#I just sort of stayed in the shadows reblogging things until I got confident to post

[rexervex]

Hello !

Welcome to my Tumblr page!

I'm new to posting here, so please be nice.

I'm.. Not sure what else to add here? If you have any questions do ask them! And I have my carrd linked in my bio so if you ever wanna find my socials there ya go.

I think I'll end this here, thanks for visiting :3

(Gif is mine! :D)

[starlight-writes-stuff]

hello, can i do one of the song request things you wrote about a bit ago? she/her pronouns, with dream, and based on the song 'daisies' by ryan caraveo? also, if you're doing an anon list, can i be 🧿 anon?

welcome 🧿 anon ! i just have to say ,,,,,, this song is immaculate ?? so good ?? will be added to my playlist ?? the concept of this song works perfectly for a fic - i love it so much . thank u for requesting and i really hope u enjoy ((((:

daisies - ryan caraveo

AYO LOOK AT THESE : 2.3k wc , so much fluff ur gonna puke , but nothing other than that . reblogs are always appreciated ! <3

xoxoxo , starlight 

☁  ☁  ☁  ☁  ☁  ☁  ☁  ☁  ☁  ☁  ☁  ☁  ☁  ☁  ☁  ☁  ☁  ☁  ☁  ☁

she earned her grades and i finessed mine

but not so obvious, a c minus is just fine //

she planned for college, i schemed and plotted

---

her friends are pretty, my friends are goonies

but maybe it could all work out like in the movies

---

she like daisies, i'm like gloom

without my rain, she couldn't bloom

she need me, i need her, too

                                                     ☁ ☁ ☁

you and clay (or dream, really. everyone in his life called him that except for you; it was a nickname he couldn't seem to rid himself of) couldn’t have been more different- and yet, the sandy blonde boy had managed to work his way into your head and wasn’t planning on leaving anytime soon. every time he touched you, whether it was accidental or on purpose, you felt your entire body go up in hot, white flames. your nervous system seemed to light up around him; even the sound of his voice made your heart skip and stutter. when you thought about him, the world didn’t seem so dark anymore. 

when you moved to florida at the beginning of the semester, you’d made yourself a promise: no boys. no hookups, no flings, no situationships. you’d been hurt too many times, and you weren’t in the market to put yourself back out there. and then you met clay.

the two of you were dead opposites. he lovingly described himself as a stereotypical ‘teenage dirtbag’: a lowlife kid who’d struggled through school and had a shitty home life, but has somehow made it into college. he cheated on all his tests and didn’t do assignments; he’d rather skate all his problems away, surrounded by the pack of slobbering boys he called his friends. his idea of a good time was running from the cops. clay was everything that you weren't- carefree, blissfully clueless, and entirely too calm for his own good. 

your whole life you’d been the ‘good girl’: straight laced and perfectly dressed, an academic superstar and all around teachers pet. you came from a happy middle-class home, and your parents kept up with you in a family groupchat. you’d done just the right amount of  extracurriculars to rise above everyone else in your class, but not enough to make you look pretentious, and spent most of your time volunteering. on the off chance that you had an ounce of spare time, you wouldn’t be caught dead at a house party; no, no, you were practicing piano. 

your friendship made no sense, and yet, here you were.

being clay’s friend meant you were never bored. even while he was living through hell at home, he was funny and sweet and brave. he was the first to get you two into trouble and the one to talk you out of it. he was spontaneous and alive and had a good taste in music. once you started to notice the light he got in his eyes as he flew down hills on his skateboard, the way he laughed so hard his voice would dissolve into silence, or the way he would suck on his straw after getting slurpees, you couldn’t stop. then you started to notice every perfect thing about him and it only made it hurt that much worse when he would cry. you started doing anything and everything you could to protect that light in his eyes, to make sure no more tears would ever fall from them.

but you didn’t want to be clay’s friend anymore- you wanted him, in every sense of the word. you wanted all his time and attention and love and affection. you wanted to be that one that made him smile that stupid, crooked smile of his, and make him laugh until he couldn’t breathe. you wanted clay to look at you the way he looked at life- like a challenge, a puzzle that he wouldn’t stop messing with until it was solved. you wanted to call the lanky, troublemaking boy yours, to take him somewhere where he would never hurt again and love him until he wasn’t broken anymore. against all odds you had fallen for clay, hard, and you didn’t know how you were supposed to get up.

little did you know, clay was feeling the same way. 

                                                     ☁ ☁ ☁

it wasn’t odd for clay to just show up at your dorm. it was pretty common, really. he seemed to pop in more and more these days, sometimes with friends, sometimes without. you’d more or less been adopted by the group of boys; as far as you’d been told, they had all been friends since childhood. growing up together, the clan had earned the name ‘feral boys’- one that you didn’t want to know the backstory behind. as far as you knew, they were all loud and slightly aggressive but overall sweethearts, and they’d taken you under their wing once it had become painfully obvious that you had no other friends. again, it was an odd pairing; clay, george, alex, nick, karl and… you. but it worked, to say the least.

clay didn’t have any of the other guys with him this time, barging into your room unannounced. you’d been trying to get him to knock for forever, but none of your protests had stuck. 

“clay!” you exclaimed, throwing a pillow at him. you were sitting in your bed, typing away at a psych paper that had been plaguing you for days. “what if i had been naked?”

he fell onto your bed, shutting your laptop with one of his long arms. “then it would be my lucky day.”

scoffing, you rolled your eyes at him while you prayed that your flushed face wouldn’t betray you. his answer made blood swoosh in your temples, your heart skipping a beat before lapsing into an upbeat sort of rhythm. “yeah, sure- good to see you too. what do you need?”

the blonde boy grinned up at you. “since when do i need a reason to stop by? you like my company,” he boasted. clay wasn’t wrong; you loved every moment that he was around, even the most mundane ones. something about him made you feel more alive.

“are you working on something important?” he asked, his voice taking on an unusual sort of tone.

you lifted a brow at him- clay’s voice very rarely changed from his confident, over easy tone, so when he did, you were going to call him out. “no,” you mused, drawing the vowel out. “why? you seem weird.”

clay’s face morphed and fluctuated before he pulled a tight smile. “you really don't miss anything, do you?”

“nope,” you said brightly, transferring your laptop to the nightstand by your bed. clay was jumpier than usual, shifting his weight and repositioning himself three times before finally sitting up, leaning against your wall. he bumped his knee against yours and the slight, innocent touch sent butterflies out of your stomach, soaring into your chest.  

“clay, what’s wrong?” you asked, your voice taking on an embarrassingly gentle tone. you realized that he could be having issues at home again and your heart sank- that would explain his odd demeanor. your chest flooded with affection for the boy, your heart achingly soft as you grabbed one of his hands. clay quickly turned your palm over in his, playing with your fingers as he spoke.

“i want to talk to you about something.”

you froze for half a second, swallowing hard. your throat was dry as you opened your mouth to speak again.

“okay. what’s going on?”

biting at his bottom lip, clay’s face flushed with blood. his cheeks took on a rosy sort of pink tone, and he pulled his eyes from yours as he let out a long exhale. he allowed his gaze to settle on the ceiling, tracing the pattern of the old popcorn ceiling with his pupils. 

                                                     ☁ ☁ ☁

you secretly loved moments like this- moments where clay was too preoccupied within his own head to realize that you were staring, studying his face. he was the kind of boy you could only describe as pretty, all high cheekbones and bright eyes framed by long, golden-brown lashes. you stayed like this for a moment longer, drinking him in; you’d be thinking of him like this for weeks. every time you got a chance to look at him like this, you added another mental painting of him to your art gallery. in some paintings, he was surrounded by soft orange light, usually sitting on a curb or the lip of a halfpipe. in others, clay was painted on soft blue tones, shadows reinforcing the hollows of his face. 

there was one common thread in all the mental works of him, though: he was never looking back at you. in your mind, clay would only ever see you as a friend- the slightly odd girl that had fallen in with him and his groupies. you truly believed that he only perceived you in small quantities- only ever seeing you when you made a rather good joke or fed him something. the rest of the time- the majority of the time you two spent together- you thought clay seemed so enamored by his own mind, or that he was was too busy doing something else to pay you any attention.

                                                     ☁ ☁ ☁

clay pulled his mouth to one side, face scrunching up before he dropped your hand, letting it fall on the bed.

