#Nothing about what you told me is reasonable. It reeks of 'I don't want to do this'

[setaflow]

Work is a time loop because I will propose something be edited with several noticeable and identifiable reasons as to why it needs to be made and I will get a response back like "hmmm yeah I see your point but we're too lazy to make this change so we're just going to use what we have anyway :)" and then I will explode with anger and the next day will I go back to my silly little job and I will do it all over again until the sun burns itself out and kills everyone on Earth.

[yeyinde]

victory lap

“Got a proposition for you, Simon,” the man says, and Simon snorts. He reeks of the same brand of cheap cigarettes as always—stale smoke, day-old tobacco; acrid and unpleasant. It makes his skin itch.  “an’ I told you already, Price. I ain't interested in a team—” “Not a team, Simon.” The look he levels him with is nothing short of malicious. Dangerous. His hackles raise on instinct, everything inside of him hissing to back away. “Got something else in mind.” Then through the door was you. Pretty as a picture— And all his for the night. or: John strikes a deal with young Simon Riley. his cooperation on a team they're putting together in exchange for a night with you. naturally, it goes awry.

18+ SMUT. implied noncon, dubcon. under-negotiated kink. bondage. overstimulation. size difference. size kink. messy, sweaty gross sex. rough sex. unsafe sex. mean Simon. smitten Simon. bullydom!Simon. spit kink. degradation and humiliation. young!Simon (pre-mw2019-2022 when he was still a Seargent; 25-28ish). manipulation. attempts at taming a stray dog that goes as well as you'd expect.

It's John who takes his muzzle off.

Dangles the key on his finger when he kicks open the door, letting his Lieutenant glimpse what lay behind it. Giving a gruff, like what you see? when his eyes finally adjust to the low light flooding in.

It takes him half a second. Enough time to commit the scene in front of him to memory.

It's you, of course.

good dogs get rewards, don't they, Simon?

Waiting for him. Pretty as a picture in sleek silk chiffon ribboned in intricate shibari around your chest, stomach, and thighs. Legs spread on the table; ankles tied down to the sides in nude jute rope. Hands clasped together, fingers laced; wrists tied above your head. The blindfold wrapped around your head is a pale pink ribbon, thicker than the silk on your body. Wrapped twice over your eyes, and tied in a pretty bow behind your head, he imagines.

In the split of your thighs, he finds you already slick. Wet. It drips down onto the table, puddling beneath your ass. The spread of your pussy, glistening in the flushed light; the small, pink vibrator taped to your clit makes his cock twitch. 

"All for me?" He rasps, eyes fixed on your cunt. On how pretty it looks. How inviting. A soft, ripe peach offered in the heat of summer, and he wants nothing more than to sink his teeth into you. Her. "'ow sweet o'you."

And Price, he thinks, eyes slanting sideways as he glances at the man sliding into his chair. It stands to reason that this whole thing, you on a silver platter for a starving wolf, wouldn't have happened if he hadn't seen the look on Simon's face when you first met him. The hunger.

Simon's not stupid, of course. He knew you were off limits the moment Price put his paw on your nape, squeezing once. Owned, claimed. The intention, the message, clear. Mine.

Don't touch.

And the way you lit up, stammering out something about how good it was to meet him, told him everything he needed to know how your willingness to be shackled to his Captain.

But even so—

He couldn't take his eyes off of you.

(and in his intense cataloguing of everything you did, he couldn't help but notice how you kept touching your neck when Price was dragged away for a conversation leaving you all alone in a room rankled down his spine. almost as if you were reaching up to fix a collar—)

The memory alone makes him shudder.

"All yours, Simon," Price drawls from his perch on the throne. Between two fingers, a cigar sits, unlit. Ghost huffs.

The words are a vicious bite to the want pooling low in his belly. "That so?”

The room seems to shake when he steps inside. Floor creaking ominously under his weight. It makes your mouth drop, heavy breaths spilling out between dull teeth. Chest rising and sinking shallowly with a wild sort of nervousness that flits across the expanse of your cheeks, in the tremble of your lower lip. 

Despite your unease, your legs stay open. Held aloft by the rope, he knows, but also—

A testament to how trained you are. 

He prefers his pets wild. Unpolished. Vicious little things that he gets to bring to heel with a sharp bark and rough hand glued to the back of their skulls, pushing their head into the dirt, to the floor, where it belongs. 

Fine china broken at his feet. 

But you—

Manicured. Groomed to perfection. Save for the harsh breaths and the shake in your joints—both an indication of just how new you are at this. A novice. One slowly being crushed under the leather boot of a man who reeks of smoke and whiskey. 

But knowing his captain and the furious need for control, he imagines you're better than some of the seasoned ones he'd come across in his lifetime. No room for errors.

And certainly no forgiveness for them, either. 

His cock twitches again—a heavy, aching weight against his thigh—and he reaches down to cup the thickness of it, crushing the flesh in his palm to stave off the need burning in his loins. The urgency to sink inside of your pretty little cunt rewiring the part of him that likes to mess his pets up first. Ruin them before he takes them. Fucking them to the point of unconsciousness—and sometimes, beyond it. 

But you—

You've been a phantom taste in the back of his throat for months now. A tease between his teeth. Sinking his jowls into you is the only thing on his mind. 

And when you're offered up so enticingly—

Well. 

Price can't blame him much for how badly he's going to ruin you. 

He reaches out, fingers pressing cruelly into the slim, thumb-sized vibrator Price has locked against your clit. A mindless, incessant torture, he's sure. Pushing you over the edge on a constant, unrelenting loop. 

“Messy girl,” he rasps, the starchy fabric of the mask glueing to his balmy skin. 

The reprimand makes you flinch in shame, but the flutter of your cunt belies the contrition that drapes over your brow in a shallow mimicry of sorrow. He can see why Price latched onto you so quickly, and doesn't bother fighting the stab of envy that brims in his chest. 

“Didn't your old man ever teach you any manners?” He mocks, dry and derisively. Quietly amused by the soft mewl you let out, one that only just eclipses the snort from Price. “Daddy's been slackin’, ‘asn’t he? Let his little girl turn into a messy fuckin’ slag.” 

You try to close your legs to no avail, the rope keeping you spread. In part, he thinks, from shame—blistering, burning, and vibrant when it streaks across your face—but mostly from the slick gush that leaks out of your drenched pussy at his foul words. Trying to hide it from him. To keep him from knowing just how much the brassy roll of his ugly words makes your empty little cunt ache. 

“Look’it you.” He rumbles, enjoying the shiver in your joints. The way your head rolls to the side, nose pressed tight to the skin of your arm. “Messy pussy just achin’ to be fucked.”

He adds more pressure until you choke. The scream lodged in your throat. Your toes curl. He hears the soft pop of your joints when you arch your back like a cat in heat yowling for attending. 

“Want it bad, don't you?” He taunts. “Daddy must’a spoiled you too much—” another scoff from Price. The creak of leather. The clink of ice against glass. “Didn't teach you any manners—”

He wants you to beg. Wants to hear the peal of your voice—rough and ragged and begging him to sink inside you; fuck your little cunt until you can't walk anymore—but that's not what he's here for. Not why Price dragged him up to the room. Gave you to him. 

And with the silk gag in your mouth, he knows he won't get it, anyway. Tied in a pretty bow behind your head. Wet with your spit already. 

Simon's fingers slide down, dragging over the folds of your cunt. You're wet. Soaked. Drenched in a way he's never seen before; folds glistening. Thighs wet. Sticky. He licks his lips. Tastes the brine of his sweat. He wants to eat your pussy. Spread you wide on his tongue and make you beg Price to let Simon make you cum. 

The thought roots in his head. Burrowing deep. He can already hear your sweet voice pleading with his captain—please, please let him make me cum—but he pushes it down when Price makes an impatient noise in the back of his throat. 

He knows why he's here. 

And wonders, then, when he steps back and drops his hands to the button on his trousers, how many times you've been punished like this. The thought is a sour smoulder in the back of his head. An ugly, foul thing unfurled over the soot-stained walls of his skull. 

(he'll ask later. get the names of every man Price let see you like this, and pluck the memory of you right from their skull—)

“So needy,” he drawls, dragging his cock out of his slacks as they fall low on his thighs. “Even after this pussy’s been spoiled so much?”

It makes you keen, and the noise is a searing knife to his guts. He groans with it—low and rough, the noise scraping over the flesh of his throat until it hurts. 

“Gonna have to punish you, ain't I? Needy fuckin' thing—” so he says, but his cock is just as sticky as your thighs, weeping a steady stream of pre-cum that pools in the tangle of hair at the base, dusting over his heavy, fat balls. 

He shuffles closer, and reaches out to your knee, slipping his fingers behind your shin. The squeal of naked flesh against the metal tabletop shouldn't make him throb but it does. Cruel man, he thinks, and drinks in the way you wince. 

He presses his cock against your slit, mouth dropping in a harsh pant when he takes in the hideous sight it makes. Your pussy is covered up by his girth. The tip of his cock bobbing over your belly button, dripping pre-cum into the divot. 

Simon pulls his hips back, letting his cock glide over your silken flesh. The wet squelch it makes when he thrusts forward, cockhead tapping on your belly, has him grunting like an animal. It's obscene, this. The way he can't even see your folds over the wide spread of his cock. Pussy tucked neatly under him. 

He can't even begin to imagine how you'll take the full length of him inside of you when his cock nudges past your belly button when he lets his balls rest on your molten slit. Poor thing. 

He doesn't know if Price stretched you before this. Got you ready for him. But the man makes no move to intervene when Simon pulls back until his head slips down your seam, bracketed between your plush, swollen folds, tight against your entrance. All he has to do is—

Push

And the tip of his cock slips in. 

You make another noise at the sting, and he thinks you might be crying but his eyes are riveted to the spot where you open for him. Pussy so small, so tiny, compared to his cock in a way that's sickening. Garish. But your little cunt drools on him. Rim fluttering like a heartbeat on his glands, pulling him deeper. Enticing him to sink inside. All the way. Until he can feel the hitch of your breath on his cock. 

He leans back to get a better view, the motion forcing another inch inside of you. The noise is slick. Giving as your silken flesh parts around him, eagerly taking him in. But as wet as you are, as pliant, the stretch is unbearable. It chokes the air from his lungs when you tighten up around him—

“Fuckin' hell—” he snaps, his upper lip curling up beneath the mask. Your cunt makes him angry. Suddenly, viciously. The fury drips down his spine, pools at the base of his cock. His hand slips out from between your thighs, roughly grabbing your waist. Holding on tight as he jerks his hips harshly against you. 

You feel good. Perfect. Wrapped snugly around him. A hot, wet embrace. And he huffs at the bitterness that clots in his lungs; the surge of pleasure so blisteringly intense, it nearly makes him gag. Makes him sick. 

Price has this every night. 

The thought alone is a poison. It needles in deep, lashing at him with foul, rabid teeth. Cruelly, he pushes deeper, sinking his cock in another inch, another, another—mindless in this pursuit to tear you apart well before you're ready for it. 

He wants it to burn. To ache. Wants to be the worst fuck you've ever had; cock too big for you to take, but he feeds it to you in full. Gives you all of it. Every inch. Until your stomach churns with every press of his cockhead against your cervix, his glands sliding over that spot inside that makes your knee jerk and your eyes roll. 

Wants you to remember him as a beast. To think of his cock and feel nauseous. 

To sink deep inside of you—brutal and savage—until you can still feel him in your pussy for days. Each step causing a sharp pang in your lower belly. 

It's awful, he knows. Terrible. But he forces himself into you anyway, feeling your flesh split around him. A blunt, unyielding pressure until his balls tap against your ass, pussy spasming around the fat length he punishes you with. He's sure he's deeper inside of you than anything—any man, cheap silicon—has ever dreamed of being. Kissing places in you that nothing has ever touched. Feels it in the nervous flit of your muscles pulsing around him—this foreign thing bludgeoning into uncharted territory, stretching you wide. Almost virginal all over again. It makes him groan. 

Your pleasure is a muted ripple down his spine. The vibrator forcing you into enjoying the sharp sting of your rim pulled taut around the plug of his cock, skin blanching from the strain. He wants to stay just like this—grinding his hips into the backs of your spread thighs, cockhead chiselling into the molten seal of your womb with every gyration until the line between pleasure and pain begins to blur. Until you gag from how badly having your walls battered burns, hurts, but the bloom of pleasure deep inside your groin keeps you in place. Makes you arch your back, wanting more. 

Desperate for it. 

But this isn't what Price wants, is it? 

No—

He voices his impatience with a muffled grunt. Get on with it, Simon is pinched out between the silver of space between his teeth, the butt of a burning cigar keeping his jaw unhinged. The heady, sour-sweet stench of smouldering tobacco, nicotine, staining the words. 

You clench at the sound of Price's voice, pretty pussy drawing all tight around him. Perfectly trained. Sweet thing, he thinks, pulling out of you slowly. Just a few inches. Feeling your skin glue his; the glide of your walls over his shaft sickeningly good, nauseatingly so. He holds it for a moment, staring down at you through the eye holes of his mask, breathing heavily. Sweat drenches his skin. Tacky, hot. The starchy fabric clings to his flesh, peeling away each time he moves his head. 

The exertion of fucking his cock into you shows through the muted pulse of his joints, muscles aching from the strain of pushing forward. 

(Holding himself back.)

