulder before his mouth pressed against your clit. You couldn't suppress the loud whine that you let out, already close as he teased your clit before his hot tongue made practiced motions down to your slit, his nose pressing to your clit. Your hips bucked and his big hands slid up your legs to press you back onto the bed.

"This is my treat, honey, I'm going to make you feel good." The baritone of his voice was a drug and you could feel your mind getting hazy as the feeling of your orgasm built in your stomach. Bucky's tongue moved back to your clit, a sinfully slow pace keeping you satisfied, but not doing enough. Once he was satisfied that you weren't going to try to wiggle away from him again, one of his hands joined his mouth between your legs, a finger pressing into you and providing delicious pressure right where you needed it.

"Oh you like that, huh belle?" Your voice was breathy through your panting, but you managed a, "please, more daddy." Bucky's chuckle against your clit in combination with another finger joining the first sent you over the edge and you came hard. Bucky's fingers slowed, pulling you through your orgasm while he pressed soft kisses to your thighs.

"Was that good, pretty girl?" You nodded and his fingers paused, blue eyes intent on yours.

"Words, honey." You blinked, the demand sending another jolt through you. Bucky obviously felt it based on how he smirked, his sinful wet lips now wet with you. It was the hottest thing you had ever seen.

"So good."

"I bet you could give me another one." It wasn't a demand, but a challenge, and even in this state you were certainly not one to back down from competition.

"Please, daddy." Bucky was back between your legs, another finger pressing into you and his tongue soothed the sting by running smooth and slow figure 8s on your clit. It was clear immediately that Bucky had paid attention to what you liked because after a few moments, his fingers crooked in exactly the right way and you moaned, and thought you might be embarrassed if it didn't feel so good. He leaned back, his other hand taking over the motion on your clit.

"Quiet, belle, we wouldn't want the neighbors to hear how good you sound. They might try to come take ya." Bucky added a fourth finger, an indication of what was to come and you came almost immediately, tight around him as your head threw back, hips moving to meet his finger's thrusts.

"Honey, you are gonna feel like fucking heaven," Bucky muttered as he slowly pulled his fingers away from you, "I'll be back in two seconds." You could still feel the orgasm in your toes when he came back, a towel and condom in hand.

"We can stop there if you want." You leaned up, leaning back against your elbows as he walked towards you. His expression was sincere, but you could see his cock straining against his jeans.

"Absolutely not." The wicked look returned to his eyes as he tossed the items beside you and then bowled you back over onto the bed, his lips finding yours. You could taste yourself on his tongue as he kissed you, quick fingers ridding you of your bra. Your hands found purchase over his strong shoulders and you managed to roll him onto his back.

"Taking control, honey?" He sounded condescending and it was hot. You straddled his thick thighs, focusing your actions on getting the button and zipper off his skinny jeans. Your eyes were wandering across the tattooed expanse of his chest. There was every kind of tattoo, and you were certain you had to ask about every single one when you got the chance.

"Need help?" He asked right before you managed to get the zipper down.

"Move." He laughed, lifting his hips, with you on him, and slid the jeans past his ass, pulling your hips forward so your swollen pussy ran right over the cold zipper and left you straddling the bulge in his black boxers. You both groaned at the contact and you rolled your hips, eliciting a delightfully hot sound from his lips as his eyes closed. He kicked his pants the rest of the way off and his hands were back on your hips, guiding their grinding till both of you were moaning and his boxers were soaked. Your head was thrown back, hands on his hot chest as his fingers left marks against your hips.

"Ya ready, belle?" You nodded fervently, and let him gently lay you down on the bed, leaving an intimate kiss on your lips before reaching to where he had tossed the condom. You stared hungrily as he pulled the boxers down and your eyes widened at how big he was. His thighs and all the way down his v-line had tattoos, which made the contrast of his flushed cock more distinct.

"Please, fuck me daddy." You thought you might be drooling.

"Oh, honey, I will." He rolled the condom down his own cock, pumping once before pushing your knees up so they were rested on his hips. You looked down and couldn't look away as he slowly pressed into you, the burn of his fingers nothing compared to this.

"Fuck, god... belle you feel so good, you're so tight." You wanted to push down against him, force him in faster, but he was gentle and slow and by the time he bottomed out his cock was pressed against just the right spot to make you want to moan.