“i’ve been thinking about a lot of stuff lately.”

you blinked, then looked back at clay, unsure of what this meant. his whole body seemed to stiffen as you looked over him- he seemed uncomfortable, which never happened. you dropped your gaze to your duvet and busied yourself with tracing over the floral pattern, your mind seemingly exploding with thousands of thoughts per second. you, for the first time in your life, felt strained around clay, and it scared you more than you’d like to quantify.

“oh. what kind of stuff? do you want to… talk about it?”

“yeah. no. not really, but i’m going to make myself do it. this thing- the thing i've been thinking about- if i don't get it out,” he said, stressing the words as if they had some sort of deeper, more intense meaning, “will just… consume me. you know?”

you did, but you weren’t sure if it was in the same way that clay was meaning. “sort of.” clay groaned and tangled his hands in his hair, tugging at the roots before letting his head fall into his palms. he made another frustrated noise then pushed himself up and off of your bed, beginning to pace.

something was glaringly wrong; clay only paced when he couldn’t release in any other way. even so, his pacing was more aggressive than usual, more stomping than stepping. clay was quickly working himself into a hole, and you were watching him spiral. you knew that he would only rile himself up more, past the point of stopping himself now. 

pushing yourself to standing, you grabbed one of clay’s wrists- his skin was hot to the touch and you could feel his heartbeat, strong and erratic, thumping under his skin. 

“clay-” 

his lips were on yours, hot and rough and needy and the slighted bit desperate as he knotted a hand in your hair, the other cupping your jaw. you froze for half a second, shock flooding your system, before kissing clay back even harder. you were entirely overwhelmed and you could feel the sharp spurs of desire cutting through your blood, replacing it with the yearning you’d been suppressing for months. his tongue tangled with yours, quenching the thirst that you’d only been adding to with an ease, and a small whimper escaped your throat. 

clay seemed to realize how hot and heavy things had become in a matter of seconds and pulled away, running a thumb over your lips as he leaned his forehead against yours.

“oh?” he asked, his usual cockiness returning with a force. you weren’t able to form words- much less piece together a whole sentence- so you settled for pressing another kiss to his lips, answering him in the only way you knew how

                                                     ☁ ☁ ☁

the two of you stayed like that for a while, communicating through rough, sugary sweet kisses, hands on hips and chests and necks. after you’d kissed until your lips were sore and you were both out of breath, clay had given you a concerned sort of look.

“was that too much- or too one sided?”

“what? no!”

clay had laughed at the way you’d defended yourself, peppering your face with tender pecks. “so you really do like me, huh?”

“i do. i really do, dream,” you stressed, pressing a kiss to the boys scruffy jaw.

“ew,” he groaned, hitting you with the pillow you’d thrown at him earlier that afternoon. “don’t call me that.”

“why not?”

clay had readjusted, wrapping an arm low around your waist and pulling you to his chest, looking you dead in the eyes. “you’re the only person in my life that calls me clay, you know that? and for some reason, it fits. you and me just… fit. we work. we’re so different that we fit together like a complicated sort of puzzle piece.”

your heart swelled and you looked over clay with pure adoration. “we do seem to work well together.”

“ever since you came into my life, it’s like, i can't function without you. like you’re- you complete me, in a way?”

emotion seemed to drown you, and you pressed another kiss to his lips. “the yin to your yang,” you murmured against his neck, burying  your face in his shirt. 

“i will break up with you if you say that again,” he said, laughing, but you knew it wasn’t true: your story was just beginning.

[unholyplumpprincess]

Kiss With A Fist

For Twitter user @/Milk_Guts! They wanted Cryptage with heavy, heavy impact play. So please be sure to read the warnings on this before proceeding!

Summary:  Could you really blame Elliott for wanting to watch his boyfriend look so grumpy and focused whilst he made sure enemies weren't nearby? Okay, so maybe you COULD blame him for the loss and them getting stuck in third place when he was more interested fantasizing about said grumpy boyfriend holding a gun to his face to make him suck on the barrel-- BUT. No hard feelings, right?...Right, Crypto...honey...?

Reblogs > Likes. It costs zero dollars to reblog the fics you like :D

Minors and ageless blogs dni or you will be blocked.

Fandom: Apex Legends

Relationship: Crypto/Mirage

Warnings: NSFT/R18+, Impact play, slapping and punching someone for sexual pleasure, blood, bruising, Crypto slaps Mirage’s face and punches him, consensually ofc and with aftercare, derogatory language used like ‘pathetic’.

Words: 3.8k

____________________

When Elliott ended up in a duo with his boyfriend, some things just never changed.  

Like getting distracted at how seriously handsome Crypto’s face always was. They’re hiding in one of the tall buildings in one of the sectors of World’s Edge. It gave Elliott time to watch, he thinks. Like how Crypto’s brow is furrowed, concentration on his face as he rests crouched behind a wall and making sure to tag nearby enemies. The visor over his eyes always made him look so pretty with the soft, green glow to his features. And yeah, maybe Elliott quietly got distracted because of it, could you blame him?  

Where Crypto’s was illuminated in green, his eyes reflecting the color from dark pools. His lashes casting small shadows onto his sharp cheekbones, full lips tugged into a frown as his eyes flicker and focus on the task of flying Hack. Elliott is practically heart eyes watching him, hardly catching what Crypto’s huffing except for the tail end of, “-emy over there. Close by.”  

“Huh?” Elliott responds in a sort of starstruck manner, watching Crypto come out of his crouch and visor falling away from his face. There’s a moment where they make eye contact, where Crypto is very aware of his boyfriend leaning over the railing just to stare at him without even a weapon in hand.  

Oops.  

~Rest under the cut~

“Focus, Mirage.” Crypto huffs coldly, brushing past him and shouldering his flatline as he heads down the building. Elliott really can’t help the bright smile that goes across his face when he watches Crypto walk ahead. Especially when his coat flutters in such a way Elliott can get a peek at that perfectly sculpted ass in his pants.  

What? He had his priorities.  

“I am focused! Focused as I could ever possibly be! More focused than that time we were—woah-ho-ho, yes, sir. Sheesh.” Elliott starts to go off, only to pause when Crypto whips around mid-sentence, holding a finger to his lips to remind him to be quiet. The term ‘sir’ makes Crypto’s eyes flash dangerously, that certain look he got that sent pleasant shivers all across Elliott’s body.  

A look he got that said Elliott was in for it if he didn’t pull together his act.  

Right,  but,  a match was a match. Crypto was right to tell him off. He really had to start focusing on other things other than how handsome Crypto looked when he was pissed. And wielding a dangerous weapon. And what he could do...with  that..dangerous weapon. Let alone his hands just as is-  

The alarm sounding of the reminder of the ring closing is the only thing that takes his mind out of it. Quickly picking up his pace to match behind Crypto as they dip between buildings for loot and to peek around for any enemy squads.  

As is, they were doing pretty well. Seven squads left. Crypto had four kills scored, heavy damage under his belt. While Elliott was proud to say he had four to match, with a pick up of Crypto under his belt as well. A knock that, well, TECHNICALLY was Elliott’s fault to begin with for not paying attention, but they weren’t going to discuss that.  

It isn’t until they’re in top three and Elliott’s ‘not paying attention’ gets them in third place. It totally is his fault, he’ll admit to that, but the angrier Crypto seemed to get, the hotter Elliott started to feel. It got to the point where all he could think about was Crypto holding the barrel of his weapon to his mouth and snarling for him to lick and be a good boy. So deep in his fantasy he failed to hear the callout of ‘get to cover’.  

Their trip to the locker rooms after a quick trip to the medical bay is filled with deathly quiet silence.  

Elliott’s mind starts to drift as he stands in the stream of a shower, hearing Crypto start up the shower stall next to his. Separated by thick walls of tile. He starts to worry Crypto was actually pissed, not just that small grumpy way he got. He’s already conjuring up apologies in his head, maybe even offering to make dinner- go out for drinks? No, Crypto didn’t like going out- stay in for drinks? Would he want him to give him a massage maybe? Yeah! That’s a good idea, Crypto always was a sucker for-  

“WOAH-HEY-” Elliott yelps out when a body slides up behind his, promptly shut up when a hand smacks over his mouth. He’s deathly still when he feels a naked body behind his, but the familiar shape and fit of the frame make him relax. Especially when there’s a soft, familiar ‘shhh’ in his ear heard past the pounding of the warm water over him.  

The hand stays over Elliott’s mouth, the other tracing down over his chest to thumb over a nipple briefly. Nails slowly sliding down his abdomen to where his cock had gotten about half mast when he’d started to worry Crypto was actually mad at him. A whimper erupts from his throat, tipping his head to the side when Crypto’s teeth nip at his ear softly.  