You blink at him blearily, eyes misted with tears. A smaller puddle sits on the table near your temples. 

Up close, he can see the full detail of the intricate shibari binding you tight. The sleek pink ribbon weaving over your chest, your breast, stomach—hishi karada, Price said. At the base of your neck is more silk in a mockery of a collar. And he wonders if you miss it, then. The solid weight of leather on your skin. If your hands weren't tied up, he imagines they'd be there. Holding firm. 

Just like the night he first met you. 

The silk rope, the loss of your collar—

“Your dad's a cruel man, ain't he?” He mocks, sliding his fingers over the delicate trim of silk bound tight under your heaving breasts, peppering across your nipple, down the slope. Resting at the base of your throat. The thin slip of fabric is not enough to give you what you need. The pressure, the friction. The sense of being owned. “Didn't even give his little girl a collar.” 

More of that tantalising shame rake over your expression. Tears dribble out in hot drops, spilling down the side of your face. 

He hums, slips this fragility into his back pocket. “Want me to give it to you, little girl?” 

He spits the words out like they're wrong. Awful. Takes in your flinch, the downward twist to your lips, and shoves that, too, into his pocket. 

Simon has no intention of waiting for an answer, for permission—he reels back, hand still splayed wide over your sternum, and pulls his cock out more until only the flare of his glands peaks out. He's soaked—glistening with your slick. So wet that it drips out of your plugged hole, gliding down the cleft of your ass. 

He wonders if you always get like this—

Bites that thought clean through with an angry groan, and pries his fingers out from the back of your knee, dragging them to the end of his mask. Rucking it up over his skin, bunched against the bridge of his nose. 

If the mess of his mouth, chin, the crooked, angular slope of his nose horrifies you at all, you don't let it show. Content to quietly sob on the table, eyes flickering between the thick plug of his cock between your thighs and the Price. 

He hates you, he thinks. And then he spits on your pretty pussy, right over your taut rim. Watches the foamy mess bubble, drip down to the skin behind his mushroomed head. When it pools there, he pulls back until the widened flare of his glands slips free. You whine—a noise of bright hot disgust, humiliation—and he lets it burrow under his skin, trickle down his spine. Then he pushes forward, popping the head back inside of you. 

The spit—his spit, too. 

And he does it again. The same thing. Pulling out, spitting. Feeding it to her. Letting it rub against the slick, wet (wetter now) walls of her cunt. 

Price doesn't say anything about this claim. Schoolboy possession—childish and immature when you're used to fine leather gripping tight around the slope of your neck.

Still. 

He pulls on your proverbial braids until it burns. 

The hum of the vibrator takes some of the sting away when he shoves inside of you again, cockhead bullying into your cervix with an unmatched cruelty. Leaking slick, steady, over your seal. Drooling, thick and viscous, against your walls. Staining you. 

Ruining you.

Each breath is punched out when he bottoms out. Forced from your lungs. Winded. He knows it hurts almost as much as the thick bludgeon of his cock pressing deep, but as he scrapes and claws at the rot concealing over his humanity, morality, he finds nothing inside of him left to care. 

He stops looking. Stops searching. 

Simon fucks into you with vigor instead, laughing mockingly at the lewd, sinful squelch of your cunt. “Think that's the sound of all my spit, birdie? Or is your sloppy little cunt always this fuckin’ messy?”

Each piston makes his pelvis slap into the vibrator; he can feel it through the tangle of coarse hair spooled above his cock. Buzzing incessantly against his skin. The spike of sharp pressure has you yowling beneath him, hips twisting, turning, trying to flee from the brutal onslaught. Pleasure and pain balancing on a knife's edge. 

He holds you there. Dangles you above the precipice just because he can—

A lazy flick of his waist. The savage grind of his hips. The softened bulge of his lower belly tapping against the plastic toy—

And it breaks you. This careless, effortless attention he pays to you has you tightening up around him like a knot, a vice; cunt squeezing, squeezing, before you shatter. Wave against a cliff; you spasm on his cock in a series of shallow, tight throbs pulsing along to the rapid fire of your heartbeat. 

His eyes are locked on your face. Pretty, lachrymal. Tears bleed down your temples, soaking into your hairline. Puddling underneath. 

His own little sea of your miserable pleasure. 

Eyes rolled into the back of your head. Toes curling. Hips jerking, twisting. Trying to run from the ugly, awful way he makes you cum. Makes you gorge yourself on pleasure. Force-feeding you pain with each sloppy, brutal thrust into your sopping, messy cunt—swollen, bruised; battered. And his—

—ice clinks against glass. A clicking swallow follows. The hollow thud of glass on wood. Scraping over the veneer as it's pushed back into place. Tobacco is chewed up by flames, popping and sizzling; smoldering with each inhale as the playwright watches the show he weaved together unfold—

—his. 

The silk around your neck comes loose with each thrash of your head rolling from side to side, shaking with quick, successive no, no, no’s that go unheeded, ignored. Every animalistic rut of his hips makes you change your mind, anyway. Turning those devastating no’s to yeses so eager, your teeth clack with every thrust. 

As it slips, sliding down the sweat-slicked column of your arched throat, he finds a stripe of red. A scab. Right at the knot where your collar would sit. A pretty gem in the middle. Your name, or maybe something that would amuse Price more than the perceived idea of your autonomy—bitch in glinting gold. His name and number etched into the back. 

if found, return to John Price. 

A foldhold, perhaps. Tailor-made for his boot. 

He hunts, Simon knows. Walked in reeking of leather and smoke when they first met and casually mentioned how good he was at Big Game hunting. A threat, then—however thinly veiled and erring on the side of mordant humour it was. But he wonders if Price personally made the collar you mourned the night he swung you into Simon's path. 

Your neck was bare, then. Blemishless. 

A collar too small. Tightened too much. Punishment, he supposes, and feels a sick sense of satisfaction roll down from his nape to the bottom of his spine where it pools in his groin—hot, molten oil—as he wonders just how much convincing it took you to agree to this. To spread your pretty legs for the ugly brute Price dangled you in front of. Who watched you all night from the corner of the room, chest heaving and eyes wide, wild, and furious. Reeking of rot. Want. To let him rut you like an animal while Price watches from the corner of the room—

A bead of sweat follows the phantom trail. 

“Fuck, birdie,” he's rasping, voice uttered wrecked. Mangled in his throat. “So fuckin’ tight f’me, ain't you? Must want me to cum inside this pretty cunt—”

You shiver. Knee jerking. There's a real sense of panic in your eyes when they dart over to Price, silently nursing another glass of scotch. He follows your gaze, catches Price glaring at him with his chin dipped low to his chest, peering out through his lashes. Brow furrowed. A flat line. 

Simon doesn't stop thrusting. Keeps a steady pace despite the anger brimming inside of him as the pleasure grows. Festers. 

Then—

Barely discernible: a nod. 

Shadows fall over his cheeks. He brings the glass back to his mouth with a surly mm between the mouthful. An irrevocable fuckin' get on with it. 

And Simon does.

The look he gives you pure predatory hunger. Victory in the potent stench of charred bones. He lifts his chin, stares down at you—all spread out like a gift to a god—and surges forward with a rabid hunger brimming in his guts. Unquenchable. Horrific. 

—wants you to eat you alive. Consume you whole. Leave nothing for Price to pick at, to mourn over,

settles instead for ruining your pussy. For fucking you raw. Cumming deep inside of your quivering cunt even when he knows you don't want that. Are silently begging Price to reconsider. To get this ugly fucking mutt off of you—

It churns his guts. Makes him viciously excited over the image that brims in the back of his head, tears raining down your cheeks as you bring a shaky hand to your aching, swollen cunt, feeling the thick, viscous glob of his cum leaking out.

Or before that, when you have to lay there and take it. Feeling his cock throbbing, pulsing as it spits cum inside of you. When he pulls out, and a milky trail follows, dribbling down between your cheeks. At his mercy the whole time, too, because Price won't get up right away to untie you. You'll have to lay there in his filth, feeling it ooze out of you—

He wants it. Badly. Feels it scorching his hindbrain, burning him up from the inside out. 

Later, he thinks, he'll fuck you with more finesse. Make you cum on his fingers—stuff them inside of your sore, aching cunt to the last knuckle; give you three of them to squeeze around, to cling to, and watch the ink on his bruised, scabbed skin disappear inside of you over and over again, pulling them out all slick, pearlescent with a mix of his cum and yours. On his tongue, too. Keep you in this pretty frogtie, unable to push him off—or pull him closer. Forced to take it. To let him lap at your pussy until he quenches this uneasy hunger festering inside of his stomach, growing bolder, greedier at the sight of you splayed out like this, exhausted already even though he's only just begun. 

Fuck you again, too, just because he can. 

all yours for a night, Price had said, sealing your fate with a sharp, decisive nod. 

He plans on making the most of the twelve hours until sunrise that he has. 

This, then, the appetizer—

It curls over his shoulders, tar-stained fingers digging into the tight coil of his muscles, easing the tension in increments. Soothing out the fear that still clings to him of missing out. Still, very much, that hungry little mutt on the side of the street, peering into the bakery at the family's milling about, smiling happily. Content to ignore the brat in rags glaring at them from an alcove with bruises on his chin, and a black split on his lip. Diving for scraps because the alternative is going to bed with an empty stomach in a house that reeks of flat beer and stale piss. 

There's nothing to miss out on here, it reasons, when he has you all night. All his. 

“Beg me,” he huffs, sniffing through the balmy, damp mask when it slips down his crooked nose. “Beg me not to cum inside you.”

All you can do is make a small, keening oomph behind the loose gag, words muffled by wet silk. His head rolls back, eyes narrowing down at you in mocking delight—catlike, leonine, in the dwindling glimmer of sunlight spilling through the crack in the curtains. 

“C’mon,” he taunts, rolls his hips into you just to hear the loud, wet squelch of your pussy taking the full, fat length of his cock. Lets the noise box through his ears in a vicious, heavy punch. “Or I'll cum inside you—”

He's already there. Edging toward the precipice. 

Simon grabs the tops of your thighs, digging his fingers into your skin, and pulls you closer to the edge of the table until your ass lifts. It opens you up wider for him, knees notched wide, nearly level with your ears. The new position lets him push in deeper, fucking you in full now. Balls slapping against your ass with every brutal stroke. 

He leans down, knee lifting to the table as he climbs on before dropping the full heft of his weight onto you. Forearm braced above your head, the other catching the column of your bare, scratched neck in the wide spread of his palm. 

The size difference before was intoxicating. A rush that pooled in the back of his head before rocketing down to his spine, filling his cock, but this—your knees bracketing around his waist, spread so wide they're forced down flat to the table below in a split that lets his cock sink in deeper, head tucked against his collarbone, swallowed whole beneath him, is his undoing. 

Arched over you like a beast, he grunts. Ruts into your sopping cunt and feels the whines that spill from your throat at the rough way he batters into you. 

The softness of his lower belly grazes the vibrator humming on your clit. The pressure makes your eyes widen, and roll into the back of your head. Neck trapped in his hold as you thrash beneath him, sobbing in earnest. In dismay. 

He's sure it hurts. The pleasure careening into overstimulation—the kind that burns, bellows too much, no more. He huffs out a derisive snort, and eats your misery from your parted lips, dipping his head down to catch the seam of your mouth in a mockery of a kiss. The silk wrapped around your head, tucked neatly into the corners of your mouth, keeps it from being anything more than a messy smear of his scarred, torn lips and your muffled gasps. The band prevents him from really tasting you, and he makes do with curling his tongue over your teeth, catching the drool running down your chin. 

It's gross. Messy. He slurps you up, and hums in pleasure when he tastes the brine of your tears. 

“Gonna cum,” he grunts into the silk before catching it between his crooked teeth, nibbling on the wet hem, sucking on your spit soaked into the fabric. 

Your pussy spasms around him. Eager, he thinks—pulsing like a heartbeat and starving for it. It blooms under his skin, burning hot like a fever. His tongue slips under your gag. Eyes glued to yours, listed in quiet, merciless delight when you grimace as he slides it along yours, nearly gagging you on it. 

It's almost sweet. A pastiche of loving making—as close to the real thing as he's ever come. The thought is a bludgeon to his head, making his ears ring—

And he runs from it. Rears back from the sloppy kiss, eyes creasing, brow furrowing, as you stare up at him with wet, glossy eyes, rheumy with tears. Silently pleading for something he can't discern. He feels that trail of anger coiling in his guts again, sitting low in his belly as his hips stutter to a slow, softer roll. 

His finger lifts, settles on the corner of your unhinged jaw, holding your head steady. There are lines, he thinks. Walls, divides. Protective armour—

And some shouldn't be crossed. 

Simon spits on your gag. Squeezes the huff of disgust from your throat when he feels your chest expand with it. Bullies himself closer, smothering you under his weight. Owned, then. Claimed. 

You can't close your mouth around the gag, or fingers digging into the muscle of your jaw. He keeps you like that, degraded. Dehumanised. A vessel for him to use as he likes—

Nothing more, nothing less. 

