#chronic stutter

[icarianlibrary]

being disabled (specifically having a diagnosed stutter), and being extremely extroverted and opinionated, is SO funny, because ALL of my 4 electives this year are:

Musical Theater

Speech and Debate

Student Council

and Cafeteria Aid.

NOW what do all these have in common? If you said constantly speaking, you would be right !! Especially with speech and debate, which prides itself on fluency. I may be cooked this year, but I’m cooking in style </3

ANYWAY no I am not doing more speech therapy to change how I speak, I was diagnosed at age 9 with a stutter and went thru 2 years of speech therapy, 5 years later and it has barely gotten “better”, but idrc because I make important and valid points, and just because of my disability DOES NOT mean they shouldn’t be heard </3

THIS DOES MEAN I HAVE TO EXPLAIN TO THE JUDGES AND TOURNENMENTS THTA I HAVE A DIAGNOSED STUTTER AND TO ASK THEM NOT TO TAKE OF POINTS FOR NOT BEING FLUENT </3

[nightmareinfloral]

i’m tempted to start a comic analysis youtube channel but fear i don’t have the eloquence or recording space

[thebibliosphere]

I experience all of the above to some degree. I developed the classic s-s-s-stutter that everyone thinks is fake when I was learning to talk and spent a long time in speech therapy to correct it. ADP likely played a role to some degree, though we didn't know I had that until a few years ago. (I also went through elocution lessons to make me sound less Scottish because my parents thought it would make me more hirable. (It's a thing.) This actually made my stutter worse when trying to speak in my native accent. Probably because it gave me a mental hang-up.)

By the time I was about 7 or 8, it was mostly under control, and you'd never know I did the s-s-s-stutter thing, but that was because I'd developed a habit of mazing to get around it. Sometimes it's just easier to let your mouth make other random sounds when you can feel the ones you need to make tripping you up.

Ironically, the mazing still got me in trouble with some people (teachers) because it made me sound too uncertain or, as one teacher told my mother, "ditzy." (That is not the word they used. The word they use is a lot meaner.) So really, there's no winning with some people when it comes to trying to modulate your speech to accommodate a stutter.

I did more speech therapy after some nerve damage in my jaw made it pretty bad again, and that helped a lot. But you'll still sometimes hear me spit out the wrong word on a phone call or on @theayesphere when I get stuck on the occasional s, r, th, or p that just doesn't want to get off my tongue.

Sometimes you just gotta say nonsense to get your mouth back under control 😅

someone in a fanfic: s-stutters in embarrassment

me, closing the tab: sorry I must go

[enderlovez]

No Germs Found

Spencer Reid x Female BAU Reader WORD COUNT: 1000+

Summary: You and the team are back in Arizona on another case, and when an amazing unfortunate mishap takes place at the front desk, everyone is forced to share rooms with each other.

Content Warning: non-sexual nudity, strong language in reference to the temperature, blushy Spence, mentions of heat stroke, pain from the heat, mentions of murder, slightly NSFW at the end, Spencer likes boobs- I MEAN WHO SAID THAT?

A/N This is kind of a continuation of another one of my works called Germs, but they don't necessarily need to be read side by side. There's only one mention of something that happened in the first part, and it's not really that important to the story, so...

────── ꒰ঌ·✦·໒꒱ ──────

None of you really anticipated being on another case so soon, at least not in the same place you'd just gotten home from a few days before, and the place you all seemed to... strongly dislike.

Maybe 'dislike' isn't the right word, but one thing is for sure — the moment you step foot off the jet, you feel like you're covered from head to toe in sweat, and your throat dried up like a fish in a desert.

Not to mention how you' were all stuck in a stuffy room all day, with crappy air conditioning that did absolutely nothing for anyone. So far you had practically nothing on the unsub, they were slippery as soap, and that stress — the stress of not knowing who they are, who they are going to kill next — has you in a very grumpy mood.

And despite the inconveniences, the day still somehow finds a way to get worse.

That much is clear as Hotch strolls up to our group of people with an annoyed look on his face — granted he almost always looks like that when we're having a hard time finding anything on the unsub.

"There was a malfunction in their system, and they overbooked their rooms," he says simply, only earning a choir of groans from us, "so we're going to have to double up tonight."

You throw your head back, a heavy sigh escaping your mouth. It's been a long day, and all you want is to lay around without your clothes on and go to sleep — but you can't exactly do that with someone else in there with you.