In public? Here? In the locker room? Sure, the stalls were fully covered but- Crypto was all about privacy! Even to the point Elliott made sure to even call him Crypto in his head, just so he didn’t slip up in public! Public was kind of his own thing, a quiet fantasy-  

Calloused fingers squeezing his balls about make Elliott go cross eyed. A whine trying to break past the hand clamped over his mouth. He’s fully ready for a shower fuck, but Crypto grunts in his ear, “I am still angry with you from earlier. Consider this a...an apology before the storm.”  

He pauses there, his hand coming up, tracing his nails on the underside of Elliott’s hard cock. Wrapping his fingers around the base to squeeze as he growls into his ear, “I am going to make you bleed, Witt, do you understand me?”  

Oh?  

Oh.  

Elliott’s face is burning red at the idea. His heart racing as he thinks about what Crypto meant. Guns? Knives? Was he going to hit him? It’s not as if they hadn’t done impact play before, albeit Crypto had more fun with slapping his ass and grabbing his face roughly than doing anything that could make him bleed or bruise too badly.   

Realizing Crypto’s waiting for a response, Elliott nods to his best ability to agree to the quiet agreement of consent. Though, he’s disappointed when Crypto releases him, only able to toss a look over his shoulder to catch Crypto’s beauty marked, fit back leave the stall to his own.  

Fuck.  

Elliott’s head drops, looking at his poor neglected dick standing to attention. Fat and hard against his thigh and over sensitive from the warm water. He knew better than to touch- especially when Crypto was the one in the mood to take charge for the night. It would just result in something worse like a chastity cage.  

A moan parts from his lips at the idea, having to shakily prop himself up against a nearby wall before his knees buckled.  

Oh, he was in for it.  

--  

When Elliott gets back to his room, there’s only a moment where Crypto gives him time to think over his consent. He’s standing in only tight black pants, his necklaces, and combat boots. Elliott himself in a loose v-neck t-shirt and sweatpants.  

Crypto circles him like prey when he murmurs, “I plan to hurt you. I shall take care of you after, as I always do,” His hand traces over Elliott’s side then, just a gentle touch that leaves him whimpering. “But, I plan to punish you for your distractions in the arena. If at any point it becomes too much, you stop me, am I understood?”  

There’s that tinge of concern in his voice as he circles towards Elliott’s back. He knows he’s got that expression on where he’s second guessing himself, where he’s wondering if he’s going to cross a line into territory Elliott isn’t enthusiastically hard for in these very moments. Elliott nods quickly to reassure him he’s very, very into this. “Y-yeah. Yes. You’re understood. It’s okay, baby, seriously, I can take pain. Hurt me- please?”  

He says it in his prettiest of voices too. Delighted in the swear he hears behind him quietly and feeling a little more than proud of himself. He’s about to start begging again, pleading for Crypto to just slap him, punch him, hurt him-  

The swift kick to the backs of his knees sends Elliott slamming down onto them. He grunts, feeling Crypto’s fingers twist into his curls and yank his head back until he’s near in a perfect arch. He’s looking up at Crypto, who is looking back down at him with a sneer on his face, lips pursed, and a furrow to his brow.  

So pretty.  

“Stay.” Is all he says, a snarl to his face as he releases Elliott’s hair. Elliott is already leaking in his pants by now, his hips rolling into nothing as Crypto comes around to his front. Normally he’d obey with ease, normally he’d want to be good to get on Crypto’s good side in the rare occasions he was confident enough to do this. To have control.  

However, he wants to see just how serious Crypto was. So, Elliott rolls his shoulders, sitting up and moving his head to fall forward.  

Immediately he feels the repercussion. A loud slap resounds as the back of Crypto’s hand makes impact on his left cheek. A thrill shoots through Elliott, his head moving with the motion and a grunt leaving his throat.  

“Perhaps you did not hear me. I said stay.” Crypto’s voice is a low, dangerous growl. Sent straight to Elliott’s dick that twitches heavily once in his loose pants. He has to fight the urge to smile, but he must not fight it hard enough, his lips twitching upwards as he rolls his head right back up.  

“Make me- AH !” Elliott hardly gets out even a quarter of his taunt before his other cheek is slapped. His jaw is grabbed, nailed pressing into his flesh and making him hiss as his face is manipulated and moved to look up at Crypto. He’s leaned down, near nose to nose with Elliott with the angriest expression on his face he thinks he’s ever seen him wear.  

It’s unfairly hot.  

Their lips collide in a heated kiss. Fit with Crypto making sure to bite down hard enough on Elliott’s lower lip to bleed and hurt. He whines at the pain, his hands coming up to try and grip at Crypto’s shoulders, but before he can even get  close,  he’s getting headbutt and thrown back down to the floor.  

When his back hits the floor, Crypto is climbing on top of him instantly. Pinning him by straddling his hips and digging his knees into Elliott’s hands to keep them flat to the floor. He has the gall to wipe his mouth off with the back of his hand, wiping off the saliva and blood. Leaving Elliott to bleed with his lips shiny and wet, licking over them to taste Crypto left on them and the heavy taste of copper.  

Elliott can’t help the grin that splits across his face when he can finally make out the image of Crypto on top of him. Anger across his features and his hand grabbing Elliott’s jaw again to keep him still. “Are you sorry for what you have done?” Crypto snarls, squeezing his jaw tight enough to make Elliott grunt softly. 

But he doesn’t fold.  

“Should I apologize for admiring how pretty you a--?” His question is cut off just like he thought it would be, the hand holding his jaw snapping back and slapping him across the face again with an open palm. A cry leaves his lips from the pain, but his body betrays him when his hips press upwards against Crypto’s ass with a desperation to ease the aching.  

Another slap is hit on his other cheek to even out the pain. The stinging making Elliott’s head hit the floor, his back arching and a twisted moan leaving his throat as his hips try to fuck upwards again like a horny dog. A hand wrapping around his throat only serves to make him whine, pleas spilling from his lips.  

“Hurt me, baby, please, please, please- please, you can do worse, I know you can, c’mon- fuck me- you’re so hot like this-” Elliott’s practically sobbing out, tears already pricking his eyes and a few curling down his cheeks. Only serving to make where there must be a split in one feel more like a sting.   

Crypto’s hips grinding downwards only help in being a distraction before a harder hit is slammed into the meat of his other cheek. A solid punch that knocks his head to the side and makes Elliott’s cock jerk with one last desperate hump upwards without thinking about it through the pain. Just suddenly waves of pleasure overtaking him as he  cums  in his own pants. All from getting punched. Humping upwards as best as he can to try and get stimulation through it and pleading with Crypto to hit him harder.  

Man, he should maybe talk to someone about that.  

“You’re pathetic, old man.” Crypto sneers out as if he’s disgusted. Only making Elliott moan out at the wave of humiliation creeping down his spine. He shakes his head without thinking, his jaw getting grabbed and trying to look through his bleary eyes at Crypto’s face.  

Crypto’s face betrays how he thinks about this situation. Despite the angry expression he’s wearing, his face is burning bright red across his cheeks. His lips parted to breathe heavier and his own pants straining with how hard he is. One glance downwards only makes embarrassment curl up Elliott’s spine, seeing the wet front of his own pants and feeling just how hard he still is.  

There’s no relief or pause. Crypto’s moving, getting off Elliott’s body just to stand. His boot nudges between his legs, making Elliott hump upwards with a broken sob bursting from his lips and a wince echoing the motion. Crypto sneers again, a face that Elliott whimpers at, even more so when he hears Crypto growl out, “You look like a whore.”  

For someone who didn’t normally use  those sorts of words , it sounded like filth from his lips. Elliott can only sob brokenly, nodding in agreement and lifting his hips up as if to show his mess off more prominently.  

As if to display what a whore he could be for Crypto.  

There’s a rush after that. Crypto strips down to nothing except for the necklaces around his neck, Elliott’s pants tugged down to mid-thigh and his shirt yanked up and thrown somewhere else. He’s vaguely aware of cold lubricant being poured onto his wet cock, already hard and ready to go again, slick with his own cum and the head red from arousal.  

He’s about to sputter about prep when Crypto straddles his hips again, reaching back to line him up with his hole that is...already prepped.  

Oh, that sly fucking bastard- when Elliott was in the shower?!  