Sinks into your bruised cunt again, hips slapping meanly into yours in a way he knows must ache. Sets a choppy, deep pace; humps your pussy and grinds the weeping, swollen head of his cock into your battered cervix. Loses himself in the messy, plugging rolls of his hips; the wet, tight slide of your skin—flushed and clenching around the thick of himself he feeds to you, over and over again. Mindless in the pursuit to ruin you further. Stain you with his cum—

The problem is:

You feel like heaven. Pussy wrapped tight around him. Silken walls hugging his aching cock until it feels like he's melting into the hot, wet squeeze of it. So good it hums inside his head like a purr, rattles his thoughts around until the ugly, bitter anger is turned inside out. Flipped. 

He thinks about lines again as his sticky, wet balls glue to the slick skin of your ass, peeling off in a way that has pleasure peppering along his spine, spooling in his lower back. He did that, caused it. Made you so fucking wet that his knees slide in the messy spill of it leaking all over the table. The loud squelch of him slamming into your cunt echoes in the room—shrill and bone-melting. Ego-feeding. Enough to gorge his pride on it until its belly threatens to burst at the seams. Overfull. 

Simon grunts. His face is soaked. The damp fabric of his mask is too drenched to even mop it up, sticking to his skin as sweat rains down from his shorn hairline, misting over his eyes. His upper lip. The dip of his chin. He's more water than man. Liquid. Melting into you. 

The heat is unbearable. “Gonna cum in this pussy,” he snarls, and it sounds like a threat. Is one. He's going to burst inside of you, molten and thick. Been a while, he thinks, and feels his balls draw up. Tightening in a promise as he fucks himself into a syrupy stupor above you. 

The inside of his ears are wet, and he thinks it might be his fucking brain leaking out—

The tight coil of his body snaps before he does, giving out in a heavy groan. He catches himself before he crushes you beneath him, still mindlessly thrusting into your cunt, cock pulsing, throbbing. Growing thicker, thicker, as he heaves into your temple, breathing in the pine scent of your skin. Loam, sea. Sweat. You smell like Price beneath it all—leather and smoke; scotch and wood—and his lips curl into a vicious snarl, teeth bared at the man in the corner, silent observer to this blasphemous confessional where he spills his guts inside of you, and you eat them up like they're made of gold dust. 

It rushes him. A kick to his soft stomach, a boot crushing his ribs. The force of it hurts when it hits, surging up from the base of his spine, too fast for him to brace for. Tensing, coiling. The pressure knocks the air from his lungs, makes his hips stutter. Joints whining, twinging with pain. 

He moans low and brassy, mangled deep in the rot of his chest, and cums deep inside of you. Sloppy, mindlessly rutting into the spread bracket of your thighs as pleasure burns across the back of his neck, his spine. His hips roll, shaking. Melting as he spills, spits thick globs of cum out, cockhead bullied tight against your plug. 

All you can do is heave beneath him, whining at the molten spend he pours into you. Poor fuckin’ thing—

His lips are sticky, slick with sweat. He rubs them against the tacky skin of your temple, your cheekbone, babbling nonsense out on a purr—

Breedin’ this tight little pussy right in front of your old man, birdie. Got ‘im watchin’ his little girl take my thick fuckin’ load inside o’her. Fuckin’ hell—

—things that leak out between the cracks in the armour. The thick veneer. Made worse, his personal hell, when he feels your hips bump into his, taking his cock deeper inside as you squirm under the heavy weight of him. With your thigh flexing, squeezing his hip, it almost feels like you want more. All of him. For him to crawl deep inside of you, cocooned in the bracket of your ribs—

“Needy fuckin’ thing,” he rasps, words slurring. Eliding into mush. Nonsense he'll come to crush between his teeth later when he buries himself back inside of you over and over again, feeding blood to this vicious seedling inside of him. 

Through the pounding in his head, your gasping little hitches in his ear, the undeniable silence from Price weighs on him even as the aftershocks of his release mute the noise in his head. A dense, hazy fog clouding over all thoughts. 

It doesn't feel angry. Jealous. If anything it reeks of victory—

He grasps through the blanket, the murk, with lazy hands until he finds what he's looking for, and—

Oh. 

Right. 

(“Got a proposition for you, Simon,” the man says, and Simon snorts. 

He reeks of the same brand of cheap cigarettes as always—stale smoke, day old tobacco; acrid and unpleasant. It makes his skin itch. 

“an’ I told you already, Price. I ain't interested in a team—”

“Not a team, Simon.” The look he levels him with is nothing short of malicious. Dangerous. “Got something else in mind—”)

Then through the door was you. Pretty as a picture—

He stares down at you now. The base of his cock is soaked with your slick, flesh throbbing, pulsing, as he cums inside of you. 

It's this—you, crying over the feeling of him spilling so deeply inside of you while your old man watches from the sidelines, unable to do anything but sit there as Simon fills his baby girl up—that he wanted. Wants. Needs, he thinks, more than the stale, humid air he breathes. A place of his own. Home. Even if it's made of paper mache, carved inside of someone else, someone who already has a collar. A brand—

But that's the point, isn't it?

A sick feeling curls over his shoulders as he thumbs the slim vibrator off of your clit, staring down at the swollen nub at the apex of your mound. Sore and sensitive and flushed bright. Bruised like an apple. Abused for hours. Poor thing, he thinks, even as he rubs the flat of his finger over it. 

His cum seeps out around the softening plug of his cock. But it's still thicker than anything you'd ever taken before, he's sure. Sick with the deep sense of satisfaction that rolls over him at the thought. 

It's worth it, then, even as the dawning realisation trickles over him like hot oil—

“What d’you like, Simon?”

A pretty bird in pale pink chiffon. Too good for the likes of him. Afraid of him, too. Cowerin’. Cryin’ somethin’ awful when he sinks his ugly, fat prick into them—

Price hummed. Curled his index finger over the top of his cigar, tapped the thick wrap twice with the tip of it, and then brought it to his lips. A flash of teeth beneath his beard—nicotine-stained; crooked in the low light—before they sunk into the butt. 

There was something measured in his stare. Predatory. 

Victorious. 

And—

He gets it. You were a dangling lure in the deep, dark of the abyssal layer. A glimmer of light in thick murk. Iridescent. Dazzling. He was always meant to sink his teeth into you, wasn't he? Always meant to take a bite—

hook. line—

—sinker. 

Or—

It would be if the fish Price caught wasn't a leviathan. 

—in the scorching trail the oil leaves behind, something bestial, primordial, inside of his cocks its head in consideration. he can make a feast from this, it says; and so, he does—

“Need my help, Price?” Simon drawls, arms crossing over his chest as he stares down at him, quietly amused, and John feels the pulse between his temples starting up again the same way it had all those years back when he bumped into the man with you on his arm. 

He grunts. “Sendin’ you to Mexico.”

“Tha’ so? I might be busy.”

He sucks in a deep breath, reaches for his cigar. The itch claws behind his eyes, in his gums. There's a headache, too. One he knows won't be soothed over with the numbing bliss of nicotine or a shot of scotch. Not when he'll have to slink home afterwards, this massive behemoth nipping at his heel, and deal with the aftermath of what happens whenever he sets Simon loose on you:

an icepack pressed tight against your aching cunt, a glare fixed on your face as he dotes on you after you made him clean up the absolute mess Simon left behind with his fingers and tongue—

“never again,” you'll hiss, wincing with each pull of his knuckles on your sore, bruised walls. “I mean it—”

(you always say that but the look in your eye whenever he pulls out the silk—the new assortment that Simon bought for you himself—tells him otherwise—)

He presses the heel of his palm into the crease between his eye and bone, rubbing until he sees phosphenes spark behind his eyelids. 

“She'll be in silk,” he grouses, sucking his teeth in irritation. “And you'll be on fuckin’ plane to Mexico the next morning, Riley. Do I make myself clear?”

“Crystal, sir,” he draws lazily with a half-hearted shrug, but Price can see the mutt inside of him panting with glee. He pretends to huff. Then: “I want her in white this time.”

The fuckin' prick.

—Price’s gamble of using you to lure the big, bad dog in works. but maybe a little too well. because now his sergeant expects one every time he's sent on a mission. and they send him out a lot. 

—he now has a key to his captain's house. lets himself in whenever he wants. finds you exactly how he asked for it. usually tied up in silk, crying, and struggling to get away when he stalks inside the room. on your knees, begging him so sweetly not to fuck your throat too hard. you have work tomorrow. or fighting him off as best as you can until he pins you down, works his cock inside of you. 

—in full view of the cameras, of course. non-negotiable. Price gets to see everything his brutish sergeant does to his pretty bird. everything. 

—Simon is the one who keeps you company when Price is sent off to work with the CIA. keeps you stuffed full of his cock in the bed you share with Price, his little girl sobbing into the pillow that reeks of smoke and leather and sex as Simon forces every inch of his stupid fat cock inside you

[swiftiethatlovesf1]

Falling for the act

Hii I hope you enjoy this fake dating one-shot about Carlos :)

You and Carlos have been dating for five months, or that's what the world thinks. In reality, you've been acting as his girlfriend at the request of his manager. When Carlos's manager approached you with the proposal, you were uncertain. However, he convinced you with the promise of luxury trips, travelling around the world, and a generous paycheck.

Tonight, you have a gala for Ferrari investors. It's not the first time you've accompanied him to an event like this, and it surely won't be the last. You decide to make the best of your situation and get ready. As you do your makeup, you can't help but think about your relationship with Carlos. He has been nothing but kind, always trying to make you as comfortable as possible. A smile appears on your face as you reflect on how you've grown from strangers to friends. It should stay as a friendship, you remind yourself, even if it's hard when he treats you so nicely and his heavenly looks don't help the inevitable feelings from growing.

"Are you ready?" Carlos asks as he knocks on the bathroom door, waiting for permission to come in.

"Almost ready," you say, your breath catching in your throat as he enters. It should be illegal to look that good in a suit, you think.

"Wow, Y/N, you look amazing. I'm lucky that you are my date for tonight, or I would be jealous of others seeing how you look in that red dress," Carlos jokes.

Blush covers your face, and it's not from your makeup. "Thanks," you answer, unsure of what else to say to his compliment.

As you arrive at the gala, flashes blind you as you cling to Carlos's arm for support, remembering why you are really there. The luxury of the gala still amazes you as you walk in and greet the other guests. The night moves on quickly, but between the music and the conversations, you start feeling anxious.

"I'm going outside. I'll be back soon," you tell Carlos, seeking the fresh night air to calm your nerves. But your peace is short-lived as a man approaches you.

"What's a pretty girl like you doing here all alone?" he says, his breath reeking of alcohol as he nears you.

"I'm not alone, and I would appreciate it if you left me alone. Thanks," you try to reason with him, but it doesn't seem to work.

"Come on, we could have a great time," he says, aggressively taking your arm.

"She told you to leave her alone," Carlos's voice surprises both of you.

"Dude, she was asking for it," the man tries to argue with Carlos. "She's a slut," but he doesn't have time to finish the sentence as Carlos punches him.

"Ah, you broke my nose, asshole!"

"I told you to leave my girlfriend alone. You should leave, or a broken nose will be the least of your problems."

Carlos's arms tighten around you as he speaks, his voice filled with concern. "Are you okay? Do you want to call the police?"

You take a shaky breath, trying to steady yourself as you look up at him. "I'm okay… just a little shaken up. Thank you, Carlos. I don't know what I would've done if you weren't here."

Carlos's eyes soften, a mix of relief and worry etched across his face. "You don't have to thank me. I was just so scared for you. I can't imagine losing you."

You feel warmth spread through you at his words, the sincerity in his voice making your heart race. "Carlos, I… I don't know what to say."

He gently cups your face in his hands, his thumb brushing away a tear you hadn't realized had fallen. "You don't have to say anything. Just promise me you'll be careful."

"I promise," you whisper, leaning into his touch.

Carlos hesitates for a moment, his eyes searching yours as if looking for something. Then, with a tenderness that makes your heart ache, he leans in and presses a soft kiss to your forehead. "Let's get you home."

You nod, grateful for his presence. As you drive back to your apartment, Carlos keeps a protective hand on you, his closeness a comforting reminder that you aren't alone.

Inside, he makes sure you are settled on the couch before sitting next to you. "Do you want to talk about what happened?" he asks gently.

You shake your head, still feeling the residual fear from the attack. "Not right now. I just… I just need you here."

"I'm not going anywhere," Carlos assures you, his hand finding yours and giving it a reassuring squeeze.

You look down at your intertwined hands, a small smile tugging at your lips despite everything. "You know, for fake dating, this feels pretty real."

Carlos chuckles softly, his eyes sparkling with a mixture of amusement and something deeper. "Maybe it's because… it is real. At least for me."

Your breath catches in your throat at his confession, your heart pounding loudly in your chest. "Carlos…"

"I know this might not be the best time, but I've been wanting to tell you for a while now," he continues, his voice earnest. "I have feelings for you. Real feelings. And seeing you in danger tonight made me realize just how much you mean to me."

You feel tears welling up again, but this time they are tears of a different kind. "I… I have feelings for you too, Carlos. I was just too scared to admit it."

He smiles, relief and joy evident in his expression. "Then we're on the same page."

You nod, feeling a weight lift off your shoulders. "Yeah, we are."

Carlos pulls you into another embrace, this one filled with the promise of something new and beautiful. "We'll get through this together," he murmurs into your hair. "I promise."

In that moment, wrapped in his arms, everything feels right. The lines between pretense and reality blur, leaving you with a sense of anticipation for the future. With Carlos by your side, you know that whatever comes next, you'll face it together.