"You were made for me, fuck." Bucky's right hand gripped your thigh and the other arm leaned on your left so he could press a feverish kiss to your lips.

"Please move, please." You could feel yourself squeezing around him. You were certain neither of you would last long based on the euphoric expression on his face. He took a focused breath and then his eyes opened, blue almost entirely overtaken by his pupils. You licked your lips, leaning up to kiss him. When you shifted it pushed him further and it was as if a dam broke. Bucky pulled away from you till he was up on both knees, the delicious drag of him inside you nothing compared to his first thrust. It was hard, unrestrained, and the sexiest thing you had ever seen.

"Belle, ain't no way this can be a one time thing," he muttered before pushing back into you. He set a brutal pace but he hit right where you needed him every time and you saw stars the first time you came, gushing around him and adding to the chorus of sounds that two of you were making. Bucky pressed through your first orgasm and then one hand slid up and found your clit.

"I want you to come with me, can you do that for me honey? I'm- fuck I'm so close." You nodded, barely able to keep your eyes open.

"Words, belle, fuck."

"Yes, daddy, yes please."

"Good girl." You both came together, Bucky's thrusts getting sloppy till he was leaned back over you, his forehead rested to your shoulder as he pressed one last time into you before pulling out. He grabbed the towel and quickly cleaned you up before himself and tossing it somewhere in the direction of the bathroom he had gone into before.

It was a few minutes before either of you spoke, wrapped in blankets, your head resting on his arm, facing one another.

"So much for being quiet." Bucky laughed, and closed the small gap to kiss you.

"I meant it when I said this can't be a one time thing." His dominating demeanor had dropped to that same sweet look from dinner. You nodded, feeling the sleep sliding across your eyes as you cuddled closer to him.

"I agree." You closed your eyes, getting as close to Bucky as you could. He smelled like sex and sweat and everything you had ever wanted.

"Good, because I don't think I could let ya go now, Belle." You giggled, his arms wrapping around you.

"Wouldn't let you."

[sinisterexaggerator]

Can I ask for Cad Bane x FTM reader hcs? SFW and NSFW, no limits. Maybe a fic if you're in the mood? I'm on anon because I'm shy.

Hello, anon! Hopefully, you will like this. I did my best. This is my first try at a ftm reader insert! Feedback, likes, comments, reblogs are all appreciated if you feel they are deserved! I will take correction and advice for THIS FIC ONLY. It's important to listen to the target audience. <3

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A Good Story

Cad Bane x Trans Male (AFAB) Reader

Summary: You are a bored weapon's merchant on Fondor, a planet located near Devaron; Cad Bane has a date with Bolla Ropal at the Jedi temple and is in the market for something special—but you have the nerve to try to rip him off. Bane has money, and you're in need—surely he won't bat an eye at the high price tag?

Warnings: NSFW / 18+ for double-penetration and finger-fucking. Bane goes in both ways. I also make use of the words cunt and dick in relation to genitalia. There is a mention of the reader wearing a binder.

Word count: 4.5K +

Ao3

God, you were bored.

Fondor was a planet with little to do save for your dead-end job, lonely nights spent nursing bottom shelf brandy in some dingy, hole-in-the-wall cantina, unable to escape the smells of the shipyard. It reeked of tibanna, oil, tar, and rust, the odors having long since taken up residence in the vibrissae of your nose, lingering there, giving you no short reprieve—even after a shower.

Still, that wasn’t even your work. The Clone War was getting closer to your rocky home world with every passing day. It made sense. You lived in the Colonies, situated within the Inner Rim; threats from the Separatists loomed just beyond your backyard, populated with important trade routes.

It appeared Count Dooku, the leader of the Confederacy of Independent Systems, had the idea that Fondor should join his ranks. The Republic now vied for your attention but talks led nowhere—no one wanted to join Dooku willingly.

That’s where you came in.

Well, sort of.

“Good choice,” you praised the buyer of a DL-22 blaster pistol, the man placing the sum of five-hundred credits into your outstretched hand.

“Best to be armed nowadays,” he said dismissively, looking down the barrel of his newly acquired, high-priced toy.