He doesn’t even have the brain power to imagine Crypto shyly holding his own leg open to fuck himself open with his fingers while he waited. Only able to feel how Crypto sinks down onto him with ease, his nails digging into Elliott’s chest and a beautiful whine erupting from his lips.  

Elliott manages to tune back into the world just to see Crypto’s facial expression. Where his head rolls to the side, eyes closed blissfully with just a small knit to his brow. How his shoulders are taut and his cock rests over Elliott’s bare abdomen. He looks so flushed, so pretty. Elliott almost compliments him, but quickly thinks against it when there’s a loud thrum on his cheek of where he’d been punched.  

Pressing his hands to the floor, Elliott makes the most miserable sound in his throat when the thrum of pain from his cheek and the oversensitivity of his cock hits him. He groans, hips trying to come up as if he couldn’t figure out whether to push himself deeper into Crypto or to try and buck him off. He feels like he’s swimming in sub space right now, his head lolling to the side and a moan blossoming from his lips when he feels Crypto grab his jaw.  

It’s still rough, forcing his attention up to him. Crypto’s lips are moving, but Elliott can’t hear him over the sound of his own whimpering and the way his head is full of pleasure and pain all at once. Feeling Crypto’s hips move, riding him earnestly. But Elliott does manage to tune into the question, spoken so softly , “Color?”  

“Green!” He cries out near instantly, a sob wracking his chest when Crypto’s fingers squeeze his jaw tighter where he knows bruises have already formed.  

He must look a mess. Dried blood on his bitten lip and undoubtedly some on his chin, his cheeks reddened from being slapped and his left cheek bruised up and purple from being punched. Wet, fat tears stay in his eyes and trail down his cheeks, flushed lips parted and letting out pathetic sounds. He thought he must look pathetic, helpless.  

Crypto thought he’d never looked more beautiful.  

Elliott almost wants Crypto to hit him again, to be cruel longer, but he knows that this as is was a huge step for him to being rougher. Control was something Crypto struggled with, and this even was a big feat of its own. So, when he manages to focus on Crypto’s face to see it’s relaxed and no longer angry, the small furrow of pleasure to his brow; He knows that no more pain will come to him.  

A moan tumbles out of Elliott’s lips before he can think, his hips humping upwards into every downwards rock of Crypto’s body. “F-fuck, baby. Fuck, you’re so hot- you were so h-hot. Extr -  extrao —extra—great! Fuck, you’re so tight-” Elliott’s a sobbing mess under him, toes curling into the floor and moving his arms up towards Crypto without thinking.  

Thankfully, Crypto follows the motion. Letting his body come down, resting one forearm by Elliott’s head to keep himself up. His other hand cups the back of Elliott’s head to draw him to the crook of his neck. Elliott’s arms are quick to wrap around his torso, nails digging into Crypto’s back as he rides his cock in desperate little rocks.  

Crypto’s always relatively quiet, it was always a goal for Elliott to try and make him sing aloud. But even the small grunt and quiet, shaky breath in his ear is enough for Elliott. Even more so when he’s huffing out quietly into Elliott’s ear, “My name. Say it. My n-name-”  

And Elliott is more than happy to sob it repeatedly like the good boy he is, with shaking cries of, “Tae Joon- Tae Joon, baby- fuck, oh God, T-Tae--” Over sensitive and high strung, he cums again, hands scrabbling to grab Crypto’s ass to hold him still to fuck up into him without thinking.  

The constant stream of Crypto’s mother tongue mumbling near his ear only makes it better. Hearing the tight hitch in Crypto’s throat, then the quiet, almost pained grunt when he cums. Feeling how Crypto’s cock jerks heavily between them without even being touched and spilling cum onto Elliott’s abdomen.  

There’s the brief moment where they just lie there on the floor catching their breaths. But Crypto doesn’t linger too long, gently prying Elliott from his body and helping him up and onto the bed instead.  

Elliott doesn’t mind being manhandled, flopping onto the soft sheets and watching Crypto’s retreating  form  head to the bathroom. Especially when he gets to see the lines of red on his back and cum dribble from his ass down his thighs.  

It takes two minutes for him to return looking way more cleaned up than Elliott. He’s got ice in a bag from the kitchen, a wet wash cloth, and a jar of salve in his hands. Climbing up onto the bed beside him and rolling his eyes when Elliott just beams brightly up at him like a lovestruck fool.  

No words are exchanged yet as Crypto focuses more on cleaning him up. The wash cloth is used first to wipe up the blood from his mouth, then to gently wipe off his abdomen and hip area, taking care of his sensitive, soft dick. The cold fabric makes Elliott whine, but he takes it all in stride.  

The salve is gently massaged into wherever there was bruises, on his jawline, cheeks, gingerly touching over where he’d punched him before guiding Elliott’s hand up so he could hold the ice there.  

A gentle, chaste kiss is pressed to his lips, more aimed towards where Elliott was bitten. He can’t help but make a sad noise when Crypto parts too soon, resulting in an eye roll from him, “Don’t be dramatic.”  

“Would you love me any other way?” Elliott grins, earning him another kiss that he gladly accepts. It’s soft, a bit of an awkward angle due to him holding the ice to his cheek, but they make it work.  

When Crypto parts, he brushes back Elliott’s hair affectionately from his face, pushing the curls to the side to softly trace his fingers down. He cups Elliott’s cheek not covered in ice, his lips trying to form the right words as his cheeks dust red. He’s struggling, and Elliott’s about to tell him he doesn’t have to say anything, but it comes out quietly of, “T...Thank you. For letting me try this.”  

“Oooh, I get a thanks for letting you beat the shit out of me for fun?” Elliott playfully replies back, earning him a playful push at his chest that makes him laugh hard enough to hurt. “Okay! Okay, I’m sorry! You’re welcome.”  

Satisfied with that answer, Crypto pecks a kiss to his forehead, sliding out of bed to get dressed into clothing again across the room. But not without Elliott calling over with a small laugh, “But, hey, you can hit me harder next time! Promise I won’t break!”  

“Perhaps next time you would like a knife brought to the bedroom instead.” Crypto grunts, sounding more like he’s joking than being serious as he pulls on a pair of loose pants. But when he looks over at Elliott under his lashes, he’s wearing a flush to his cheeks and that dumb smile on his face.  

Crypto groans out a swear and shakes his head.  

But...neither say no.  

Elliott’s going to have to piss him off more often.  

[fangirlinglikeabus]

blue sky (doctor who)

summary: something’s been worrying victoria. the doctor wants to talk about it. jamie is very bad at pretending he has a reason to leave them alone together. (gen, general audiences; warning for internalised homophobia but it’s hopefully not too heavy and it works itself out in the end)

you’ll just have to take my word for this that this is also on other sites because last time i posted with links it didn’t show up in the tags. i’ll reblog with them later

It was a beautiful day; hot but not too hot, with a clear blue sky framing the tops of the buildings. No threat of rain whatsoever, which had pleased the Doctor when he'd first peered, cautiously, out of the TARDIS, umbrella at the ready. 'England' and 'August' were two words that placed together didn't inspire him with much confidence as to the state of the weather, but today had thankfully proved him wrong. So far, the dry spell had held.

They'd parked the TARDIS a few streets away and wandered through the town, the three of them together - Jamie, Victoria, and the Doctor - until they'd arrived at the café. The Doctor had suggested they stop for some food - lunch, he'd said, although it was probably only about eleven o'clock, local time. Something was on his mind, some reason he had for wanting to sit there rather than continue walking, only it wasn't clear what it was.  That concerned Victoria, but she tried to console herself; if it was really serious the Doctor would surely have told them already. Anyway, there were no monsters around that she could see, no aliens climbing out of the cracks in the pavement to attack them, to make this beautiful day miserable and fraught with danger, so for once maybe it wasn't anything to do with that, and they were safe.

Victoria tore her eyes away from the sights of the street - the girl about her age that she'd made eye contact with suddenly and alarmingly - to look at the Doctor. He was playing a game of patience, the cards placed haphazardly on the table in front of him. Every so often he looked up and cleared his throat loudly at Jamie, who kept leaning too far forwards, casting a shadow over the game. Each time Jamie would say 'eh?', realise what he was doing, and sit back in his seat with an embarrassed cough and a look which seemed to say, 'I'm only doing this because I want to, not because you told me to'.

It had a comforting familiarity to it, as did much of what the two of them got up to, like the friendly arguments about the Doctor's ability to fly the TARDIS, or the attempts to explain some technological development to Jamie which usually ended up with him saying 'oh, aye', his code for 'I still don't understand this, but I don't care enough to try'. The Doctor apparently hadn't managed to decipher it yet, since he still made the effort each time, and Victoria hadn't the heart to tell him.