[cursedvida]

It's really crazy to me to see the hate Mae gets, like I was reading some reviews and I can understand not liking a character but as soon as they start with the name calling their opinion is invalid to me because they have no reason to be calling her a bitch, among other things, like it just reeks of mysogyny, (it's like they just want an excuse to call women names) and seeing it coming from other girls makes it worse like..

"Oh the girl was such a bitch why did she do that 🙄" ..is it really that hard to think for a moment about the circumstances in which mae was raised?? Do they need it spell it out for them?? Like, c'mon guys do you really think that the people trapped in a bunker for generations have anything nice to teach/say about the apes?? Wes Ball please give us Mae's backstory in the sequel!! Your audience needs it bc they are out there calling Mae the real villain and saying Proximus was right 💀 (when he was literally everything Caesar hated in an ape)

Look, I'm usually a polite person when expressing my opinions, but I'm fed up with the hate towards Mae, basically because the arguments people give seem incredibly basic to me, typical of people with little to no understanding. Sometimes I doubt if these people have watched the same movie as me or maybe they have some sort of cognitive dissonance, but seriously, I find them ridiculous. Either that, or they are basically the typical comments from misogynistic guys or women with internalized misogyny who can't stand morally gray and questionable female characters.

And well, having said that, I'm going to present my doctoral thesis on this topic:

One of the things I've seen the most is people saying that Mae is evil, the true villain, or an ungrateful traitor to Noa. This argument seems quite incomprehensible to me because, even though we don't have much data about her, I believe there's something very important that explains why she acts as she does: the Proximus apes killed the people in her group, including her mother. I mean: her damn mother. If we add to that the UNDERSTANDING (I mean, you have to be very short-minded not to assume something so obvious) that she has been raised in an environment where they've probably told her all her life that the apes are the reason for all the evils of humanity and the main reason why humans live in shitty conditions, I think anyone with half a brain has enough information to understand why she does what she does.

Yes, Noa is a good guy, but he's not helping her. Noa and Mae have a common goal and decide to ally themselves momentarily to achieve that goal, which is to reach Proximus. As much as they've formed a bond throughout the story, it's not yet strong enough for Mae to set aside what she has worked for so hard. Mae not only bears the weight of humanity on her shoulders but also emotionally carries the idea that she, as the sole survivor of her group, must complete the mission at all costs. Are those who criticize her telling me that if they truly thought that with certain actions they could not only save their species but also honor their loved ones who have been killed infront their eyes, they wouldn't do them? And that they wouldn't do them for someone they've just met, no matter how much they like them? That's just not realistic, it makes no sense. We would all do the same as Mae in her situation. I mean, I have no doubts.

Another thing I love is when they say she's the "true villain" as if it weren't clear enough that she feels bad every time since she forms a bond with Raka and Noa when she does something that she knows may harm them. She feels pain for Raka's death and clearly, you can also see the conflict and remorse when she detonates the bomb. It's not something she enjoys doing, but she HAS to do it. In the final scene, even though she's carrying a gun, you can also clearly see her in conflict with herself. Clearly, she doesn't want to kill him. Clearly, she has nothing against Noa, and this is evident when she finally accepts the necklace and they even shake hands. You can't tell me that's the attitude of a villain, narratively it's not presented as such, and seeing it that way is to have understood nothing.

Mae is a complex character whose life is based on survival, she's no different from the characters we're used to loving and idolizing in other post-apocalyptic series, the difference here for me is that she's human and humans have to be bad by default and also that she's a woman. Because female characters always have to be the support, the romantic interest, or the unconditional friends of heroic male characters, and Mae is none of that. Mae is a character with her own story and ambitions that go beyond Noa's plot. Mae has her own plot, and it seems that's something that bothers people a lot.

I'm sorry, but the hate towards Mae seems very similar to the one people had for Sansa Stark in Game of Thrones, which basically stemmed from people being misogynistic and hating complex and imperfect female characters, combined with how much they hate seeing protagonist characters with such human and real characteristics that they can't bear the idea of seeing themselves reflected in them.

But hey, for Sansa Stark, I would have killed, and now for Mae too. Mae haters basically DNI

[adoregojo]

what do i do when i have writing block? write a drabble for reo of course, the cure for my halt and depression, a man that i need in my life

reo knew this is a bad idea.

maybe if he had a little piece of mind and considered the fact that you will end up inebriated to the point where you were wiggling around like a spaghetti, leaping joyfully every short second you got. even chanting a random melody, handing him a non-existence microphone as if you were in a karaoke, 一a place he grew to love because of you一

don't get him wrong, reo loved a lot of things about you, most of seeing you carefree, like a free bird. shuffling around the street for all what you cared for the world, he couldn't feel anything but the universe thumping in his ribcage.

it was you two engagement celebration. nevertheless, he scored nothing more then be enclosed by other reeking riches bastard, he spent the whole night seething at whoever laid an eye on you. violet hues filled with cold acquisitive greed. that left him drying sober, he just couldn't drift away his eyes of you. and if it wasn't for the cockblooker 一aka his parents一 crawling his way to guests that he bet reading a newspaper would have been more fun than keeping a chat with them, he would've been spent the whole night glued to your figure.

before he knew it, you were all drunk and barely able to walk two steps straight. reo wanted any reason to leave early anyway, so he take off your shoes ever so mildly, caressing his fingers cautiously beyond the pained parts, mainly the heel to the achilles tendon. you mumbled something about the pairs suffocating you throughout the whole night. so now they were hung by his two fingers.

all what he had of despair glided into ashes the moment it was only you and him, it may be left uncharted, but reo always felt like it was only the two of you in this world, a world where he doesn't have to carry the burden of being judged, where he can spin you around without worrying about slamming flatly onto the floor, where he can slow dance with you in his arms without feeling like an idiot every time he stepped on your feet 一out of nervousness, not his fault that your face was too much of a distraction.

"heyyyy, reoo, look at me! don't i look enlightened under the sunlight." you sluggish, a hand under your chin as you posed, feeling yourself as you blow your fiancé's a kiss. reo cold feel an arrow keening throughout his heart, and somehow he still managed to gather himself to not collapse on the dirty ground.

"dearest. as much as you look astonishing as ever, this is a street light, and it's almost midnight."

your face fell off onto a sulk, flipping your thumb downward at reo. "booo, haterr." you say as you stick out your tongue at your soon to be husband beaming back playfully, he wasn't even bothered.

"I assure you, my love. no hater is willing to carry these pair of shoes. they hella stinky." says reo, shoving your pairs away as possible, even blocking his nose holes merrily. and he couldn't be happier when you gasped dramatically, slamming your palm on your chest where your poor, fragile heart shattered at such painful words.

"nonsense! i will not take such a fails accusation! these twins of mine will remain memorized forever," you say heedlessly, whirling around in circles to prove your pointlessness.

reo says something about being careful, but you keep spinning yourself until your vision becomes blurry and your eyes were drifting in different directions. you were dizzy, so dizzy your feet were betraying you, you couldn't keep your balance, and before you meet the ground, a firm arm caught you midway.

"hey! i told you to be careful," reo's hand made it way to your waist, keeping you in shape. you almost felt like a slimy baby in his grip, he wanted to scold you more, for being reckless, for smiling broadly and making him gush, for holding his soul hostage, but he was far, far a goner to be rescued.

"haha, i did it because i knew you'd catch me." your chuckles overcome him any sense of life within him, the amethyst eyes of his only sees you, only felt the wreck of yearning pouring on you, reo's heart was pinning under your spell.

"yeah?" he asked, a stupid lovesick smile on his face.

"mhm! you'd always come to catch me when i fall." you were right, he'd jog his way to the end of the world for you. to make sure your save and sound.

"always," he assures you, tightening his hand to pull you even closer that no such thing as personal space exists between him and you, your light cologne blending with his heavy one. he snuggled his nose against the skin of your neck, drinking on your scents, as if it was the only air that bloomed his lungs. it was ticklish that it made you laugh inwardly, which was a balm on his chest. presses a quick peck on your warm cheek along the way. then carrying you with one hand like a lightweight tool to him.

"let's go home my prince charming, i need to take a looong bath." you babbled, fondling him a sloppy kiss just an inch away from his lips. a little dumbfounded, he still drags you alongside with him, you were a farther goner to notice the struck expression he had glued to his face, a faint reddish hue across his cheekbones and tip-ears.

"I'm already embracing it." maybe you were too drunk to hear that, maybe he didn't say it out too loud, maybe he's too in love to care, who knows.

[squishmallowo]

EDIT: TME/TMA ARE NOT INTERSEXIST TERMS PLS STOP INTERACTING WITH ME IF YOU BELIEVE THIS THANK YOU - sincerely, an intersex person who actually listens to transfems (including intersex transfems) (no not tme people with pcos/ncah/whatever, you know what i mean)

anyways.. here's the original post:

i regularly see people talk about whether pcos should be considered an intersex condition or not.. and tbh, regardless of what you think, pcos (specifically the symptoms they call virilisation) is treated like an intersex condition in practice anyway

even if they don't actually use the word intersex, so many of the symptoms are completely harmless and instead they're defined by the fact that they're "male" characteristics on a "female", if that isn't intersex then idk what is! having the "wrong" sex characteristics according to society is how intersex is (or at least should be) defined

like hell even the term hirsutism on its own literally only exists because of intersexism, the literal definition of it is "male pattern hair growth"... that's literally just it, the only thing that makes it a "symptom" is being the wrong person to have this kind of hair growth

while intersexness does centre around physical traits, imo it's the way society treats us and reacts to our bodies that actually makes us intersex (as an identity and community), if i wasn't treated this way growing up (and still treated this way today!!), i would probably not have identified as intersex, i think it's important to keep this in mind when looking at how people decide what an intersex condition even is

so with that logic, it makes perfect sense for hyperandrogenic pcos to be considered intersex, the only reason why it isn't is because society benefits from having a large group of women to put below other women while still telling them they have a chance to be "normal" like other women, as long as they put the effort into it.. (by making them spend thousands on stuff like hair removal, weight loss, fertility treatments, anti-androgens, surgery, etc!)

them identifying as intersex in any way completely breaks the illusion, it separates the "male" features from the actually bad symptoms, people would start to question why they have to put themselves through so much effort rejecting their bodies just to be seen as normal, and ofc society does not want that, especially because it makes a lot of money to keep things this way

even the way pcos is diagnosed reeks of this, you could easily be diagnosed with it even if your only problem is high androgens and nothing else (i've been told to get checked for pcos for the crime of: simply having more testosterone than average)

if you tell someone their perfectly harmless features are actually part of this scary disorder that needs treatment then it suddenly becomes a lot easier to manipulate them into finding a "cure" for these harmless features, the pathologisation of intersex features is a huge part of what makes intersex an identity in the first place..

not only that, but ncah (a condition that's more commonly accepted as intersex) is almost always misdiagnosed as pcos, if pcos can look almost exactly like an intersex condition, it is probably intersex. i most likely have ncah, not pcos, and it's treated as almost the same especially before it's actually diagnosed as ncah

and if nothing else, if the intersex "symptoms" of pcos could somehow be found out at birth, and could be "fixed" by a surgery, they absolutely would do it (something that so many intersex children have to suffer through), the only reason why they don't is because they can't, if that isn't enough proof on its own that pcos can be intersex then idk what is!!

the experience of being pathologised for having the "wrong" sex characteristics (both primary and secondary) is what makes intersex a community and grouping these "symptoms" in with actually bad symptoms under one syndrome is not by accident!

[dra-and-sdra2-hot-takes]

Harassing your best artists does not a good fandom make

disclaimer: i won't be naming the two artists who were harassed for obvious reasons, and i won't be naming any of the specific person(s) who did the harassment both because they* don't deserve credit and because i don't want to start a fight with them* but to give a lesson to both them* and people who stood idly by and let it happen.

these two artists are some of my favorite in the fandom. while they're both still somewhat active in the fandom, [artist A] has said they* feel disillusioned with the fandom based on its treatment of them* and, well, i can fucking see why! and while i haven't seen [artist B] comment on the harassment directly, i can imagine they* aren't enthused either.

i've had multiple people in this fandom tell me personally that people have come into their inboxes and told them to unfollow/block A and/or B because they're* "problematic" for reasons including but not limited to "drawing nsfw of the another cast" [as if they aren't fucking confirmed to be adults]

and, to top this layer cake of the disgusting treatment of these two artists, i have literally seen, and i am not the least bit joking here, someone's DNI including the line "if you support [artist A] or [artist B]... DNI, they're gross" the audacity. the fucking nerve. to put two random tumblr/social media users in their* shitty little '~do not interact~' list. two users who have done nothing wrong and whose only crime is drawing fiction

setting aside that harassment is.... you know.... always wrong, all the time. this is not how you build a good fandom. there are other good artists in the fandom. but A and B are my as well as many others' from what i've observed. they do a lot of good in this - and i cannot stress this enough - very small fandom.

if you do not like these artists (or any other artist), say it with me now, block and move on. add their usernames to your "filtered content" list if you absolutely musn't see them*. although the claim i've seen of their* mere mention being horrifically triggering for certain people is... odd, to say the least, and reeks of attempted ostracism, just like the backtalking they* recieved in random people's dms.

and of course it is not just these two artists experiencing bs like this in the fandom but their situation speaks to how such a toxic fandom like ours treats even our best and britest.

conclusion: stop harassing people. that's the bare minimum. perhaps don't mention people by name in your 'dni lists'. and realize building positive community is necessary for this and any other small fandom to thrive.