"You're free to pick your roommate yourself, but please, for the love of God, keep it professional," he finishes as he drops a small pile of numbered keys onto the little table in the reception.

Everyone immediately splits off into pairs, while you make no move to do anything, laying back on the armchair with your neck bent over the top, eyes closed against the white fluorescent lights.

"You know, frequent hyperextension of the neck can have negative effects on its structure and function," a familiar voice says from above you. "Around fifteen to twenty-five percent of North Americans experience lasting effects, such as chronic pain and nerve issues."

You peel your eyes open to find none other than the brilliant Spencer Reid standing over your head, dangling a key over your face, and just like that, all your apprehension melts away.

"Stop flirting with me, Spencer, it's incredibly unprofessional," you joke lightheartedly, a vibrant smile overtaking your face as you pluck the key from his fingers.

He doesn't seem to realize you're joking, though, because he immediately goes to defend himself, stuttering adorably and blushing firetruck red. "No, um, I wasn't — I would never flirt with you!" he tries to defend himself, only realizing a second later how it might've come off. "I-I mean I would, but that's not what I was trying to do."

You shake your head and laugh, standing from the armchair and threading your arm through his so you can lead him down the hallway towards the room you both would be staying in.

The room that was, technically, booked for only one person.

The room that only has one bed.

It's not like you don't want to share a bed with him, you're more worried that he might not want it, with his whole 'germ' thing. Not that he really seemed to care about that the other day, when he drank straight from your water bottle without a care in the world, then proceeded to ask you out on a date.

"I can sleep on the floor, if you'd like," he offers quietly as he shuts the door behind him.

You immediately dismiss that idea, shaking your head before the words are even fully out of his mouth. "You're not sleeping on the floor, Spencer, that's not fair," you say quickly, a sly smile tugging at the corner of your mouth. "That is, as long as you're alright with me sleeping in my underwear, because I will be doing that."

Of course you're half-joking — if there's any indication that he's uncomfortable with that idea you'll just sleep in a t-shirt and shorts, it's just that you'd much rather not in this heat.

"N-no, no," he says, his voice pitched just a little too high. He's blushing from head to toe, you know that without even looking at him. "You can s-sleep in whatever you want to, I don't mind."

It's entirely unprofessional, you know that, but you really can't help it as you instantly begin tearing your sweat-drenched clothes from your body, tossing them around haphazardly until you're left in only your bra and underwear. You don't waste another second, flopping onto the bed, briefly stretching your limbs out, then rolling to one side.

It's a relief to be out of those clothes...

Only now do you realize that Spencer has not moved an inch from were he was standing when you initially asked the question, face bright red, breathing uneven as he tries desperately to keep his eyes from dipping from your face.

"Come on, I don't bite," you say quietly, patting the empty space on the other side of the bed, meanly deciding it would be funny to tease him, "not unless you ask very nicely."

Nervously, he drops his stuff beside the door and makes his way towards the bed, siting on the edge of his side. You're sure you can see him sneaking glances down at your chest every now and then, when he thinks you're not paying attention.

Who is he kidding? You're always paying attention to him, clinging onto every word he says like you'll die if you forget a single one.

"Come on, Spencer," you urge, "you've literally shared spit with me, don't get all shy now."

You're phrasing it that way as a joke, and you're sure he knows that.

But the next words that come out of his mouth leave you stunned, mouth dropped open and butterflies stampeding through your stomach, heart beating a million miles an hour.

You're not expecting something like this to come out of his mouth, really, but after his strange confidence the other day in drinking all your water and asking you out, you're not sure what to expect now.

"Can you please bite me, then?"

[lennox0arts]

pots and stutter and autism and adhd bro-

able bodied people, ask yourselves this:

is your disability allyship conditional, or convenient?

will you be willing to not use fancy fonts or symbols if someone with a screenreader asks you not to online?

will you judge someone with an autoimmune disorder for having skin infections you deem gross or unsanitary?

when a deaf person speaks differently than a hearing person, will you still take them seriously?

when a nonverbal person needs an AAC or text to speech device, will you still include them in your conversations?

when your mobility aid using friend needs help in an inaccessible area, will you wait up for them, or help them if they ask?

when someone with tourette's is having trouble getting their point across because of tics, will you be patient and listen?

when someone with a stutter is having a conversation with you, will you take them seriously?

will you listen when someone with an invisible disability needs the big stall, or the accessible seat on a bus?