Then again, maybe he knew, and it was just a game the two of them played, another steady part of their friendship. They'd known each other much longer than either of them had known Victoria, had rhythms and rules to their relationship, some of which she might not know about even now, and as a result of it seemed inseparable. She could barely imagine Jamie without the Doctor, or the Doctor without Jamie; they'd probably travel together for the rest of their lives, if they could.

Which just left her. Victoria.

It was easy to think she'd stay with them, with that funny little man and his Jacobite friend, in the light of the sun. They had taken her in when she was lost, and shown her kindness, and she loved them for that. But the trouble was that they weren't always in the light of the sun. They were in the London Underground, fleeing yeti - or in a future Britain in the grips of an ice age, escaping towering Martians.

Occasionally the Doctor would look up and meet her eyes, and she would glance away. There was something contemplative about his expression today, something in the way he regarded her that worried Victoria. Worried her because he seemed worried, on her behalf, and she hated the idea of concerning him unduly. Of course, it was nice to have someone care about you in that way, and she was grateful that it was the Doctor who cared for her, but it did make her feel self-conscious, especially because in this case there was really nothing to worry about. She'd talk to him about it if there was something, except for the ongoing problem of what she would do in the future, which for now she wouldn't bring up with him, because anyway she hadn't really decided what she intended to do with it or what her own feelings were yet. As he finished the card game (cheating, she was sure, backtracking on his own moves when he decided he didn't like them or when he realised he'd reached a dead end, but she didn't point it out) Victoria wracked her brains on what could possibly be bothering him about her. Her mind came up blank. Unless -

No, he couldn't possibly have noticed that. She'd hidden it from him very carefully. And if he had he would have brought it up already. Victoria was struck with a terrible vision of the Doctor looking horribly severe, all appearances of the fool or the father wiped from his face, ordering her out of the TARDIS.

She hadn't initiated it! That had been the girl - the girl they'd met a few stops ago, Liss. She'd been the one to take action, leaning in to kiss Victoria, who had fled before anything else could happen, hoping that no evidence of it appeared on her face. Maybe it had. Maybe it was a bit like that story the Doctor had referenced offhand once, about the man whose sins appeared on his face, in a portrait.

In the meantime, as her thoughts wandered down that path, the Doctor had begun to look panicked, patting down his pockets with increasing desperation.

"Oh my word!" he exclaimed finally. "I forgot to bring any money with me!" Casting around, his eyes fell on Jamie. He took on a placating tone. "Jamie, would you mind terribly if I asked you to go back to the TARDIS and fetch me something to pay the bill with?" He delivered the line very naturally, and Victoria wouldn't have suspected anything at all if Jamie hadn't then looked very deliberately between the two of them, said stiltedly, as though he was reading from a script,

"Oh, aye, I can do that,"

and moved off with the gait of someone who fully intended to take as long as humanly possible in carrying out the task he'd been set.

"Victoria," the Doctor began - almost as soon as Jamie was out of earshot, in case there was any doubt that it had been a deliberate plan between the two of them. She braced herself for the conversation to come. But then he stopped, apparently unsure of where to go from there. Victoria waited, her heart hammering away in her chest.

"Is there something on your mind?" the Doctor eventually settled on.

Victoria ran briefly through all the things that were on her mind. If she wanted to stay with Jamie and the Doctor; where she would go if she didn’t want to stay with Jamie and the Doctor; whether or not they'd be suddenly thrust into mortal peril in this nice English town; the kiss that she didn't want to think about and everything wrapped up in that; consequently, her father, who she had an uneasy feeling would have been disappointed in her, although she had no specific evidence for that because of course it would never have been something they'd have talked about together, not in a million years, not in 1866 or any date that followed in what should have been the ordinary course of her life.

"No, there's nothing," Victoria said. Nothing she could tell him, she meant. Although the Doctor was very old, and very strange, and seemed to know a lot of things that other people didn't, she couldn't imagine ever sitting down with him and explaining that a girl had kissed her, and because a girl had kissed her she was now unable to stop thinking about anything apart from whether she'd liked it, and whether she wanted to do it again, and whether she'd been like that all along or if it was some sort of disease, some sort of situation where once you'd fallen, you stayed fallen, like Adam and Eve taking a bite of the apple in the garden of Eden and being cast out forever.

She looked away from him. She didn't like to tell lies to the Doctor. In an ideal world she could have told him everything; they could always talk like they had near the very beginning, in the cybermen's tomb. But they couldn't, not with this.

Casting about for something to distract her attention, some excuse not to look at the Doctor, Victoria's eye fell on two girls walking on the other side of the street. They were making slow progress, ambling along as though they had nowhere better to be in the world and were taking joy from that. They were holding hands, swinging each other's arms back and forth while they walked.

As Victoria watched, one of them said something and the other laughed, leaning forwards for a kiss.

"Victoria?"

"Hm?" Her head jerked back towards the Doctor, as suddenly as if she'd been caught doing something criminal, not just letting her eye wander.

The Doctor didn't immediately pose the question he'd been meaning to put to her, but instead gazed after Victoria, at the two girls.

"A charming couple, aren't they?" he said, sounding pleased.

"Couple?"

"Oh yes, that sort of thing is quite normal by this period," the Doctor replied, cheerfully and entirely without artifice, as though he had no idea whatsoever how this was affecting her. "Not without some struggle, I might add, but your country sees the light in the end."

Victoria felt, suddenly, like she was about to cry. Which was silly - she hadn't even cried when her father had died, except a few times in her room, when the only people who might notice were the Doctor and Jamie if they happened to be in the vicinity, and definitely not in such a public place as this, where anyone might walk past and see her. And it was over such a small thing as well. She'd faced down monsters before, big scary hulking things, so why -

"Oh, Victoria," the Doctor said gently, fumbling in his pocket and pulling out, in turn, a pack of top trumps, tickets for Casablanca, a bag of sweets, and at last a clean white handkerchief, which he handed over to her.

That was the last straw - that small gesture, the ridiculousness of the contents of the Doctor's pockets, which now lay strewn across the table. Victoria began to sob. She buried her face in the handkerchief, hoping that no-one would hear, hoping that she would run out of tears and then she could stop feeling so miserable.

At last she recovered enough to speak. "I'm sorry," she said wretchedly. "I've ruined the nice day out you wanted for us all." But when she looked up at the Doctor he didn't seem annoyed. He smiled and reached across to pat her hand.

"That's quite alright, Victoria," he said. "It's more important to me to know that you're happy than anything else."

This threatened to make her well up again, but she composed herself. "You said - it was normal now."

"Hm?"

Victoria forced herself to go on. "Those two girls, I mean."

"Oh, yes." The Doctor was about to launch into an explanation of the history that had led up to the time period they were visiting, but he caught the expression on Victoria's face and thought better of it. "It's nothing to be ashamed of, you know."

She looked down at his hands; at the table; at the top trumps, a battered old set with a picture of a t-rex emblazoned on the first card and the whole thing clumsily kept together by a rubber band, which almost made her smile, it was such a Doctor-ish thing for him to carry around. "I know."

"Good." The Doctor paused, although whether to gather his own thoughts or wait for her to say something was unclear.

"There was a girl -" Victoria began, but fell silent.

The Doctor smiled encouragingly. "Go on."

"Never mind." She couldn't talk about it just yet. The Doctor had said it was fine, and she trusted him, but she was still walking on untested ground, unable to quite shake the sensation that she'd done something horrible.

The Doctor, after waiting for a few moments, said, "Naturally it will take some time for you to get used to."

"Yes," Victoria said. Her voice shook more than she wanted it to, and it came out much too quietly. She wished she could sound stronger - but then, she reminded herself, this wasn't some terrifying creature that she had to stand up to, but the Doctor, who was looking at her as a compassionate father might look at a daughter.

That brought with it another pang, and Victoria came very close to crying again.

The Doctor smiled at her, and pulled his chair closer. "Listen to me, Victoria. It will get easier. I know it might not seem like it now, but I promise you it will. Falling in love with another woman, and acting on that feeling, is no more inherently good or bad than if we were talking about the same situation with a man. It has just the same potential to bring you great happiness, if you'll let it. Do you understand me?"

Victoria nodded. She didn't yet trust herself to speak.

The Doctor smiled and patted her hand again. "Brave girl. Ah, and here's Jamie back with the money."