The DL-22 was designed by BlasTech Industries and packed quite a powerful punch. A high-quality focusing crystal had been utilized by the weapon’s manufacturer to increase the damage output of the pistol’s blast bolts. This resulted in a reduction of the gun's stun setting, but most found the exchange to be well worth it.

“Can I interest you in any extra power cells? Carts? It only comes with the one up front.” If you had learned nothing else from this job, it was that your boss demanded you try to upsell every customer who walked in off the street. You resented him for that, but you also liked the extra commission when things worked out.

“Nah, got some back home.” The man was already holstering his purchase, aiming to walk out the door.

“We have a three rotation return policy,” you said, more as an afterthought. The man nodded he understood, then left.

You sighed. You wondered how much longer until your next customer. Sometimes, hours passed, and you would not see a single soul. It wasn’t that you minded, but the time seemed to drag on endlessly. There was only so much you could do on your datapad; scrolling through newsreels after a while became demoralizing.

You had just begun to read an article about Wilhuff Tarkin, the governor of Eriadu, when the door chimed. You found a stopping point at the end of the next paragraph and looked up, a habitual, customer-friendly smile having crept across one side of your face.

Then, it fell clean off.

A Duros strolled into your shop, the echo of his boots filling your ears as he sauntered across the duracrete floor.

That was the word for it, sauntered—he was strolling with what could only be described as a kind of confident detachment, a wide-brimmed hat hiding the fine details of his disposition, though you saw he was sporting the tiniest hint of a snaggle-toothed smirk.

You cleared your throat. “Hello, welcome.”

He said nothing, coming ever closer, causing the skin on the back of your neck to prickle. He seemed familiar, somehow, though you couldn’t quite place it. His short walk ended as he set the pads of all ten of his fingers down flat across the countertop, just to the right of the register—you wondered if he meant to rob you blind.

You allowed your eyes to travel the length of his skeletal frame, taking in his well-worn ensemble; the tightness of the leather; the glint of the metal accoutrements; the creak of the material as he tipped marginally forward, putting all his weight on one leg as he bent his knee, shifting his stance to one that was more casual.

Then, his chin rose. The face that was revealed startled you to the point you gasped. You sucked in a quick inhalation of air, filling your lungs before you refocused, this time on his eyes.

They were two austere, gleaming red jewels inlaid among the bluest scales—severe in appearance, surrounded by scars of varying depth and length.

Fuck; he was handsome. More attractive than he had any right to be. And his mouth—you suddenly couldn’t take your eyes off it, or off the two tapered fangs that peeked out at you from lips that were dry and cracked. But you thought it didn’t matter—you would kiss those lips if he asked you t—

“—In de market fer somethin’ special.” He interrupted your train of thought for another to take its place. His voice was like something you had never heard before, rough while at the same time smooth and sensual; he was as easy on the ears as he was on the eyes, and he had your full attention.

“Oh?” you asked, doing your utmost to stay calm, to come off as nonchalant. “And what might that be?” you inquired, genuinely curious, though hoping he wouldn’t surprise you with a request that was outside your wheelhouse. You realized that even though you did not know his name, you would hate to disappoint whoever this man was.

“Projectile launcher,” he started, pushing off the counter to stand up straight. He was a tall drink of water, enough to quench your thirst, though staring at him seemed to have the opposite effect. You felt as if you had never been this thirsty in your life. “Fer a cortosis shot.”

“Cortosis ore?” You felt the question had been a dumb one on your part, no sooner than you had asked it.

The Duros’ brow twitched, raising upward toward one side. He folded his arms and stared you down with those cold, crimson eyes, wondering what the hell else you thought he might be referencing.

“Problem?”

“What? No. No, we uh—” You released his heady gaze to glance back down at your datapad with some reluctance. “We have several weapons in stock that might suit your needs.”

You pretended to sort through your inventory, but you had just begun a search for Duros—ones that might be in some form of media, or on the news.

“Yeah? Like what.”

Why was it suddenly hard to swallow? Why did you feel so warm? You felt the blood rushing to your face, unable to curtail the onset of what was presumably anxiety, your finger adeptly scrolling through the holofeed as fast as the device permitted.