When your college with POTS needs to snack on salty foods, will you find them annoying?

when a person with hyper-mobility stretches and their arms bend out, will you stare?

[botanicalsword]

Saturn ✧ the challenges lead you to maturity?

Saturn in Natal Chart - In which areas do they face challenges that lead to maturity?

Where do they encounter obstacles and difficulties?

In what aspects of life are they likely to experience pressure and responsibility?

How do rules and regulations influence these areas?

What life dimensions must they confront under pressure, and what types of challenges do these dimensions present?

Saturn in the 1st House

often feel unattractive

tend to wear a mask of indifference, making it difficult for them to express their true selves

may experience a sense of lack during childhood, even if their family is not financially struggling

a strong sense of responsibility, making them reliable for important tasks

exhibit excessive defensiveness and materialism

might face issues related to their skin, bones, or chronic health conditions

 Saturn in the 2nd House

have a deep fear of poverty

tightening their purse strings gives them a sense of security - leading to a stable financial foundation in their later years

can be seen as wealthy yet burdened

may come from a background of financial hardship / experience a sense of stinginess from their parents.

often find it challenging to earn money

sacrifice enjoyment in life in exchange for an irreplaceable sense of security

nothing is more important to them than feeling secure

Saturn in the 3rd House

may have experienced stuttering or speech difficulties in their early years

they might have been teased for their accents

remain silent unless absolutely necessary

do not have a speech impediment, when they choose to speak - their words carry significant weight

they are not inclined to engage in casual conversation

may be perceived as dull by adults or face criticism for their words - leading them to internalize their thoughts and feelings

may struggle to share their innermost thoughts with others

Saturn in the 4th House

have a strong sense of family identity - take on the responsibility of caring for their family from a young age

they may feel obligated to support their family or care for their father

may have had a strict or emotionally distant father during childhood - who was often absent or unapproachable, leading to feelings of fear or estrangement

find it difficult to share their emotions and may struggle to express care - but they are willing to shoulder family responsibilities, they may not engage in nurturing behaviors

often exhibit distrust towards emotional intimacy while yearning for security and permanence in their lives

Saturn in the 5th House

fewer romantic opportunities

often seen as the "unloved child" / either neglected - a loss of their own identity and significance

may find it difficult to connect with their children (challenging aspects)

tend to exhibit a noticeable shyness - waiting quietly on the sidelines

hoping to one day become the center of admiration and attention

Saturn in the 6th House

experience depression due to their intense focus on health issues - prompting them to engage in rigorous fitness / wellness routines

particularly concerned with their schedules - may experience anxiety in daily life, often resisting changes to their routines

they place immense pressure on themselves at work and continue to do so after hours - leading to more severe chronic fatigue

may encounter skeletal or joint issues - often linked to prolonged stress

feelings of pressure, pessimism, fear, distrust, or gloom

Saturn in the 7th House

may lead them to encounter serious partners who do not provide the intimacy they seek in marriage (challenging aspects)

making the institution feel burdensome

may find themselves in relationships with older partners / those who impose many restrictions

approach marriage with a serious and solemn attitude, placing great importance on marital contracts.

fear both marriage and the absence of it

experiencing loneliness, rejection, and disappointment in real -life marriages can prompt them to embark on an inward journey of self-exploration

Saturn in the 8th House

often struggle to confront the topic of death, exhibiting a greater fear of mortality than most - translates into a stronger will to survive

may face financial difficulties - lead to issues in their marriages / being taken advantage of financially by business partners

may encounter problems receiving inheritances / resources (challenging aspects)

have a deep interest in the subconscious - if they harness this interest wisely - become true masters of transformation

Saturn in the 9th House

possess strict moral values and a strong sense of conscience, making them hesitant to take risks and fearful of making mistakes

may engage in lifelong learning and continuously pursue certifications

often require written documentation or prior occurrences to believe in something - exhibiting a somewhat rigid mindset

resistance to traveling abroad (challenging aspects)

Saturn in the 10th House

appear remarkably youthful - growing younger in appearance as they age but their personality and style tend to be more seasoned and sophisticated

typically late bloomers - not the type to achieve success in their youth

eager to showcase their abilities - but once they do, they often find themselves burdened with greater responsibilities and pressures - lead to self-imposed stress

may struggle to express this pressure - making it essential for them to learn how to manage stress effectively

may also find themselves living out their unfulfilled inner needs through their partners - which can impact their intimate relationships