Victoria turned around. Sure enough, there he was, approaching the table cautiously.

"Is everything alright?" he asked once he was close enough, glancing uncertainly between the two of them.

"Oh, yes," the Doctor said, beaming, "I think everything's quite alright now, isn't it, Victoria?"

"Yes," she said, and even managed a smile of her own up at Jamie. She was surprised to realise that it was true, at least temporarily. For a moment even the worst of her worries seemed perfectly manageable in the face of the beautiful summer day. Everything was absolutely calm and normal. But then -

"Oh, Jamie, you picked up the wrong purse!"

"Well you didn't tell me what I was looking for! You just said fetch something you could pay the bill with, an' that had money in it, so -"

"But Jamie, these aren't even from the right planet!"

"An' just how was I supposed to know that? Next time you get it, an' don't go bothering me if you're going to complain -"

Well, she supposed that was normal too. Victoria started to laugh - laugh uncontrollably at the two of them, being so ridiculous over something that barely mattered. They stopped arguing with each other, shocked into indignation by her laughter.

"Now, really, Victoria, I do think that's quite unfair -" the Doctor began.

It was a beautiful day; hot but not too hot, with a clear blue sky framing the tops of the buildings.

Maybe things would work themselves out after all.

[roseskiesandbutterflies]

Loverboy (Jimercury Oneshot)

Summary: Jim goes to Heaven to find the man that's been tormenting his mind for almost a week. (The description is really bad so please just read it it's better than it sounds.)

A/N: This was sponsored by Loverboy by Adam Lambert which I recommend listening to and also to my sheer lack of impulse control. I hope you're all well and that you have a good rest of your day. Get some sleep if you need it, drink some water if you can and treat yourself because you deserve it. This is not optional. Let me know what you thought because my muse likes feedback, leave a like or perhaps reblog if you feel like it and maybe check out my other semi-decent works?? OK, enjoy my darlings.

Warning(s): alcohol, swearing, implied sexual content (OK why did I write it like that since when am I that posh)

Word Count: 2.2k+

Inspiration: Effervescent by @immistermercury on AO3, Loverboy by Adam Lambert, Mercury And Me by Jim Hutton

Taglist: @bhmay @briarrose26 @bijoukitty

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Jim had thought Heaven would be a bit more exciting on a Friday night, if he was being as brutally honest as usual. It wasn’t somewhere he frequented much, preferring the atmospheres of the smaller clubs further south of London. For someone who wasn’t typically one to approach people first, large clubs were somewhat intimidating. He wasn’t the type of guy to buy men drinks out of the blue, to put himself in others’ personal bubbles with a smile that could do him all sorts of favours later on in the night. No, Jim would much rather people-watch with his pint of lager that never left his line of vision, something you’d expect from a patron of a coffee shop, not of a gay nightclub. Jim had adopted the philosophy that if anyone noticed and fancied the look of him, then they would go to him first. Although it was that kind of attitude that left you with a certain sense of disappointment and loneliness while sitting in the back of a taxi at four in the morning, only to take you to an even more disappointing and lonely flat and an even more disappointing and lonely bed.

This time, Jim was hellbent on not feeling anything of the sort tonight, and while that was largely down to amount of alcohol he’d drunk merely one hour into his evening, it did give him a certain air of confidence that made him almost unrecognisable. They don’t call it ‘liquid luck’ for nothing, Jim supposed as he made his way to the bar.

Heaven had a particular vibe about it that Jim found near enough impossible to pin down. It was an unspoken rite of passage, for you sure as hell didn’t get men looking to experiment down there, men who were just on the wrong side of naivety, men who weren’t gay but just in case, you never know. Men like that would get eaten alive in Heaven; ones with all sorts of bad intentions tended to lurk around the larger clubs. It wasn’t sinister, per se, but it was a bit much if you weren’t quite too sure what you were doing.

Heaven was almost always full to the brim with people, but despite that it was weirdly intimate, providing you found the right person. Jim had yet to do so but he had to give himself credit, he’d only been there for a couple of minutes. He ordered his drink, trying his best to not let the shock show on his face when he found out just how expensive drinks were at Heaven, and surveyed the scene before him. It wasn’t overly exciting, everyone in his line of vision seemed to already have someone, or in some cases multiple someones. For now, he decided to let himself be absorbed into the unique atmosphere, the deafening yet grounding music that vibrated through his very core, the fluorescent lights that illuminated what needed to be highlighted and created shadows over what needed to be hidden.

Jim couldn’t help but let his eyes drift over the sea of men surrounding him. He supposed he should have felt trapped or perhaps claustrophobic in his little corner, everywhere he looked he could see people who had yet to clock his presence. But it was just that, the fact that no one had even bothered to clock that he was there, that no one had even thrown him a glance, that made him feel somewhat isolated, something he never felt in his regular clubs. He was fighting every instinct in himself to finish his drink and go, to just forget that this evening had started in such a way, because he forced himself to remember why he was there in the first place.

That man. That one man who had somehow managed to stumble into his café on a bleak Sunday morning, still drunk from the night before and clearly not having slept yet. Why else do people go to artisan cafés at six in the morning, ask for the most lucrative drink Jim had ever heard of and then for the barista’s number because he looked simply ravishing, darling. As you can probably imagine, early morning shifts weren’t exactly busy, especially not on a Sunday of all days, and the man was just so eager to talk and inadvertently reveal half of his life story, Jim couldn’t find it in himself to let the rather interesting conversation die. He’d even offered to make him a cure for the inevitable hangover he was going to get after he eventually went to sleep. They’d talked about everything and nothing for a good two hours, until the lethargic customers looking for their pre-work coffees trickled in and heavily mumbled their never-changing orders. It was at that point when Jim had chased the man out with a tea towel and a message of get some damn sleep, for God’s sake, and once he was back behind the counter the stranger poked his head round the door to say the name’s Freddie, by the way, Freddie Mercury, before leaving for good with the sound of the bell above the door being the only thing left of his presence. Well, that, the innumerable empty cups he’d left on his table by the window and the smile etched onto Jim’s face that stayed there for the rest of the day.

At one point, Freddie had let slip that he’d been drinking with some friends at Heaven for most of the night, and that it was somewhere he went most evenings. So, Jim had taken a risk and gone on that Friday night, hoping to see his mystery man again.

He scanned over the club again and started to lose hope, even if Freddie was there, it was so dark he might struggle to see him. And even if he did, what would he do? Would Freddie even want to see him? Did he even remember him? He was rather drunk at the time, oh God what if he saw him and he didn’t even recognise his face-

“Jim!”

He snapped his head to the right so fast; he almost pulled a muscle in his neck. There he was, positively glowing under the lights that would have washed anyone else out, clad in the tightest leather, under the arm of another man. Jim’s stomach dropped about ten feet, but he refused to let that spoil his evening. Besides, he didn’t think he was capable of raining on Freddie’s oh-so-sunny parade. He forced a smile onto his face, “Freddie, hi!”

Freddie tugged on the arm of his companion like an incessant child, “Paul, this is the guy I told you about! He owns the café down the road!” His voice was so full of excitement, Jim could tell he was a little bit tipsy already, but the joy was genuine.

“I don’t own it, I just work there,” he justified, squirming a bit under intensive stare of Freddie’s friend. He knew that look, the one of suspicion, the one of I don’t know who you are, but I can’t trust you yet. Jim couldn’t find it in himself to blame him for that. He may have been trying to find reasons to hate Paul, but he just put it down to the jealousy that he knew he should be trying to rein in.

Freddie was oblivious to this, or at least was pretending to be for the sake of keeping the peace, “Oh shush, darling, you seemed pretty in charge when I was there.”

“That was only because I was the only one working at the time,” he said, feeling his smile become a bit more real and suddenly remembering why he was there in the first place. He was chasing this feeling of pure elation, this feeling of finally living that he hadn’t yet felt in the two months he’d been living in London.

“Enough of this boring stuff,” Freddie ducked out of Paul’s grasp and grabbed Jim’s free hand, “I want to dance,” his eyes sparkled, and Jim was sure it wasn’t from the lights overhead. Freddie quickly turned to Paul and said, “A glass of rosé for me, darling,” before tapping his arm and leading Jim through the crowd, leaving Paul with his lips parted in disbelief and in a state strongly reminiscent of a dead fish.