“Depends on what you’re after—something compact, something a little flashier—” Your eyes widened as you caught sight of a report some few days back; this Duros had been the one involved in a break-in at the Jedi temple. An APB had been put out for his capture—Cad Bane.

He was considered to be armed and dangerous. That much was obvious. But why was he here now?

“Somethin’ good ‘nough te disarm a Jedi,” came his reply. You looked back up and returned your datapad to the counter. His gaze was measured, calculating.

“Find anythin’ interestin’ on dhere?” the bounty hunter growled, eyeing you with evident suspicion. You panicked, pressing a button alongside the glowing screen so that it would blank out and go dark.

“Many ... something's,” you said awkwardly. You may have been scared shitless, but you weren’t stupid. Not entirely. Stupid enough to use this situation to your advantage, though, or at least stupid enough to try.

“A-a Jedi?” you inquired, trying to keep the fear from your voice, but ultimately changing the subject. You hoped against all odds he hadn’t seen what you had last been looking at.

“What Ah said,” he snapped. “Show me.”

“Right! Sure!”

You scampered to the back, looking amongst the shelves for the blaster you knew you had in stock. You used this moment not only to find something that might please the Duros, but also to catch your breath—your heart was pounding as you came to terms with who was waiting for you, yet you knew the man had money. Lots of it.

“Cad fucking Bane,” you whispered to no one in particular, staring blankly at a row of pistols, your vision nearly blurring as you practically disassociated—unable to believe that the galaxy’s most notorious hired gun had just waltzed into your meager storefront, and on a day you happened to be working.

“What?” came a low note in your ear.

You overtly jumped, turning around, terror-stricken and at a loss for words.

The bastard was right behind you! How had he done that? How did you not even hear him approach?!

“Shit, man! Don’t—don’t karking do that!” you said without thinking. The Duros narrowed his eyes, withdrawing a toothpick he had on his person somewhere, retrieving it from out the corner pocket of his coat.

“Do what,” he asked flatly.

“Sneak up on me!” you panted, gasping for air.

“Wastin’ my time,” he rasped, placing the scrap of wood between his teeth. It was plain as daylight he was losing his patience, yet you had only exchanged a few scant words.

“OK, look. I’m sorry—it’s—it’s not every day Cad Bane walks into my shop.”

“Well, dhen teday’s yer lucky day, innit?” he asked, sarcasm lacing his tone, the Duros speaking from around the inserted toothpick resting gingerly betwixt his fangs.

“Yeah. Yeah, I guess so.” You forced yourself to calm by thinking one thought only—if he wanted you dead or to hurt you, he already would have.

“Won’t ask again—show me,” he commanded.

You walked toward the back row of shelves without another word; the Duros followed. You stretched out your arms, gathering what you had been after—a top of the line slugthrower, a weapon that used kinetic energy to fire solid objects, metal objects—you hoped it was what the man was looking for.

You turned around and presented it to him; Bane lifted it straight out of your hands. He turned it this way and that, giving it a thorough examination, extending it as if meaning to take a shot. He pulled the trigger, though it wasn’t loaded, then shifted his gaze toward yours—you had been staring. “How much?”

Now was your chance—would you dare try to coax a little more out of him than the asking price? Maybe money was no object to a person of his wealth and status. It was no secret Bane worked for the highest bidder. Everyone knew his was the highest price tag and that he was capable of any job should you pay him his just dues.

You idly wondered who had paid him to break into the temple back on Coruscant…

“Ye slow?” Bane snarled, flashing his teeth. You had zoned out again, making yourself look more or less like an idiot three times now.

“Two thousand,” you shot back. This particular model was only worth twelve hundred.

The Duros gawked at you, arched a brow, then outright laughed a dry honk of a laugh. “HA! Ye must be dumber dhan kriff te think Ah’m payin dhat.”

“Take it or leave it,” you bravely replied, although you wished you hadn’t for what came next.

The hunter’s eyes narrowed for the second time within your presence. He shoved the shotgun back into your arms, forcing you to stumble backward. He removed the toothpick he had been gnawing on to place it against the underside of your chin. Your own eyes widened as you swallowed down your excess spit.

“Ye tryin’ te pull one over on me, son?” Bane asked, his voice riddled with animosity, betraying his lack of self-restraint.