*they/them/theirs pronouns used exclusively to anonymize the people involved in this story because the identities of the people here is not the point. i'm not trying to use an incorrect pronoun for anyone involved here, just protect their identities.

p.s.: i don't control you, dear readers, but i can at least ask you please don't speculate about the identities of anyone i mentioned in the post. kthx

[ID: This blog has no DNI. Please be civil and respectful to everyone under my posts!]

[soulslimes]

chapter 4

pairing: zosan

rating: mature

word count: 1k

chapter #: 4

summary

"Cook," Zoro says, "Did someone put something in your drink or something? What the hell is going on? You're humming." Sanji didn't realize he was lightly humming until Zoro says that.  "No," Sanji replies, "Just thinking, that's all."  "About?" "I think I want you to kiss me or something. But, I don't know." Zoro takes a step back, releasing Sanji's collar. There's a sense of shock etched into his features.

read on ao3 if you'd like as well !

previous chapters: 1, 2, 3

next chapter: 5

Sanji is walking—well, slightly stumbling if you ask anyone else looking from the outside in—down the path that leads to the Sunny, thinking about what the bartender had told him just moments before. His cigarette glows as he takes a deep breath inward, contemplating about what the hell just happened. 

Sanji didn't really know what to think about what went on. 

Boyfriends? He and Zoro? The thought had never even crossed his mind before that very moment, if he were completely honest. There were a few reasons for this, the main one being that he couldn't even begin to know if Zoro could even begin to feel romantic feelings for anyone on the crew; another one being that he and Zoro were like cat nails scratching a blackboard. They are both relentless with their teasing of the other, to the point where they take it too far. 

But what the bartender said rings heavy in his head. It rings so heavy he doesn't notice Zoro stomping towards him, angry as hell for a reason Sanji doesn't know until he utters the words, “Do you have to kiss up to every god damn merchant on this island?” while pushing Sanji up against the brick wall. The swordsman’s breath reeked of sake, something that Sanji would point out and chastise him about, but right now it's comforting. Right now, Zoro being fucked up and angry with him was comforting to say the least. It just means nothing has changed. 

At least, nothing's changed on Zoro's end anyway. He's still the same grouchy moss that gets annoyed with him for flirting. And now Sanji is wondering if he's changed and what it could all mean. He may be a slightly confused buzzed ball of energy at the moment. He's got the fire of ten thousand suns underneath his skin from the alcohol bomb he just downed in one go and Zoro being all up in his space surely doesn't help with that nagging feeling he experienced while talking to the bartender. Had he been looking at me a certain way, Sanji can't help but ask himself. 

There was no way for him to know if he didn't look over his shoulder. There could have been another green haired man behind him and Sanji would never have known unless he turned around. Which he didn't. Like an absolute idiot. 

Zoro crowds into his space and Sanji can feel heat rising up his cheeks. He never really noticed how handsome the green haired menace was until they were both caught in the moonlight. He never really noticed, and he finds himself wanting to reach his hand out and trace the scar on Zoro's chest just to because he can. He'd gotten that scar at Baratie, Sanji reminisces, we met for the first time when that happened. He'd realized his dream then too, to find the All Blue. 

Sanji, trying to shake off the feeling as nothing more than a stupid overprotective glance at a friend talking to a complete stranger, is a little too drunk and a little too flirty, so what happens next is something that sober Sanji couldn't even begin to comprehend. “Are you jealous, moss head?” Sanji says, “What? Can’t deal with my flirting if it’s not towards you? I can flirt with you too if you want,” he continues. It’s a spur of the moment thing; a blink twice and you’ll miss it if you’re not looking hard enough response that sober Sanji probably never would have directed toward Zoro.

"Cook," Zoro says, "Did someone put something in your drink or something? What the hell is going on? You're humming." Sanji didn't realize he was lightly humming until Zoro says that. 

"No," Sanji replies, "Just thinking, that's all." 

"About?"

"I think I want you to kiss me or something. But, I don't know." Zoro takes a step back, releasing Sanji's collar. There's a sense of shock etched into his features. "Yeah, I think I do want you to kiss me." Sanji runs a hand through his hair. "It's totally okay if you don't wanna, it's kind of just a spur of the moment bullshit idea-"

"I mean you said it," Zoro mutters, "But if you want to, I don't mind."

"Ah?" 

"You sure about this, cook?" Zoro says, looking directly into his eyes. It lights up a fire beneath Sanji's skin to have Zoro stare so intensely at him. Sanji wonders if he's always felt this way about Zoro, if it was just after the conversation with the bartender that gave Sanji ideas.

"I am," Sanji replies.  Sanji wraps his arms around Zoro’s neck, carefully supporting himself with the moss head’s own weight. 

And really, that's all it takes. He does it then; Zoro surges forward, placing a kiss on Sanji’s lips. His tongue peaks out, swiping across Sanji's bottom lip and he opens his mouth to accept the intrusion. He can feel a trickle of blood run down his nose at the overwhelming feeling of Zoro's lips on his own.

Suddenly, they pull apart. Sanji’s brain is going haywire. He can't even form a coherent thought, just fragmented sentences of shock because what do you mean Roronoa Zoro just kissed him? Just because he asked him to? Is the moss head nuts? They're in public of all places! Anyone looking at them from the outside in would make note of how they argued like crazy, sometimes to the point where people think they hated each other, and now they’re making out like it doesn’t even matter?

What could a kiss possibly mean from a man who seems to not like anyone in a romantic way?

“Zoro,” Sanji says and notices the moss head walking in the opposite direction from the Sunny. There's a faint blush on his cheeks that are only visible under the bright white of the back alley lights. Sanji can't help but be giddy about this, about getting this traction from an otherwise calm and collected individual. 

“Oi!” Sanji says again, “You’re going the wrong way!”

[underesources]

FRANTIC FANFIC SENTENCE STARTERS ... 2!

quotes that me and my friends have written , taken from various fanfictions. trigger warnings for swearing and caps.

❛ How could this have happened ? ❜

❛ Give me your lunch money, nerd. ❜

❛ I think it's pretty smexy that you were beating up that prep back there. ❜

❛ I TOLD U IF I CATCH U PUSHING MY SON INTO THE LOCKERS ONE MORE TIME I WAS GOING TO FORCE YOU TO JOIN THE CHESS CLUB WIF DA NERDS. ❜

❛ I'm sorry, but it had to be done. ❜

❛ They were fucking losers. ❜

❛ I thought I had lost you forever ! ❜

❛ Don't worry , my dear. We can still pretend that airplanes in the night sky are like shooting stars. ❜

❛ You're right. I really could use a wish right now. ❜

❛ Is there.. any reason for this sudden question ? ❜

❛ You deserve to be happy. ❜

❛ You are looking fine today. ❜

❛ If I can prove that I never touched my balls do you promise not to tell another soul what you saw ? ❜

❛ No one else was in the room where it happened. ❜

❛ Then it's settled. We'll be wed at dawn. ❜

❛ Well, I see no issue with this being a three person marriage considering your scrumdiddlyumptious spouse. ❜

❛ But I thought I was your one true love ! ❜

❛ Chili dogs are lame and disgusting. ❜

❛ I think I can fix your problem, if you let me. ❜

❛ You see, I'm... The One True Omega. ❜

❛ Your love is true and lustful. ❜

❛ His Alpha pheromones are the most powerful this land has ever seen. ❜

❛ You've got it all wrong. ❜

❛ Why would you do this ? ❜

❛ I hate her so much !!! ❜

❛ I want you to go to your room and think long and hard about what you've done and how you're gonna apologize , you hear me ? ❜

❛ i've been waiting for you. ❜

❛ you are my vessels. and you will carry out my plan. ❜

❛ there's a code��. amongst men. ❜

❛ Did you just call me a rat !? ❜

❛ Now , son , hasn't anyone taught you manners ? ❜

❛ I'm sure it'll fix itself in no time ! ❜

❛ I didn't do anything ! ❜

❛ I respect that, nothing wrong with some method acting. ❜

❛ What exactly are you requesting ? ❜

❛ looks like it's you and me, then. ❜

❛ You can't just run off like that ! ❜

❛ We gotta stick together, okay ? ❜

❛ Now why would you want to borrow anything of mine, last I checked you called my style ' overdone and reeking of deadbeat father. ' ❜

❛ unfortunately for you, you won't be getting any of my 'sick drip'. ❜

❛ You lost any claim to my sick drip the moment that you stopped paying child support ! ❜

[animeyanderelover]

Hey, can I request prompt #94 with Sebastian from Black Butler... perhaps with a neko darling if possible? And he's already kidnapped them so darling knows who he actually is? Thank you, I must have been blessed to catch your requests open!

It’s been a while, dear.

Tw: Yandere themes, unhealthy mindset, unhealthy relationship, possessiveness, overprotective behavior, obsession, mentions of abduction, darling can transform into a cat, darling has a tail and ears in human form, mentions of injuries

Prompt 94

"Is there a reason why you're examing me with such a wary gaze, my young lord?"

The demon didn't even have to turn around to sense the slight flinch going through Ciel's body when the butler pointed out the short glances the boy had constantly thrown in his direction whilst Sebastian had cleaned up the office. His young lord seemed to be confused about something that, at the same time, made him curious. Apparently he had thought that he had been sneaky whilst trying to observe Sebastian but he seemed to realize now that even he, a rather special human, couldn't outwit a demon.

Ciel cleared his throat, trying to hide his slight embarrassment.

"Well, it's nothing bad or anything...it's just..."

"It's just?" Sebastian repeated after him, still not sparing a single glance as he brushed all the dust off on the top of the shelves.

"You have been looking suspiciously happy these past few days. Genuinely happy. It's worrying me slightly."

Hmm, had he been too obvious?

"You sound like you think I don't deserve to be happy. Is my master really that cruel to not be happy when his hardworking servant is in a good mood?" he replied instead.

"If you'd be a human, I wouldn't worry. You aren't though and I've never seen you genuinely happy either so excuse my suspicion. I'm just interested what could put a creature like you in such a chipper mood. What happened?"

"Nothing that would distract me in my duties, master."

It was subtle but sounded a bit sharper than Sebastian's normal smooth tone, a vocal hint Ciel picked up. Whatever he was on to, his servant didn't want him to know about it. What Sebastian had told him though that it wouldn't interfere with the contract and even if Ciel couldn't deny the hint of curiosity, he decided to let the demon be for now.

---

You let out a huff in your little cat body as you tried to climb up a tree outside the little house. Your injuries made themselves known by the painful throbbing in your side and left hind leg.

Damn Grim Reaper. It was all their fault for getting so mad about you just wanting to get to know them better. Cats were from curious nature and whilst you might have gone too far by taking the dead body with you, slashing you hadn't been very civilized. You had just wanted to give them the little push, they had been after all so stiff and mostly anti-social.

"Should have gone for the one during the Jack the Ripper accidents. I've heard that one was a loud and boisterous one. Not such a prick."

Normally your enhanced immune system would have dealt with those injuries for the most part already but you were significantly weaker to wounds inflected by anything not natural. The fact that they had cut so deep into your flesh didn't help. At least there would be no scar.

If you wouldn't have been injured, you probably would have never bumped into this demon. Or at least not in such a humiliating way, half-dead.

A mate had never been something you had constantly searched for. Differently from stupid hounds who were essentially just reeking dogs who were clingy beyond tolerance once they had spotted their mates, cats were independent and free beings. Honestly, you had thought that demons would be the same. From what you knew they made contracts with humans at times and consumed their soul by the end of it. Utterly selfish but very cunning and dangerous.

This one though had looked ready to murder the culprit behind your blood-soaked little cat form, eyes turning magenta and pupils turning into slits that reminded you faintly of a rather risky encounter with a Naga you once had. Sebastian, as he had later on introduced himself to you, had picked you up with more care than you were used to, had taken you at first secretly into some sort of mansion where he had treated the worst injuries.

This house must have been built by him in less than a night, he had crafted it specifically for you. So when you had woken up, you had been in a completely different location. What had shocked you more had been the fact that you hadn't noticed anything though, although you assumed strongly that your body had just been too exhausted and that it had taken and still took much energy from you to heal yourself.

Now you weren't shy to admit that your mate was extremely handsome, you were sure that women left and right were swooning over him. He was also skilled in everything. He could cook, clean and had taken excellent care of you, although you felt often suffocated by his doting overprotective behavior. What creeped you slightly out though was the fact that Sebastian was a passionate cat adorer. You were pretty sure that if it wouldn't have been for your wounds, the demon would have long cuddled the living daylight out of you.

He was planning to keep you. That was your biggest problem as of now. You didn't want to be tied down to a specific person. Hell, you hadn't seen your own family and siblings in decades. You just wanted to explore and get to know other creatures. You had never planned to find in a demon your mate and you sure as heck wouldn't change your plans now. Whilst you sometimes were more cuddly and enjoyed all his doting and petting, you hated how he often ignored your private space and apparently had fun when you were hissing at him and threatening to claw at his smug grin.

Then all of a sudden the hair on your body stood up alarmed when you sensed the demon's presence approaching fast. Why was he already back so early? You had thought that you would have at least an hour more for yourself. You had barely managed to climb up half of the tree in your cat body, a rather depressing achievement and you knew that you would never make it on time back into the house. So you just did the opposite. You let out a silent growl as you basically jumped up the last meters of the tree, digging your claws in for stability.