Further into the club, they had found a small space to dance. Freddie had his arms looped loosely around Jim’s neck and Jim had his hands tentatively on Freddie’s waist and their foreheads were practically touching because there wasn’t much space to do anything else. He couldn’t help but wonder if Freddie had chosen such a space on purpose, and he had no idea if he was just being hopeful or if he was actually onto something. He wasn’t all too sure where Freddie was going with this. He’d assumed that him and Paul were a thing, but they hadn’t actually done anything to suggest such a thing. He didn’t want to be seen as the guy who wrecks a relationship because he’s too selfish to think about the consequences of his actions. He knew he shouldn’t care about a man he’d met less than a week ago but when you’re practically alone in a city like London, you can’t help but cling to the first person who gives you even the slightest bit of attention.

This kind of attention was different, though. Jim wasn’t blind to the way Freddie looked at him, he knew exactly what that look meant and it sent shivers down his spine every time they locked eyes. Freddie leaned in closer, if that was even possible, and whispered in his ear, “You’re thinking too much, darling. You need to let yourself go.” Freddie pulled back and looked at Jim through his eyelashes, who in turn got goose bumps just from his tone of voice alone. It was honey, smooth and sweet, slipping into his mind and giving him a feeling that he didn’t think any drink or drug could top. He could feel himself slipping into a certain state of mind that felt softer than silk and tasted sweeter than sugar. He could lose himself in just the image of Freddie dancing like that, of Freddie holding him like that, and he was so damn grateful that he could have this all to himself, even if was only for one night.

Jim tried to come back to his senses, even though he wanted nothing more than to surrender them all to the man before him, “What do you want from me, Freddie? You already came here with someone.”

Freddie chuckled lightly, letting his eyes drift away before coming back to the bubble he’d created with Jim and had no intention of popping just yet, “Paul? No, he’s dull, darling. You on the other hand,” he paused for effect, looking Jim up and down before coming back to his ear, “You’re positively edible.”

Jim embraced the closeness for a second, not allowing himself to indulge in it for a moment longer or he would have been gone with no return, “I’m serious. I don’t want to be a game to you, I want to be more than that.”

Freddie breathed deeply, taking in Jim’s aura, “Paul thinks it’s more serious than it is, I don’t really care about him so neither should you. But this? I could get used to this, if you’ll let me,” he looked up at him again, the essence of faux innocence. Jim knew what he was asking, he could read between the lines, and gave him his answer by closing the gap between them.

The kiss was soft, it was slow, they were savouring every second for what it was worth. They had nowhere else to be, and if they did, they didn’t let it cross their minds for neither of them had ever experienced anything like this and they weren’t sure if they ever would again. It wasn’t perfect by any means, you can’t expect too much from a kiss in the middle of a nightclub, but it was so addictive and so different and so new and so exciting and just so human. It was that feeling that you never knew you wanted but once you tasted it for the first time, you just craved more and more and more.

When Jim finally pulled away, just wanting to see in Freddie’s eyes if he wanted it as much as he did, he found himself gasping slightly from the intensity of the look. It wasn’t like the one he’d gotten from Paul earlier, it was one so full of desire and passion, it was everything he’d been hoping for and more. He couldn’t stop himself from stealing another kiss, just a short one that promised so much more, before doing as Freddie had said only moments ago; he lost himself in the deafening music and the blinding lights and Freddie’s eyes.

And when he woke up the next morning with a splitting headache and Freddie in his arms, he was so glad that Freddie had stumbled into his life at six o’clock on a Sunday morning.

[bizarropurugly]

I feel bad for writing porn so much that it’s killed my writing spirit because it’s hard to share porn

and I don’t mean in the “nobody reblogs my stuff weh” kind of way but in the fact my audience is very limited 

like my grandma likes my writing and she doesn’t care I write porn but I also can’t fucking show my grandma PORN

and I’ve already had some prudish ass try to report me on dA despite following the rules just for submitting to their group even though I’ve submitted my smut before and I’ve seen people get pissy about “how dare you be public about sexual stuff when SOMEONE COULD SEE IT WHO DOESN”T WANNA!” so I know people are judgemental and with my history and general nervousness that doesn’t help

and yes of course I want to write developmental stuff for zed and candler!! happy and sad. I have ideas I really do it’s just also

I feel so exhausted and mushy all the time to do anything and when I DO finally want to do something it always turns to the porn. maybe because most of my ideas are for the darker parts of their lives and I just want to write about having a love life and all the romantic things of learning a person, just be happy and such

I thought listening to articles for my sex ed blog would help, instead of reading, but now I don’t want to listen either anymore. I think I’m overloading. 

I’m fighting the “seasonal” urge to close the blog just because of all the energy it wipes from me. I feel guilty about that because of the people it helps and because I think this is my passion, it’s something I get heated and animated about according to people I speak to, but at the same time a part of me just feels too morose and weak to do it anymore.

I’m 30 years old now, and I think I’ve long given up my dream of being a sex ed teacher or sexologist. I’m just not cut out for. living. for having a life that isn’t miserable and pathetic. Everyone saw it coming a mile away. From the kids who shunned me in the elementary school advanced placement club on, it was just Known and I was the only one who didn’t get it. I never belonged there and that’s why nobody came running when I crashed and burned in high school and inevitably never finished college. They knew that was going to happen.

I’m too ashamed to make friends or partners. Too ashamed of my appearance, my lack of accomplishments, my home, what I do day to day. 

I cried over an article about trans for trans love the other day, that interviewed several trans couples, because I know I can’t get that or do anything they’re doing. I almost find myself feeling resentful of my cats because if they weren’t here then I wouldn’t be forced to keep trying; to keep putting money in my pocket, food in the fridge, and to clean what I can.

A part of me yearns for socialization but I’m shutting down and isolating from everyone constantly. deviantART inbox is piling up. So is the sex ed blog’s inbox. And my messages on here. And haven’t really made any posts honestly... In the only discord chat I’m active in I feel a frequent panic that I’m talking too much and everyone is waiting for me to shut up, so I monitor my speaking like a chronic dieter monitors calories. And when people contact me individually, I freeze up like a deer in the headlights. 

I drag my feet to therapy and doctor sessions because not only do I feel like what’s the point anymore because I’ll always be in pain and never be able to allow myself forgiveness or love or acceptance or positivity to where almost the very notion of giving myself any sort of inch makes me want to hurt myself, but also all I ever want to do is sit at home and do nothing, literally. But if I sleep erratically or too much or too little I’m plagued by nightmares, repeating events from my past and ghosts of the people I knew, tones rapidly shifting to where I’m like Homura in PMMM Rebellion where I’m the only one who knows something is Fucked, or to where everyone’s speaking about me behind my back and mounting attacks from the shadows, demanding I choose between friends, kicking me from spaces, drowning me. So even lying in bed isn’t an option, because what if I sleep?

I don’t want to stay at others’ homes anymore because I scream and cry so much in my sleep it’s mortifying. 

And nobody gets it. And I don’t think they can or I don’t want them to, because that plays into the part of “you’re being too nice to yourself when you know you’re a bad person and don’t deserve it, if people feel bad or empathize you’ve just tricked them into thinking you’ve changed and you haven’t, so shut the fuck up and don’t cry around people”, and also I’m sure the few people I confide in are very, very tired of hearing about it by now.

I scream into the tumblr void because it is a void. Here’s my open diary people won’t read or will instantly forget because of scrolling. It’s in one way relieving because I can vent out, but as I mentioned before it’s also frustrating because despite the things I say I will have people I’ve known say “wow I didn’t know!” to something I’ve said a million times before and that could easily be found--

I don’t know. I guess I don’t know anymore. I’m caught between the dread of having to live decades more like being dragged barenaked across pavement, and the phobia I have of death. I hate existing and being alive but I’m terrified of what happens when it’s over, of not knowing or more specifically that it’s literally all over and I don’t know what it will feel like for the world to literally end like that.

I can’t even cry much about it because I don’t have time. Have to get up for work or get things together or do something else always. Don’t have time to wail and sob and then sniffle and unplug my nose for g-d knows how long. Don’t have time to recover from the nightmare that had me hurt myself and lose my voice. Don’t have time to try and “relax” in some way.

Only got time for guilt and anxiety and trauma and isolation and forcing myself to go until I’m sick and argue in my head with myself about myself and how I feel and what I remember and what a fucking useless disgusting piece of shit I am that people can’t wait for me to off myself at last for.

lmao wow this went off the rails

[storiesofwildfire]

𝑪𝑯𝑨𝑹𝑨𝑪𝑻𝑬𝑹 𝑺𝑯𝑬𝑬𝑻

            REPOST, DON’T REBLOG !

tagged by: @bifrostgold tagging: @bifrostgold ( lialo, two can play at this game ) and also @incrediblewithin because I can

author’s note: seeing as Smudge tagged me in the meme I tagged them in first and requested on of my ocs, I’m coming back at you with Saga this time.