“I—what? N-no—” you managed, hardly able to look at him directly.

Still, this sudden closeness, the smell of the Duros—it was intoxicating. Despite his piss-poor attitude, his leering was doing things to you. Things you could not explain except that it was your animal brain enlivening, as were your loins, much to your embarrassment.

Then, the Duros smiled. It was a shit-eating, nefarious sort of smile. A smile that made your blood run cold and your groin catch fire. “Dhat fear Ah smell, er somethin’ else?”

Your cheeks burned, though you would recover, finding your obstinance somewhere deep down inside you. “I don’t know what you’re talking about, that’s the asking price,” you lied, the pounding of your heart thrumming in your ears.

“Ah know what dhis shit’s werth, and it ain’t dhat,” Bane hissed, pushing the sharp point of his toothpick more succinctly against you, the scars and lines that were etched into the flat of his face close enough to touch, close enough to kiss.

“Make ye a deal, since Ah know ye wanna fuck me,” Bane taunted savagely.

“W-what?!” you asked surprised, thrown off by his candidness. Was he a mind reader? Could he sense your desperation?

What you were not privy to was that Bane was in a rare, good mood, having just stolen a holocron out from under the noses of half a dozen Jedi, making out with a new ship and a payout that was triple. Normally, he might just shoot you for trying to pull a fast one, but there was something about you that intrigued him—maybe it was the brazen way in which you had tried to overcharge him. It was something he might do, after all.

“Pay ye what it’s werth, and Ah’ll give ye somethin’ te tell yer friends,” Bane snickered. “If ye got any,” he nastily teased, adding insult to injury.

“I … I have friends,” you defended, giving him a once over. You felt entirely too hot, your body having betrayed you for wanting this horrible, cutthroat man.

“Dhat mean we have ourselves a deal?” His grin returned, toothy and sadistic.

“I’ll drop it to twelve … but only if you can make me cum.”

Were you crazy? Had you actually gone temporarily insane?

Not only did the Duros’ rostrum crinkle in a twisted sort of delight, but the corners of his horizontal, ovate eyes did as well, his malicious smirk reaching to the tops of his gaunt cheeks.

“Ye got guts, Ah’ll give ye dhat—time te rearrange ‘em,” he stated cattily, flicking his chewed-up toothpick onto the floor.

You almost laughed, but thought it the wrong choice, not that you had much time to think through things to begin with, Bane on you faster than a womp rat up a drainpipe now that you had given your express consent.

The Duros snatched the slugthrower back out of your hands, tossing it down to join his toothpick on the ground, the shotgun landing with a clatter as he grasped you by the collar of your shirt, shoving you back against the row of shelves behind you.

“Turn around and spread ‘em,” he advised.

“Wait! That’s—that’s not exactly what I’m into,” you dared, taking a deep breath.

The hunter canted his head like an inquisitive took’, looking at you like you had just grown a second head yourself. Yet, he did not take yours clean off. Instead, he posed a question.

“Ye exspectin’ Ah be gentle?”

“No, just—go easy.”

“Easy …”

Bane hummed a sound, as if rolling over what you had said in his mind. Then, he closed the gap between you, pressing himself up against your aching loins; you could feel the outline of the Duros through his distressed jeans. It was … unusual, to say the least.

“Have it yer way.”

Bane moved toward the button at the top of your pants, dexterous fingers undoing the clasp within seconds. You found yourself holding your breath as one large hand slipped between the folds of your boxers, trying not to dwell on what he might think once he realized—

“Hold on!” you interjected, the Duros’ creeping digits stopping just below your belt line. He bared his teeth in annoyance, but it couldn’t be helped. You had one more thing to tell him.

“Tryin’ my patienccce,” Bane sizzed, his free hand wandering up to clutch your throat, holding your head steady as he gazed penetratingly into your eyes.

“Just thought maybe you should know that I—”

“Cahnnit,” the hunter snapped, the Duros’ sizeable fingers once more taking to movement as he pressed one between the folds of your labia. “Already know,” he informed you in a matter-of-fact tone. “Think Ah ain’t never karked a man with a cunt before?”

Bane snorted out a laugh as your breath caught in your throat, the Duros guiding his index finger to gently fondle the growth between your legs, “dhis ain’t my ferst rodeo, kid, now try te relax before ye piss me off.”