Damn it all! You would at least climb up this tree! You refused to be coddled over the whole day inside a house filled with the scent of demon. A scent that shouldn't be as nice as you thought it was.

You let out a small hiss when you felt your wounded leg shortly giving away but were quick to find your balance again. A short satisfied rumble went through your body when you reached the highest spot where you could lie down on one of the trees. You picked up the scent of your own blood and knew that you had strained your leg too much.

You weren't the only one picking up the smell of your blood though. You could clearly see the demon now, noticed how he picked up his speed. It happened all within a few seconds, he had climbed the tree you had struggled with so much in merely seconds.

You could have done it faster if you would have been in better shape.

"Didn't I instruct you to stay inside and rest? Now look what you've done. You've reopened the injuries on our leg." he chided with less of this playful tease in his tone. You might or might not have gotten on his more serious side now.

"Let's get you back inside."

When you felt one of his hands sliding under your belly and lifting you up from the tree, you let out a angry hiss, claws tearing themselves in the material of his sleeves and successfully cutting into his flesh. But of course Sebastian didn't even flinch.

You hated it when you were touched without permission!

Within less than a second your body suddenly transformed, limbs growing and your fur disappearing as it was replaced by naked skin. You let out a proud noise when you managed to catch him off-guard and successfully kick him away with your uninjured leg. With nothing to hold you now you fell down although you didn't worry too much about that. In the last moment before you made impact with the ground you shifted your right leg so it would take most of the impact. You couldn't use your left leg too much or otherwise it would take even longer for your injuries to heal.

You sprinted right back into the house, the few hairs on your skin standing up when you felt the dark presence behind you. Oops, you might have made him a bit angry just now.

You wouldn't pick a fight any longer, for now you'd go back into the cottage. Goosebumps started to appear on your skin as the few hairs on your body weren't enough to keep you warm from the fresh temperature of earliest spring. You were completely uncovered now, naked. You hurried to the room with the bed and jumped from the doorframe into it, completely disappearing under the sheets.

It was cold! That was why you only used your human body on warm weather but right now could defend yourself better in this form. You were shaking from the cold a bit, all of your senses were otherwise focused on Sebastian.

From the more tensed air you could tell that he was slightly pissed off but tried to keep it down. You didn't take him as the type who would just lash out like that. You heard the slight steps on the stairs and the door being opened but after that he stopped. Right in front of your bed. You dared to peek your head out of the blanket, twitching cat ears standing up intently on your head, especially when you caught a whiff of his own blood. Had you hurt him when you had kicked him?

He was staring down on the bed with a unreadable expression on his face, angry looking red scratch marks on the one side of his head. Had you scratched him with the claws on your foot? Most likely. There was also his arm and the small scratches you had left on him in your cat form.

Oh, now you felt a bit bad about that. It was just that it always triggered you a bit when you were lifted up in your cat form or touched without permission.

Your facial expression changed from curious to guilty and together with the drop of your feelings came the drop of your cat ears who turned down on your head.

You noticed how his jawline clenched and unclenched, his previously glowing eyes returning to their red. The air lightened up a bit as he was looking at your head peeking up from under the blanket, looking at him. Wait, was he trying to suppress a smile?

"Aren't you angry with me? I hurt you and went against your words." you asked with a slightly coy tone, you weren't used to the feeling of guilt since you were most of the time a loner. Had it something to do with the mate bond?

Sebastian let out a sigh at first, pinching the bridge of his nose whilst shaking his head with the ghost of a smile on his lips.

"I am slightly angry, (y/n). Don't misunderstand. However, you make it hard for me to be angrier with you when you look at me like that." he answered finally, trying to look serious but the hint of amusement and adoration inside those red eyes failed him.

"Does it hurt? you continued to ask, wanting to get out of the blanket but as soon as a slight grace of the colder air hit you, you went right back under the blanket with a surprised hiss.

"I suggest trying to wear some clothes if you plan to stay in your humanized form since those few hairs on your body won't keep you warm. But before that let me take a look at your injuries."

You let out a loud sigh.

"Is that really necessary?"

"Yes."

You grumbled a bit but removed carefully the blanket, hairs standing up even more when your previous source of warmth wasn't anymore. Now that you had no fur to hinder your sight, you were actually able to take a clear look. It certainly didn't look pretty but it had gotten better. If you were human, this wouldn't have healed as good as it did in those few days. Luckily the wound on your flank was fine.

There was a safer feeling now that you were in a larger body though instead of a smaller cat body which was why you didn't tense up as much when you felt his fingers tracing over the large and fairly deep scratch on your flank before moving to your reopened gash. Luckily it wasn't bleeding too stronlgy, a thin trail of blood oozing out.

You watched how he pulled out long white stripes from a box he had pulled out from the small night desk next to the bed, how he wiped away the blood and pressed slightly down to stop any more from flowing out. You couldn't help but jerk slightly when he did so but quickly straightened up. It was just a very mild stinging, nothing that would hurt you.

You observed how he wrapped those "bandages" around your leg again. You hadn't liked it when he had done it whilst you had been in your other form since your fur had been completely clotted due to the dry blood but you obviously didn't have to worry about that to such an extent in this body.

When he moved his hands away you gripped the blanket once again and threw it around your body, hiding your body from his eyes before he could look at it any longer. Not that this was what was bothering you as much right now as the cold. Being naked was natural for you.

"Here , wear this." Sebastian offered you, putting some clothes down next to you. You weren't wearing clothes very often but your family had taught you enough about human society to know which belonged where on your body. Not to mention your occasional trips where you mixed with all the humans around you. They had a fascinating world after all.

The clothes were from thicker material so they helped you from freezing. You stretched your body before burying yourself under the blanket again. You wanted to relax, wanted it to be cozy. You could still peek outside though and so you saw how Sebastian pulled out a second blanket from the closet in the room and put it on top of the other blanket which earned him an appreciated purr from your side. The warmer, the better after all.

You couldn't help but constantly look at his own injuries though, knew that those would heal slower than normally for him.

"What will you do tomorrow when you return to your master and those scratches will still be visible by then?"

"I'll think about something. I'd rather not tell my master about you for now."

You moved up from your lying position, eyes narrowing as you grabbed his head with your hands and tilted it to examine your scratch marks a bit closer.

"Are you sure that they don't hurt?" you repeated, seeing the fresh blood still glistening.

His eyes were staring more intensely at you as you were touching him without a hint of hesitance or shame. You were truly a cat. You did whatever you wanted to do. Such a charming mate he had~

"If I say that it stings maybe a bit, what will you do? Apologize to me and make up for it?" he asked you with the sparkle of playfulness returning to his side, leaning more into your touch.

You were from rather prideful nature so apologizing and admitting personal weakness were things you bristled against. However, you felt the throb of slight guilt rather clearly now that you were taking a closer look at his face. He had never hurt you and had instead given you some of the best food and place to sleep you had had the pleasure to experience since a longer while.

"...Maybe." you pressed out with a ever so strained voice. Gosh, you were rather bad in expressing your apology in words. You would do it just in your own way.

"Then it hurts indeed."

You let out a huff when you heard his words. Of course he would take full advantage of your weak spot but you didn't even doubt him right now. This had to hurt at least a bit most definitely. You had been the one inflicting those nasty scratches after all.

A warm and wet tongue was flicking over his scratches in the next moment, cleaning all the blood from it as you tasted for the first time in your life what demon blood tasted like. It was a bit of a peculiar taste but you didn't dislike it. You felt a bit insecure when you noticed his red eyes drilling into you, turning to slits but you were just apologizing the way your family had always done.

When you were sure that you had cleaned all the blood, you rubbed your own cheek gently against his, letting out an apologizing purr. He actually smelled nice so you found yourself nuzzling against his hair a bit, breathing his aroma in for a bit longer before you pulled away. You felt a weird heat in your cheeks, it had been a while since you had felt this embarrassed. You just weren't good in apologizing to others in your opinion.

"Was this enough to make you feel better?"

A shiver went through your body when you saw how he was looking at you. Had you done something wrong?

"You...", he started to speak, crawling closer to you and leaning his head closer to your neck, "Did you do that on purpose or do you really not know of any other way to apologize to me?"

Another jolt went through your body when you felt hot breath caressing your neck.

"Goddamn it, this is how my family always used to apologize. I know that it's for humans more insensitive but that's how we say sorry to someone." you defended yourself, pushing him slightly away from you. What was he even thinking?

"If that's the case you should apologize to me more often."

"Don't get your illusions up. That's the first and only time I'm apologizing to you."

A sigh left his lips, a delighted one, as one of his hands went up to tickle your ear, something you decided to let slide this once.

"You're just too cute, kitten. I want to keep you with me forever." he said in a slightly more cooing tone, lying down next to you.

"You want to?"

"I want to and I'm going to. I won't let my kitten mate leave me. In time you'll learn to adore and desire me the same way I do."

[starry-eyed-steve]

Okay, so normally, I scroll past any ridiculous Steve takes, especially when it comes to death theories or theories about s5 in general. However, I just saw such a bad take that it actually made me angry, I need to make my own post. (Warning, this gets a bit petty towards the end)

Basically, the OP claimed Steve needs to die in s5 for the following reasons:

He has nothing going on in his life. He works a minimum wage job and is stuck in his hometown

He only has Robin and the kids, nothing else

It would not be satisfying if he lived

Steve can't grow more as a character because he already had too much development, so it would be better to end it there

He's only useful for protecting the group and nothing else

His death would be great for other characters because if he scarifices himself, the others are then able to go out in the world, live their lives, and do great things

Okay, that's a lot to unpack here, and I'm kinda speechless people really have such a low opinion about him.

First of all, saying Steve has nothing going on because he works a minimum wage job and doesn't have a concrete plan for the future is such a weird thing to say. He has a job, and even if it's not the best paid one, he still has an income. It's not like he's has nothing to do after he graduated (which he did the first time). If you think Steve needs to have it all figured out by 19 in order to be allowed to live, kindly fuck off. Almost no character has a concrete plan for the future. We never see Robin talk about her plans as well. Besides Nancy wanting to go to Emerson, we don't really know anything about the other characters' plans. The idea that minimum wage jobs are considered as something not worth pursuing or that your life must suck if you have them reeks of privilege. Not everyone can or wants to get a college degree. The people who work in customer service or have manual labor jobs are very valuable members of society, and to imply just because Steve has a minimum wage job working at a video store, so he better dies, is a horrible take. But also again, he is 19 (!!!) and should be allowed to have opportunities to figure out his plans for the future. Plus, he explicitly told us his end goal, he wants a loving partner and kids, and that's reason enough to keep going. (Even if he wouldn't have this goal or plan, he deserves time to figure things out, seeing as he lived his life in survival mode for the past 4 years.)

I also really don't get the second point. What is wrong about Steve having a real friend and a group of people he cares about? Shouldn't that be reason enough for him to keep living? Shouldn't having friends who you care about and who care about you automatically count as something that is enough. Besides, again, he also has a job, likes to go on dates, and it's implied he's still into sports.

The other characters also have each other. They hang out all the time to play their dnd games. Jonathan only has one friend (who now isn't even in the show anymore) and a gf. Nancy barely has any friends as well, besides her bf, who wants to slow mo break up with her. Should they die because they only have like 2 people they are close with? Or is it different because they want to go to college and do well in school, which is the only good purpose characters are allowed to have in order to be deemed worthy of living?

Imo it wouldn't be satisfying if Steve would die after everything he has been through. The show beats him to a pulp every season. He was tortured, maimed, and he sacrificed already so much for the group. He has the most physical trauma, besides Hopper. Even if the show doesn't address it, it's still there. (I hate it sm, but also I blame mostly on limited time that almost no character gets to explore their trauma.) It would be such a disservice to his character if he went through all of that for nothing. What kinda message is that? Killing off the character who is the most hopeful despite everything he went through is not satisfying. None of the main characters' deaths would feel satisfying after going through the horrors like that. (Besides Murray because fuck him)

If you think a character or person can only grow so much until they reach some arbitrary point where they are the perfect version of themselves, you're pretty naive. Nobody stops growing. Even if someone goes through growth, you don't stop your whole life. Maybe start rooting for an arc for Steve, where he gets even better. Where he gets to figure things out, where he becomes a better version of himself. You wouldn't say this to any other character. Just because his growth arc was more noticeable doesn't mean all your other faves didn't grow. Do you want them to stop living because they made choices to be a better person?

You're really underestimating Steve's relationship to the group if you think he's nothing more than a punching bag to them. How can you watch the show and really think this. He's Robins best friend, he helps her grow and be comfortable. He's Dustin's older brother figure. He gives him comfort, and he will most likely help him in s5 with his grief over Eddie. Even with Max, he functions as a brother figure, especially in contrast to her stepbrother. Yes, his primary role in the group is fighter and protector, but he is more than that. He's a friend and important to so many characters.