Saturn in the 11th House

withdraw from social interactions - feeling unable to fit into certain circles

tend to shy away from expanding their social networks

often showing little interest in socializing - prefer not to make friends casually and dislike superficial social interactions

or leaving little time for solitude - allows them to avoid confronting their inner selves

Saturn in the 12th House

often feel an overwhelming and be responsible for the suffering of others - accompanied by an inexplicable guilt

tend to care for those in need

may experience a state of self-isolation - avoiding external contact while grappling with a profound sense of loneliness and helplessness

a strong sense of duty within them - instinctive sacrifices - a feeling of being unable to cope with reality

need to learn to shed the heavy burdens they impose on themselves - avoid excessive responsibility and allowing themselves to move forward with greater ease

✧ >> Career ✧ What challenges will you encounter in your work? • Solar Returns >> Career • work a job or start a business? ✧ Natal Chart Observation >> Career • A Sudden Change - What Happens Next? ✧ Solar Return / Lunar Return >> Career • Indicators for your potential and talents (Part 1) >> Career • Indicators for your potential and talents (Part 2)

>> Back to Masterlist ✧ Explicit Content

Exclusive access : Patreon

[mentalmeles]

Suddenly thinking about a recovering Bucky Barnes.

His brain was obviously heavily damaged due to all the times he was given electroshocks to forget, but do you think he had any other issues besides memory displacement and memory loss? Seizures? Tics? Stuttering? Tremors? Headaches? Chronic fatigue? Not to mention his PTSD from everything that happened to him while he was under Hydra’s control and from the war itself. I’m willing to bet Hydra hardly fed him or let him sleep (the closest he could ever get was being put under). I also can’t imagine all the kinds of drugs they also would’ve given him to keep him more compliant and submissive, so there’s withdrawal symptoms to consider, too.

When he’s eventually in a place to actually take care of himself/be taken care of, I imagine his serum would finally be able to catch up and heal some of the damage, rather than just doing the bare minimum and keeping him functioning. But it obviously wouldn’t heal everything. He still forgets, still sometimes wakes up and thinks it’s WW2 or is startled to find that Steve is no longer small. Sometimes he loses the light in his eyes and asks what his mission is and insists that he’s ready to comply. Sometimes he doesn’t speak for days. Sometimes all he can do is lay in bed with the lights turned off and the curtains closed, leaving him in total darkness as his head aches and aches..

But he loses his stutter over time, unless he’s particularly overwhelmed or his thoughts are just too fast for his mouth to keep up with. He doesn’t tic as much. He no longer eyes all possible exits or keeps hidden weapons on him all the time. He remembers his childhood and his family. He has an appetite again. He opens himself up to others. He smiles and teases and laughs. He is able to love and allows himself to be loved.

Bucky Barnes’ mother had always said he was a resilient kid. And, these days, he’s so glad that she was right.

[buckcherried]

chronically online!gojo is utterly obsessed with hot gamer streamer!reader. he never misses a stream!

chronically online!gojo always has you up on a screen in front of him, whether it's on his laptop when he's chilling in his room, propped up on his phone while he's out grabbing lunch, or — as he most preferred it — up on the big screen in his living room, so your voice carried throughout the house as if you were there with him. that gorgeous fuckin' face of yours had to be in view at all times.

chronically online!gojo's interest in you started out innocent — truly it did! you were purely a recommendation from his best friend geto! but the more content he consumed of yours, the filthier his thoughts got. always seeing that hypnotizing face, always hearing that goddamn voice... he couldn't help himself.

chronically online!gojo fucks his fist to the sound of your voice as he tries to stay awake for your all nighter stream, the tip of his cock blushing so red he’s seeing stars. those vulgar moans he tries to stifle as he tried to focus on that sweet, silky voice of yours. he doesn’t allow himself to cum until morning when you’re thanking all those that stayed up with you, finally pushing himself over that edge he so painfully teetered on and paints his laptop screen with his hot sticky seed he wishes so desperately could be onto your actual face instead of your virtual one.