𝐛𝐚𝐬𝐢𝐜𝐬

FULL NAME. Saga Lokidottir NICKNAME. None GENDER. Female HEIGHT.  5′8″ AGE.  She’s around 425 Aesir years old, putting her right between Sleipnir and the triplets in age. ZODIAC.  Scorpio SPOKEN LANGUAGES.  All-tongue ( a magical language that translates so anyone who hears or reads it can understand it in their native tongue ). However, she has picked up some individual languages along the way, mostly from her adopted mother, Loki. She’s especially good with the languages of the Old Gods despite her relatively young age.

𝐩𝐡𝐲𝐬𝐢𝐜𝐚𝐥 𝐜𝐡𝐚𝐫𝐚𝐜𝐭𝐞𝐫𝐢𝐬𝐭𝐢𝐜𝐬

HAIR COLOR. Dark brown borderline black EYE COLOR.  Brown SKIN TONE. Light-medium BODY TYPE.  She’s rather lean, but has a nice, subtle hourglass shape  VOICE. Mezzo-soprano  DOMINANT HAND. Left-handed, though being a skilled sorcerer, she’s very capable with both hands but prefers her left. POSTURE. Saga carries herself upright in a proper position, but she isn’t still or inherently regal about it. She values good posture without looking smug or posh about it. SCARS. She’s sustained some pretty serious scars over the years from people lashing out at her. Because Saga specializes in a unique mixture of illusion-casting and mind magic, one of her most potent skills is casting illusions that bring another person’s worst fears to life. As a child, she did this on accident, unsure of how to control it or how to stop it from happening. This caused a lot of turmoil between her and the people around her and often caused others to associate her with the idea of fear. Because of this, she’s had some individuals react particularly violently. Some scars litter her arms from particularly harsh blows that she defended herself from by throwing her arms up. She also had a particularly nasty gash along her side as well as a small, barely noticeable cut running along her right cheek. TATTOOS. As of right now, Saga doesn’t have any tattoos, but she’s more than open to the idea of them! BIRTHMARKS. none MOST NOTICEABLE FEATURE(S). Her hair would probably catch the most attention at first glance. It’s long, very rich in color, and usually bone-straight, creating an elegant-yet-intimidating visage. It compliments her talents rather well, but it stands in a huge juxtaposition with her personality. While many associate her with concepts of terror, she’s actually a very sweep and bubbly person.

𝐜𝐡𝐢𝐥𝐝𝐡𝐨𝐨𝐝

PLACE OF BIRTH. Asgard HOMETOWN. Gladsheim SIBLINGS. As far as she’s aware, she has no biological siblings. She considers Loki her maternal figure, though, an unofficially adopted mother, so to speak, so Loki’s children would be her adopted family to a certain degree. It’s important to remember that Loki and their children are Saga’s chosen family, though, and that Saga was not raised as Hel, Fenrir, Jörmungandr, and Sleipnir’s sibling. PARENTS.  birth parents; unknown | adopted mother: Loki

𝐚𝐝𝐮𝐥𝐭 𝐥𝐢𝐟𝐞

OCCUPATION.  As of right now, Saga resides in Helheim with Hel. While Saga is not dead, she willingly stays in the Realm of the Dead to assist Hel’s rule. She acts as a sort of advisor, caretaker, and occasionally fills in for Hel if she is needed elsewhere. CURRENT RESIDENCE. Helheim CLOSE FRIENDS. Because of Saga’s abilities and how early they manifested, her birth parents quickly left her at an orphanage, unsure of how to care for a child that literally manifested nightmares or even how to coexist with her. The other children at the orphanage as well as the workers also had a difficult time getting close to Saga and most were blatantly afraid of her. For quite a few years of her childhood, she didn’t really have real companions or friends, so when Loki took her under their wing, she became very invested in Loki and Sleipnir and later the triplets once they were born. Saga considers them her family but they are also her closest friends. From there, she’s branched into some of Loki’s other friends and influencers--like Asmund and Sigurd, who both helped nurture and train her magical control. RELATIONSHIP STATUS. While she has not openly confirmed or denied a relationship existing, there are some inclinations across Loki’s family and friends and Hel and Saga formed a romantic relationship. Neither of them has ever spoken on it or confirmed it, but they are closer than friends really ought to be and Saga... literally gave up her life in any living realms to stay with Hel, so... FINANCIAL STATUS. Technically speaking, being the adviser and companion to the Queen of Helheim means Saga doesn’t really need money. There is no real need for money in Helheim and she doesn’t give any weight to financial status. She gives up quite a lot to stay in Helheim, but she lives well and comfortably. DRIVER’S LICENSE. Cars don’t really exist where she’s from or where she lives so? CRIMINAL RECORD. Unless accidentally ( or sometimes purposefully ) tormenting people counts, Saga doesn’t actually have one. VICES. Despite her incredibly terrifying magic, Saga is a surprisingly open and positive person, often too much so. She’s repeatedly allowed herself to get hurt for believing in the best of people. She’s loyal to a fault as displayed by her willingness to live her entire living life with the Dead. While she’s very sweet and kind, she’s also fierce and if you get on her bad side? Let’s just say, you don’t want to be there. Her magic can also be as much of a curse as it is a blessing, as it’s gotten her in trouble and even harmed her on more than one occasion.

𝐬𝐞𝐱 & 𝐫𝐨𝐦𝐚𝐧𝐜𝐞

SEXUAL ORIENTATION.  Demisexual. Unless Saga has a very intense emotional investment in you, there is no sexual attraction whatsoever.  PREFERRED EMOTIONAL ROLE. submissive | dominant | switch PREFERRED SEXUAL ROLE. submissive | dominant | switch  LIBIDO. Average if she has someone she actively wants to be with. Nonexistent if there isn’t anyone she fancies.  TURN ON’S.  A true desire to reach out to her and embrace her as a person with valid feelings rather than compartmentalize her into a category. She values openness and understanding above anything else and if someone can look past what makes her terrifying to so many and see her, that’s usually what gets her. TURN OFF’S. Obnoxiousness, being too loud, being too pushy, being too judgmental, disingenuousness LOVE LANGUAGE.  Self-sacrificing to a fault, honestly. RELATIONSHIP TENDENCIES.  She’s the type of person to want to take care of literally everything so their partner didn’t have to. Work? Done. Chores? Done. Errands? Done. Setting up baths and meals and whatever her partner needs? Done. She’ll basically keep going until someone forces her to stop and take a breather, but she doesn’t mind. She’s a carer, it’s what she does.

𝐦𝐢𝐬𝐜𝐞𝐥𝐥𝐚𝐧𝐞𝐨𝐮𝐬

CHARACTER’S THEME SONG. uh... I guess if I had to pick one, I’d probably go with something instrumental, like Shadows by Lindsey Stirling  HOBBIES TO PASS TIME.  Aside from studying, practicing magic, and reading ( several things literally all of Loki’s children do ), Saga spends a lot of time taking after her mum in music and art. She’s quite skilled at several incredibly difficult instruments, including one she shares with her mother, the violin. She’s also a wildly gifted painter, but that isn’t exactly surprising for an illusionist, is it? Saga also spends a lot of time decorating both interior spaces and exterior spaces, in hopes of making her and Hel’s home feel more like a warm and welcoming place rather than what someone would likely expect from a palace in Helheim. LEFT OR RIGHT BRAINED.  Right-brained. PHOBIAS. Truly losing control of her abilities. For years, she suffered being unable to help her illusion manifestation, but the older she got, the more realistic her nightmares became, to the point that she wondered and feared if she could actually manifest them to completion rather than simply projecting the image of them.  SELF CONFIDENCE LEVEL. Somewhere in the middle. She’s had a lot of blows to her self-confidence over the years because of how poorly other people have treated her. She tries not to blame them because she knows it’s not entirely their fault, but at the same time? It has definitely impacted her in the long run. Mixed with literally being abandoned by her own parents? You’d expect her to have worse self-esteem to be honest.  VULNERABILITIES. Her need to hold onto the only family she’s ever known, the fear she holds in her own abilities and how easily they’ve slipped away from her, sometimes getting lost in her own illusions leaving her unable to tell the differences between reality and fiction in extreme cases