I think the last point was the thing that made me angry the most. All those other takes I've seen time and time again, but this last one is just disgusting. First of all again to imply that Steve can't do great things because he doesn't have a career plan at 19, which is just gross. And then if you also think the other characters would be so appreciative of this as if they don't give a fuck about Steve. Like Robin and Dustin would be devastated, how much of his death would affect them and their plans to do amazing things? They would be severely depressed and untreated (lets be real mental health issues were not taken super seriously up until recently) they will live with those impacts for the rest of their lives. Trust me I know how terrible depression is and how it fucks with your life plans. Maybe some characters who are not super close to him might use his death for motivation and to achieve those "great" things. But for most parts, his death would have a negative influence on them, on top of the trauma they already endured. If you think his death would only benefit the group, you're underestimating his impact on people. Like Dustin already has a hard time getting over Eddie, Robin would lose the only person who completely understands her, Max would lose another brother figure and a chance to bond with him more. Nancy would lose yet another person who was close to her. How many people should she lose until she snaps completely? But again, it's the implication that Steve's life is worthless because he doesn't go to college or has a shitty job or only has a few friends, that gets me. His life is worth less than other characters' lives because they seemingly have things figured out because they are (book) smarter than him. And btw Steve has a dream for the future, he wants a family and peace, he wants to be a better parent than his own parents were, and if you think that's meaningless or less great, then fuck you!

With those points and logic, Jonathan should also be a contender for character death in s5 as well. He doesn't have a job, he gets high with his only friend who won't be there in s5, he didn't apply for his dream university, he's about to break up with his gf. Jonathan only has his family and barely any growth over the seasons. He is a very stale character. In other words, according to those points made by OP, he has nothing going on and should sacrifice his life for the group as some form of character development.

Or Robin should also die in s5 according to those points. After all, all she has going on for her is a minimum wage job she works with her best friend, school, and a so far miserable love life. We don't know any of her future plans so fuck her I guess. She better sacrifice herself for the group. Or is she allowed to live because she's smarter than Steve (which is a pretty ableist thing to say) and gets to embark on a romantic journey next season?

To sum it up, stop saying Steve has to die because you think his life is meaningless because he's a teenager who hasn't things figured out. Stop saying shit along the lines that Steve isn't smart enough to get to have a life. Stop implying that intelligence is the most valuable thing a person can have and anyone who might lack it is deemed as less worthy of living. Stop saying Steve can't do amazing things if he doesn't go to college and therefore shouldn't be allowed to live. And stop deeming Steve's dream of a family as less meaningful (or meaningless) than academic/career successes. He deserves to live like every other character in the show.

[blakebow]

For me, what bugs me about the tragedy of Arkos, the darkness of rwby, and Bumbleby over BlackSun is the Self-Righteous Martyr/God-Complex of toxic contingent within these fandoms, to me they seem to ultimately not care the message these stories are trying to convey, but rather enjoy them and flaunt them for their own self-righteous megalomania

With the deaths of Pyrrha, and Penny respectively.

As soon as that happened, many among the fandom would come out and theatrically proclaim the necessity of these tragic deaths, how it is so realistic an shows “thats life”, and brag how ultimately hopeful the stories still are and how it taught them how to be oh-so hopeful despite the odds.

In any these cases, these people act as if they themselves were righteous martyrs, prophets of God,Life,Reality, usually the latter two because they claim "that's life" or "that's reality" all in a tone that reeks of holier-than-thou arrogance and vanity

Same with the Wasps over Bumbleby because “BEST SAPPHIC REPRESENTATION EVAR!!!” and taunting BlackSun fans for being “heteronormative”

They’re like Claude Frollo in a sense

"Of my virtue, I am justly proud..."

Or worse, they speak with ghoulish glee and bragging about it gives them a feeling of power over these fictional characters as if they themselves are God almighty and it bleeds into how they treat real people who didn't like it by passive aggressively or belligerently belittling, judging, shaming, gaslighting, and sneering at them, implying the worse reasons of their distaste, and tell them to go watch a sitcom or slice-of-life anime or something

Then they brag about what story was told with these ideas and concepts to be the end-all-be-all of these concepts in any fantasy/sci-fi epics that have even the slightest tinge of darkness and conflict and Representation and, lock them down into little theories, formulas, dogmas, and rule out everything else as a corruption, heresy, or a worthless little parasite, because they themselves are the infallible, all-knowing, and all-seeing “literary experts” who got everything all figured out and everyone else, wether the majority or minority, as peon reprobates.

Forgive my Catholicism talking, but it reminds me of the Pharisees

“They tie up heavy, cumbersome loads and put them on other people’s shoulders, but they themselves are not willing to lift a finger to move them.”-Matthew 23:4

These self righteous people seem to only enjoy these stories not because of the message the tragedy and suffering is trying to convey, thats just a shield for them, but rather for their moral superiority and the thrill of power over others and being the measure of all things, for they know how life exactly works for specific individuals in specific genres and they know how to carry it out exactly.

Or with Bumbleby, how they are righteous champions of queer culture against eeeeevilllll heteronormative culture which reeks of resentiment

And that's why I am so irritable about Tragedy in these kinds of stories, it feels like they are no longer enjoyed out of humility, compassion, truth, goodness, and beauty.

But rather out of pride, vanity, power, cruelty, and moral superiority

While Bumbleby over BlackSun and the whole Adam fight enrages me because it feels like some sick power fantasy of LGBTQ+ Revenge against “Heterosexuality” while Sun is supposed to be kind of humble cuck

and sometimes it tempts me want to write my rwby au fanfic and original stuff inspired by it in a way that gives them all the finger rather than for what I saw these ideas and concepts could have been, just so I can give them a taste of their own medicine

I know that's wrong, but these people test my patience, especially when they keep invading other people's spaces, bypass other people's "curations" because "there's nothing subjective about this, I need to correct and educate you", and getting away with this kind of nasty behavior

you totally lost me on all the religious stuff, i don't subscribe to that by-weekly at all, fam.

on that note though, i do agree for the most part with the idea that the wasps have taken advantage of the canonization of bees to appoint themselves to some kind of sainthood, like they're holier-than-though over the rest of the fandom. and frankly, i can't stand those insufferable type of people.

they over project themselves onto terrible ships and even though people tell them how toxic and dysfunctional it is, it goes in one ear and out the other. they don't listen. they live in a detached bubble in a separate reality.

sad to say, that's not the first time that i've encountered fans like this in a fandom. some people really should be on a no fly list because they're clearly mentally unstable and a danger to others, but i don't get to make that call, unfortunately...

i want someone from crwby to come out and tell them that bees was never planned, because i think it would utterly shatter their delusional reality if they felt so betrayed by the hand that fed them. they should be soundly slapped several dozen times until they lose all coherrence.

[eddiediaaz]

I’m going to send you the same thing I sent op but in a less rude way because I do follow you and like you!

“As someone who's bi, has been sexually abused, has daddy issues and has adhd, I don't agree with what you've said at all. I liked Tommy and Bucktommy until 7x09, I don't like his humor and I don't like how rude he talks and I respect people who do, each to his own. Also, good for them for having sex and kinky sex.

The reason why l've been a problem with this daddy kink joke is that wasn't the moment. You said "don't do a daddy issues joke if you don't want a daddy king joke", well no. I can joke with my traumas, because they're mine, I don't want you to joke about my traumas. Plus, having daddy issues doesn't mean that you have daddy kink. For someone who was saying a lot of things about assuming, that's assuming too. Not everyone with daddy issues have daddy kinks and for some people that joke can be triggered at.

And that has been the main problem people have been saying about the joke. No that they have kinky sex, which okay good for them, Buck has been having kinky sex since season 1 nothing new there.

The problem is that how something that is important, that can be triggered, that it was a vulnerable conversation was made into a sexual joke when it wasn't the moment.”

And adding: You can interpret that scene as flirting, which no, but okay, it’s valid. It’s also valid to interpret that scene as gross, especially if we have daddy issues and the last thing we want if to make our issues a sexual joke, valid too. Accusing us of homophobia just because we don’t like a joke, that’s not valid, that’s just creating a war using big and fancy words.

Hope you’re having a good day and hope you had it still having a good trip :) <3

okay so i don't think everyone reblogging the post is being a homophobic piece of thit, it is just a tumblr post after all. i'm a very nuanced person and i don't think reblogging or liking a post even means you agree with all of it. but i have seen some fucked up tags/reblogs and those are problematic. those do reek of homophobia. it is a big word because it's a big accusation that's for sure warranted in some instances.

this definitely comes down to personal interpretation, in this case, i think. because as someone who's also bisexual, also has daddy issues (my dad was a drug addict that was absent for a while and my ex step dad for my whole childhood was very alcoholic and abusive & manipulative man towards me until i left home at 17), and also has experience with (childood) sexual assault, i definitely saw this scene as some light flirting after a more serious conversation. tommy asked him if he was okay, they shared personal things about their fathers, and then there was a bit of flirting. one light hearted joke that matched buck's tone. and some people are acting like he told buck to get on his knees and call him daddy when it's not what happened at all? as always, some people are extrapolating what actually happened. buck is no stranger to dirty jokes and innuendos, like you said. what is true for some people ("not the moment to make a sex joke"), does not mean it's true for everyone and all fictional characters.

also not liking tommy or his humor or the ship or this scene or this joke is 100% valid, nothing wrong with that. it's just personal opinion. but when people say or insinuate he's being a predatory gay man towards buck? that he should be killed over it (even as a joke)? that's messed up, in my opinion. and there's a big difference between not liking something for yourself and accusing a gay man of being predatory. that's when that line gets crossed that i have issues with, and me reblogging 2 posts about it, that's what it meant for me.

ultimately i just think that was meant to be a lighthearted scene in a very trauma heavy episode? obviously it missed the mark for some people, but people jumping through hoops to call tommy predatory and a bad person over this, it's just such a reach. it's obvious to me that buck liked the joke with the smiles they shared, is it not? also some people are acting like tommy ordered him to call him daddy from now on lol, when all he said was "god, i hope you do." like that's pretty harmless actually sfdjkhbfds

anyway, i'm sorry you can relate to all of these, sending love <3 and also thanks for not assuming the worst of me, i guess? because that's what i always try to do with people. but if you don't agree with me and unfollowing me would make you feel better, well no hard feelings. curate your dash and all that!

[messymindofmine]

Ok I have to say something. Recently I've seen a lot of people saying that they're excited for Carlos whump bc they want to see TK showing his love for Carlos in a more obvious way. Sorry but just how much more obvious do you want it to be? It's one thing to want to see TK in hero mode but if you seriously think that TK's love for Carlos isn't constantly being shown in obvious ways then you clearly have not been paying any attention. Also, the people saying that Carlos would have a right to lash out at TK over Iris (even though we don't even know if that's what's going to happen) bc TK has had plenty lash-outs. First off, TK's "lash-outs" can easily be explained by his mental health struggles bc even if it's not being explicitly mentioned, his struggles are always going to be there. Second, TK has never fought with Carlos for no reason. Any time there has been a conflict, it's always been mutual issues on both sides and TK is actually the one to reach out to make amends first. On the other hand, TK has done absolutely nothing wrong by going to see Iris. Iris said something that really bothered him and he went to her to politely ask her what she meant. He was nothing but kind to her the whole time. So he does not deserve to be blamed. Third, Carlos lashing out would just be completely OOC bc that's just not how he is. He's way more likely to blame himself which he still shouldn't do. The big thing that concerns me is the way people are saying that Carlos is allowed a lash out bc TK has had so many as if it's some kind of tool or weapon (oh well they've done this so that means I can do this too) is....deeply concerning to me. Just bc TK happens to carry a lot more baggage than Carlos doesn't mean the relationship is equal. Carlos definitely has his own baggage and as he himself told TK in this last episode, TK is the one that makes him feel whole in a way that he never did before. Anytime Carlos has needed comfort for anything, TK is one who's there for him. Even in the moments where Carlos tries to pretend he's fine, TK is there to help him deal with his emotions. This type of thinking is literally what I mean when I say that the way people often talk about TK reeks of ableism. Is it really so hard to just look forward to the episode and enjoy the relationship without turning things into some kind of competition where the score of who is the hero and who is struggling constantly needs to be evened?

[spaghettificationandpretzels]

Faking Sleep to Count Your Breath

Thank you to @darqchilddaydreamz for your help with this.

Can be read as part four of the Give Me Shelter series or as stand-alone.

Contains: So much angst, like all of it. All the fluff, soft Happy, loving Happy, gentle Happy, soft smut (fingering, P in V)

2.1K words

Comment if you want to be tagged/removed or follow #give me shelter.

You see a side to Happy to hoped you never would.

"Come to T-M, Happy's hurt."

The text from Tig had you racing out of the office with your portable med bag in hand. You were used to stitching up animals, but sometimes you chipped in to help Chibs. When you tried to call, you got nothing and it was the same for the other Sons.

Worry filled your chest as you raced to the compound, you were meant to have dinner with his mum and aunt that weekend. It had become a Sunday night event, Happy would put on his best shirt, which he would get you to pick out for him and then splurge on something expensive, spend some of the night fixing their house up and the rest spending time with you and his family eating and talking.

It made sense that something had happened, the Club was dealing with a lot and had called in visiting chapters to help. It wasn't that you didn't like the others Sons, it was just that some of them had a problem with you. You hoped to God this wasn't going to make it worse, a handful of the visiting men had opinions about old ladies that weren't exactly kind. But Nevertheless, you headed to the compound and prayed you got there in time.

You got to T-M and jumped out of the car, you could hear voices coming out of the garage; before you could consider why no one was around, you were opening the door. The air had the reek of death to it, a mix of blood and other body fluids. And the smell of burnt flesh was like a blanket, a foul combination of cheap, old pork and sweetness that stuck like putrid glue.