You nodded, unable to peel your eyes away from his, the brim of his hat steeping you both in shadow as you did the unthinkable, pushing up off your toes in an attempt to kiss him.

The hunter pushed you back with the point of a finger, then dipped down low at the same time he dipped inside you, gathering a measure of your slick. His thumb worked your dick in concentric circles as one large, elongated forefinger gave you something to mull over, the Duros leaving you gasping for air at the thought he hadn’t even stuck his cock inside you yet.

“Feel good?” he asked, as if he cared, as if might actually be concerned for how you were feeling. Whether or not it was an act wasn’t the point, just glad enough that he had taken the time to ask.

“Yes,” you breathed, your mouth so close to his, yet he had still refused to kiss you. It was almost unbearable, Bane immersing his finger into your tight hole to his third knuckle, curling it at just the right slant to apply the perfect amount of pressure against your anterior walls.

“Now… why don’t ye be a good boy and turn around fer me,” he coerced, though not so demanding as last time. His good boy sent your mind reeling; you were already lost to him, unable to move, unable to speak, riding the high that was Bane finger-fucking you in the back of your workplace—shit—if anyone walked in…

You tried to obey him, but your body was not cooperating by no fault of your own. You had not felt this good in ages, the intense pleasure you were experiencing outweighing the frightening prospect of being spied having relations by your immediate supervisor or any other customer.

“Need a lil’ help, do ye?” Bane asked, the wet squelch of his finger vacating your insides causing you to heavily blush. Though incapable of speech, you were past the point of caring, letting the Duros ultimately have his way with you against your better judgment. Maybe you were naive for thinking he wouldn’t hurt you, but things seemed to now be fully out of your control, allowing your unconventional lover to rotate your human form however he so wished.

You felt your pants slide down towards your thighs; your boxers were next, falling past the crack of your ass, Bane once more pressing himself firmly against you as you heard a shuck, a rattle of metal, and the peeling of what sounded like thermoguard being pried apart by its seams.

“Which hole ye want it in?” Bane thought to ask, perhaps assuming he was being considerate. Before you could answer him in any way, shape or form, he decided for you. “Both,” he chortled.

“What do you—” you began, but were quickly silenced, something slick and slimy finding its way up your slit while another something knocked on your back door, though the Duros was kind to you in that its introduction was gradual, his cock’s tapered tip slim and pliable, enabling it to slip inside your ass in tiny increments.

You realized his species must self-lubricate; you thanked the Whills. Even though it felt beyond compare, you knew you would be sore by this time tomorrow.

“Look how good ye take it,” Bane lauded, though you could not tell if he was being sincere. You were left to seethe through your teeth, hissing tiny breaths, Bane only moving insofar as you could stand. He seemed to have a second sense for this, though the other of his cocks pushed up inside you; they were obviously stacked, these dual phalli, ribbed in all the right ways; pressing into you at all the right angles.

“Fuck,” you exclaimed, panting like a man who had just run a marathon, moans of pleasure escaping your throat as a feeling of ecstasy mixed with a good kind of pain traveled its way down your spine, spreading outward from its origin point at the base of your skull.

“If ye insist,” Bane drawled, his bony hips thrusting themselves forward to where you belted out a sound that pleased him, Bane laughing a vicious little laugh as he reached around you, taking up the sizable nub that rested between your thighs.

“Louder,” he instructed, wanting to hear you sing, wanting to feel you writhe under him as he fucked you alongside an inordinate amount of deadly weaponry.

You pressed your hands flat along the shelves in front of you, digging your fingers into the wood. You would leave deep rents by the end of your time here, grasping for purchase as he began to rail you harder.

You moaned again, louder as he deemed it necessary. “Bane,” you praised, holding on for dear life as he gave you a good old-fashioned reach around while doubly penetrating you from behind. The overwhelming number of sensations you were feeling had your brain short-circuiting, the Duros swaying you toward an almost gentle release.

You reached a peak, biting down against your own hand, your dull, human teeth leaving their imprint across your flesh, damp with sweat, proof of pleasure rendered.