"Oh my God." You slapped your hands to your face at the sight. Happy was standing over a man tied to a chair, his body cut up and bloody. There was a red hot blow torch on the table and a handful of tools. It was like watching a horror movie, you were pretty sure you could see his teeth on the table.

They all turned around, Tig going to step in front of you so you couldn't take in any more of the horrific sight. The man turned to you, his eyes wide, "help me please, miss, please help me."

"What are you going here?"

You were in shock, "you texted me and told me Happy was hurt."

The chair creaked, "please help me, you have to get me out of here. These people are crazy and they're going to kill me."

It was like time slowed as Happy met your eyes, "I'm fine little girl, you should go now."

You blinked and time slowed, you knew that man was there for a reason, but you felt unable to move. You knew what Happy did for the Club but never wanted to see it, not for fear that you'd stop loving him but for fear you would see something you couldn't unsee, or worse, that you betray your morals because you loved him.

"I'll be waiting in the Clubhouse for you." You turned on your heels and walked away, trying to block the man's pleas from your ears and your soul.

You were nursing a glass of Juice when Happy came in, you didn't meet his eye as he sat down next to you. He smelt clean so he must have washed the blood off of him before coming to talk to you, "who was he?"

Happy grunted, "I need to know Hap, I can't make a decision without all the details." He looked at you and for a moment, you were afraid of him, "I'll never go to the cops, you don't need to worry about that. I just need to know if he deserved what was happening to him."

Happy grunted, "why would you bring up the cops?"

You had dug yourself in a hole now, "I just walked in on you torturing a man, any sane person would have run to the station the moment they left."

Happy swallowed, "he shot up CaraCara, Tina and Ima are at St Thomas."

You huffed, "is he dead?" Happy nodded, "good, he deserved it."

He cast his glance at you, "where do we go from here?"

You shrugged, "you need to find out who did this, I wouldn't have come if I didn't get that text."

He nodded, "we're looking into it, Juice did some digging on Tig's phone and found the deleted text." The air was tight, "that's not what I meant. I meant where do you and I go from here?"

You huffed, "I don't know Hap, I thought you were badly hurt and when I went to help you, I walked in on you opening up a man's skin. This isn't about what I saw or what you did, this is about me being able to choose what I expose myself to, and someone took that choice away from me today."

Happy swallowed, "this isn't about what you saw?"

You shook your head, "no Hap, it's not. I know what you do, people talk and I'm a good listener, plus isn't wasn't an animal so I don't really care. He hurt innocent women. He got what was coming to him."

Happy nodded, "I'll deal with whoever sent the text."

Something had changed, he wouldn't look at you, "what's going on in your head?"

He shrugged, "nothing, you should go home, I'll be there later."

His tone was distant, "alright, you want me to wait up?"

He shook his head, "nah, you've had a long day."

You stood up from the chair but he was stiff when you went to kiss him goodbye, some part of you felt like this was the end.

Happy wasn't home that night, nor the next night. He still sent you a good night and good morning I love you text but that was all the contact you had. You thought about going to T-M but if Happy wasn't coming home, it meant he needed space and you weren't going to take that away from him.

It took two days for him to come home, he walked in the door and hugged you, his face soft. "We need to talk."

You felt your heart skin, "alright, you want to do it now or after dinner?"

His face became neutral, the only indication of emotion was what was swirling behind his eyes, "now."

He followed him to the table and sat down, Happy wasn't looking at you, he was looking behind you. "We're done."

His tone was flat but his voice caught hitched at the end, "what do you mean we're done, you've been gone for three days and now you just turn up and tell me we're finished, don't I get a say in this?"

His eyes met yours for a flash, they were red, "it doesn't matter what you want, I can't trust my brothers around you anymore. It's not safe for you to be with me."

Now you were pissed, "you don't get to decide that, this is my life too. I get to decide what's safe for me and what's not, not you."

His eyes fell to the ground, "please don't fight me on this, it's what's best."

You huffed, "no, you are not throwing away years of a loving relationship just because you got uncomfortable." You stood up, "grow the fuck up, you don't get to decide anything for me."

You stomped away, "I'm going for a walk, when I come back you better have your head on straight, or we are over."

Happy hated the silence in the house, every passing minute without you there was hell. The truth was, he couldn't stand life without you but the thought of you getting hurt was killing, he knew deep down you would still love him after what you saw but he didn't know if he was prepared to receive it. He kept looking at the door, he had no idea how he was going to apologise for all of this but he would get down on his knees and beg if he had to.

The door opening had his feet moving before his brain could react, he wrapped his arms around you, his heart racing as you went stiff, "I'm so sorry, please forgive me. I will spend the rest of my life making it up to you if I have to." He felt like his world was caving in around him, but then you wrapped your arms around his body and released into his embrace.

"There's no need for that my love, just don't do it again because if you ever think you had make those kinds of decisions for me again, I will leave."

Happy nodded aggressively, the tears finally falling. "I promise, you have my word I will never pull anything like that as long as I live."

You sighed, "good, then we're good, on one condition."

He swallowed, he'd do whatever it was, "anything, name it." There was a pause, "if you want me to turn in my patch right now I'll do it."

You stepped back, "oh no, I would never ever ask you to do that. I love you too much to ask you to let go of something that matters so much to you."

He relaxed, "then what?"

You smiled, "you start talking to me about the Club. I need to know what's going on Hap. If I had known more I would have tried to find out more before I ran to T-M."

"Done, I'll tell you everything. I show you pictures if you want."

You giggled, "I don't need pictures, just keep me in the loop. Also, to make it up to me, you're going to be giving our foster kittens their poop baths for the next few rounds."

He smiled, "done, I'll wash their poopy butts for the rest of my life if that's what you want."

You reached up and took his face in your hands, "are you better now?"

He nodded and leaned down, kissing you softly, "nothing could be bad when you're with me." The air changed as you met eyes, then he was kissing you again. It was heating this time, his hands gripping you like you were going to slip through his fingers.

It took four steps for you to fall back onto the couch, Happy falling on top of you as his hands tore at your clothes, "do you want this?"

You nodded, "please." His hands touch each tiny bit of skin revealed as he removes your clothes, your hands running over his abs and to his face after he removed his shirt. You went to his jeans next, pulling off his belt before unzipping his jeans and pulling them down with his boxers.

His hand found your core in a flash, his fingers running through your wetness as his thumb found your clit. He kissed you hard as he slid two fingers inside you, his fingertips rubbing your G-spot just right. "Happy please, I need you."

He kissed your neck, nibbling on your skin, "I don't want to hurt you little girl."

You huffed, "you're not going to hurt me, I want you inside me now."

He pulled back and stuck his fingers in his mouth, sucking you off them before taking his cock in his hands and rubbing it up and down your slit, "you sure?"

You nodded, "yes, I'm sure." He groaned as he slid inside you, your fingernails digging into his back as he gave you time to adjust to his size. "Move please." Happy was powerless to resist your begging, his hips moving in a slow and gentle grind that had you burying your face in his warm neck.

His lips found yours again, the kiss was slow and filled his love, one hand moving to rub your clit while the other rested on the couch, his chest pressed to yours. His hips sped up and the kiss turned from soft to passionate and tinged with teeth. You shared your breath as he moaned into his mouth, "please Hap, I'm so close."

His lips moved back to your neck, Happy speaking against your skin, "cum for me little girl."

He grunted as you contracted around him, his forehead dropping onto yours, "there you go, my good girl." He followed you closed behind, spraying your insides as he collapsed onto you. "I love you so much."

You smiled and kissed him again, "I love you too Happy, my life was do miserable without you in it."

He smiled, "well I'm not going anywhere."

Fin

[ravennaortiz]

Summary: Chapter 2 of the Juice x OC Stormie Rayne Epps.

Warnings: As always this is an 18+ story. General themes of the show such as violence, drugs, swearing, smut etc. Mentions of child abuse, domestic violence, sexual assault/harassment are in some chapters.

"I...don't know what to ask first" chuckled Half-Sack as the two separated from their hug wiping his own tears from his eyes. As he did so his gaze landed on the little girl who was peeking at him from behind Stormies legs. Glancing back to Stormie who looked away from his questioning gaze he crouched down. "Who do we have here?" he asked the little girl sending her a smile. "Its okay." murmured Stormie as she crouched down next to her little girl. "This is mommy's brother I told you about" explained Stormie. The litle girl nodded before answering. "Isabella" whispered the little girl. "That is a pretty name. I'm Kip." replied Half-Sack as he smiled at her.

"Are you going to hurt my mommy too" asked Isabella her little face full of worry as her eyes found the knife hanging from his belt. "Isabella" started Stormie shocked and embarrassed before Half-Sack spoke. "It's okay Storm. Reasonable question" soothed Half-Sack as he patted her knee before turning his gaze back to the little girl. "No sweetheart" he answered. "Good" stated Isabella firmly making Half-Sack chuckle. "Come in and talk?" asked Half-Sack as he looked at Stormie. Stormie looked over his shoulder at the three other men considering her answer. "They won't hurt you. I promise." comforted Half-Sack as he followed her gaze to where Tig,Juice and Chibs were still standing. Stormie nodded as she turned to pick Isabella up wincing slightly. "Let me" offered Half-Sack as he reached for the little girl.

***

Stormies eyes took a moment to adjust to the dark interior of the building that was littered with furniture and reeked of alcohol and smoke. She knew from the arrest record she found that Kip was involved with a motorcycle club but this isn't exactly what she had expected. "I'm hungry" stated Isabella still in Kip's arms. "Chibs and I can take her into the kitchen and find her something while you talk" offered Tig as he moved towards Half-Sack.

Stormie was uneasy and the look on her face stopped Tig as he saw it. "I like kids. In a normal way, sweetheart" offered Tig with a smile hoping to make her feel better. "Jesus" muttered Chibs at the statement. "Sorry Lass, you have to excuse Tig here. He is just an idiot. Completely harmless idiot" stated Chibs as the others laughed a bit. Stormie struggled with what to do. Since Isabella had been born Stormie had been extremely overprotective. Wanting to prevent what happened to her from happening to her sweet girl. "Mommy" whined Isabella as her tummy rumbled again bringing Stormie back to her. "Okay" Stormie nodded.

***

Stormie looked up from her phone when her brother and the other man who had been outside sat down. "This is Juice. He is the Intelligence Officer and he's just going to fact check as we go for the others." explained Half-Sack as he watched Stormie. He had asked Juice many times to try and find her and they never got anywhere besides one arrest for shop lifting shortly after she ran away but the charges had been dropped. Stormie frowned slightly but nodded. "Juice this is obviously my little sister Stormie" continued Half-Sack as Juice nodded while opening up his laptop. "Nothing you say leaves the three of us unless you end up being a cop or something" stated Juice with a silly grin trying to lighten the tension in the air.

"I figured you guys didn't just find riding motorcycles together a fun hobby" replied Stormie with a small smile. "Yeah just some slight troublemaking" shrugged Juice shooting her another smile. A sharp kick from Half-Sack had Juice getting back to business. "So what name am I putting in for my search?" he asked as he looked at Stormie. "Cinnamon Bundt" replied Stormie as she closed her eyes knowing judgment would come. She wasn't proud of what she had done to provide for her daughter and keep her safe the first couple of years.

Juice typed in the name and the results flooded in. Mostly high end escorting sites, minor arrests for prostitution and a more recent victim statement and restraining order she had out on some ex-military guy. "Not a cop, not ATF, not FBI, not exactly a serial killer. All good on my end." stated Juice as he moved the laptop over in front of Half-Sack for him to see. Half-Sack froze at the name on the restraining order. David Gillian, he had been their dads best friend, a grade A asshole and violent with drug problems.

Half-Sack struggled with what to ask as he looked up and saw tears slipping down Stormies cheeks. He had never liked to see her upset or in pain ever since they were kids. After their mom died their alcoholic and abusive father had gotten even more evil. Half-Sack tried to take the brunt of it but some times he wasn't fast enough.

Juice sat silently watching the siblings. He had heard stories of the abuse from Half-Sack and it was something he could relate too. His own childhood had been rocky at best and he couldn't imagine having to watch a sibling go through it as well.

"Why did you runaway?" asked Half-Sack thinking that might be an easier question. Stormie swallowed hard before replying. "I was not useful anymore....because of my condition." she explained her voice cracking slightly as the memories came back. Juice winced and shifted in his seat wondering if he should be here for this part. Half-Sack nodded. "While you were gone for bootcamp....dad.....sold me to David" continued Stormie figuring she might as well lay it all out.

Stormie let loose like a broken damn with her words. She explained that she found a little old lady who had taken them in, that she changed her name after David found her and cut her face up while forcing himself on her again. She then got into escorting to make more money to move quicker and easier. They had been living in Fresno for a couple years peacefully and she had switched to exotic dancing. Unfortunately the club had posted her real name and photo on their site and David had shown up breaking in. This time she had come out on top. Once she was done speaking she sat with her head down and hands tightly clasped. Anger burned through Half-Sack as Stormie spoke mostly with himself for having left her like that. "You two are safe now Stormie. I will never let someone hurt either of you again." stated Half-Sack as he reached across the table to squeeze her hand. The roar of motorcycles broke the silence and made Stormie tense. " Get ready to meet your new very dysfunctional family" joked Juice as he stood up and squeezed her shoulder before moving to head outside.

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