“Ain’t gettin’ off so easy after all,” Bane crooned spitefully in your ear. You momentarily wondered if he was referring to your orgasm, until you understood—he didn’t plan on stopping just because you came. He kept on rocking into you, over and over, simultaneously hitting your G-spot while stimulating the nerves in your anus, causing you to cum a second time.

Your body quaked beneath him, his thin hips enough to bruise you, to tenderize the meat of your rump as he gripped either side of your haunches, squeezing tight—you were glad he had never once groped you through your binder.

You weren’t entirely sure why you had agreed to this—especially without protection—but here you were, and you realized you had no desire to stop it from happening.

“Want it,” you croaked. “All of it.”

Bane obliged, discharging a thick, gelid substance into your cunt, followed by another round coating every inch of your inner walls. He did not hold back as was your preference, things only once more becoming impersonal when he raised up off your back, his rail-thin chest having been resting upon you, the rapid fluttering of his heart felt through the sparse fabric of your shirt.

It was a unique feeling, causing you to shiver reflexively, observing that his cocks weren’t by any means synchronized in their release. You only now began to wonder about his anatomy; what purpose it served to have two for a Duros, though you did not have one complaint regardless, and he had not questioned you about yours.

Bane finished himself off, then withdrew from you with a resounding, pressurized suck, every rib and crest felt by your sensitive loins on his way out.

“Hope ye got a ‘fresher ‘round here,” he quipped.

---

Bane had tucked himself away and waited for you, but you had the inkling he wouldn’t have stuck around had he not needed you. In fact, he didn’t—he could have easily walked out of there with the shotgun in tow, but he seemed to be a man of his word, extending an arm to offer you up his credit stick.

“Ye run it fer twelve, like we agreed.”

You nodded; kept quiet. You processed his payment, noting that the name that popped up on your screen was not his own.

“Werhl Tahoon?” you asked, quirking a brow.

“Ah really gotta explain dhat te ye?” he asked, visibly annoyed.

Of course, he didn’t. He was a wanted man, a criminal. He had assumed names, false identities … who knew how many bank accounts he had, and on which planets. All that mattered was that his money was good, the twelve hundred credits being withdrawn and added to your bosses' coffer.

“Sounds like the name of some nerfpoke from a cheesy holo—”

His glare shut you up; you handed him his card, having previously retrieved the slugthrower from off the floor on your way back out. You gazed at his hand as he plucked it from yours, thinking about the way those lithe fingers had been inside you, how you had felt every knuckle, how you would dream for years to come about this Duros, though he would most likely forget about you as soon as he departed from your shop.

You flinched as he once more snatched you by your collar like before, those same, agile fingers tightening around the cloth as he reeled you in, bringing you within mere centimeters of his face.

“Be in yer best interest naht te try and rip people off—next time, ye may just get pumped fulla lasers rather dhan gettin’ plugged.”

He kissed you roughly on the mouth; you felt the scrape of a tooth, its sharp point grazing your skin. It was more than you could have ever hoped for.

Then, he released you; he left you gasping for air. He seemed to have that effect on you. The idea that he was leaving was suddenly too much; unthinkable, even as he strapped the slugthrower across his back and tipped his brim.

Like an idiot, you called out to him as he made his way, taking him in one last time—the way his duster moved fluidly around him, the way his hat enshrouded him.

“Where are you going?” you asked, as if a jilted lover, as if you meant something, as if he might have the decency to tell you anything about his plans or about himself.

He turned on the heel of his boot, one arm lifting as his hand dug into the confines of his coat. He withdrew an object—cube-shaped, many-sided, and covered in intricate designs. You didn’t know what it was, but you thought it must be rare and beautiful, like him, and blue to boot.

In realty, it was a stolen Jedi holocron, filled with the names of all the galaxy’s up-and-coming Force-users, the future of the Jedi Order—and he had been paid to nick it from the Archives by one Darth Sidious.

Bane smirked as he deigned to answer to the likes of you.

“Devaron—got a Jedi te catch,” he snickered.  

Devaron … it was a planet not too far from here, within the Colonies, bordering your sector.

You thought to comment, but then he was gone, leaving behind what he had promised—a good story to tell your friends. God, what you wouldn’t give to go with him, out on some grand adventure—an almost childish fantasy you would harbor in your heart forever, much like the man named Bane.

… What a shame.