chronically online!gojo turns this into a bit of a nightly routine. he can't help it! tugging on that weeping cock as it stood rigid in his lap, hips stuttering as he worked himself sooooo close, edging himself to the thought of your lips wrapped so sweetly around him as you took him to the base over and over and ooooovverrrrr til he rips his hand away from himself at the very last second. he’ll work himself up just to donate to get his name to fall from your glossy lips, and that's what does it. he's nutting all over your face on his monitor again while sobbing your name like a hymn of sweet relief.

chronically online!gojo who can’t even finish now without seeing your face and hearing your voice in his ear. look what you’ve done to the one they call the strongest :(

chronically online!gojo logs on one day after he gets out of teaching class to find that you're still going live. he joins and quickly realizes you're not aware your stream is still on, watching in silent horror as your bf!geto flips up your skirt and fucks your tight wet cunt right there on your bed. he knew staying to watch was wrong, he did! but he just couldn't take those cerulean blues off the scene before him, that pretty face of yours twisting in the sweetest mixture of pleasure and pain as you arch your back and stick your ass up tall to take his best friend's throbbing cock from behind. gojo quickly slips into the closest restroom to whip his straining cock out, enjoying the pleasure along with you as he imagined it was him that was pounding that pretty pussy into oblivion. the sensitive flesh of his balls so taut as he pumps at his thick base, eyes glued to his screen. he's quick to cum with the two of you, gasping as he tries desperately to restrain the lewd sounds of his pleasure echoing through the hall, spilling all over his white button up and slacks. fuck. you had him wrapped around your fucking finger and you didn't even know he existed.

chronically online!gojo knows his addiction won’t stop until he can get a taste. that’s why he’s got plans to head over to his best friend's house tonight to for this long-awaited dinner to meet this girlfriend of his that he has yet to properly introduce gojo to. he's just gotta know how well his best friend is being taken care of. i mean, he's heard such great things. like how much you love to travel! gojo knows just how beautiful the eiffel tower is this time of year.

[spiderlilydreams]

Warnings: Smut, vaginal sex, blow jobs, creampies, rough sex (kinda), female oral receiving, sex toys, etc. MINORS DO NOT INTERRACT

Work Place Fuck Buddy

_________________________________________________

Kurapika -

Kurapika is your new secretary. You're his boss, and you love to tease him. When you hired him, he was a blushing mess, his eyes trying to avert their gaze at your cleavage and curvy body. This made you want to tease him.

You'd often come up behind him while he worked at his front desk, bending over so your mouth would be close to his ear, your voice like silk. Kurapika would squeak and cover his face with his hands blushing and, for some reason, apologizing. His cock would be hard against his pants, and for the rest of the day he wouldn't be able to work as well, stuttering when trying to talk to people at the front desk. You'd just be leaning against the door, watching him and smiling mischeviously.

Eventually, you'd end up having a work friends with benefits situation. Quite the scandal if it got out. This didn't stop you from teasing him. No, it made it even more fun for you.

One day, as he was working, you came to pretend to call someone on the front desks phone, reaching your hand down to Kurapika's leg. He jumped, and you had to shush him. You'd bring out his pretty pink dripping cock and jerk him under the desk, Kurapika blushing and biting his lip trying to not let out moans and whimpers. You'd deal with people who came to the front desk, talking with your sweet voice, the people seeing the bright red Kurapika with his head on his arms, thinking nothing of it. Maybe he was just taking a quick nap, and you were helping out.

Helping out you were. Kurapika couldn't help but let a struggled whimper when he spurt warm semen all over your offices floor. You just kicked the desk, trying to cover up his whimper, wearing your signature smile as a new person walked up to the desk.

Later Kurapika profusely apologized for cumming all over the floor, but you quieted him, speaking of needing to punish him. Kurapika's obedient cock perked up at this, his tip sloppy with precum. You demanded for him to kneel before you, Kurapika doing so right away. He looked so cute when blushing and looking up with such sweet large eyes. You brought his face to your pussy, him immediately delving into your soaked pussy, licking and sucking you hungrily while whimpering. You made sure he stayed on his knees, and didn't touch himself. You stood tall above him, and he'd look up all red with glazed over eyes, begging for more.

Feitan -

Feitan always had dark under eyes from his chronic insomnia. It didn't help that he had to work with you, the hottest woman he's ever seen. He would blush around you, covering his face with his bangs, trying to escape you as you with a bubbly voice tried to talk to him. He'd go to the bathroom and lean against the door, trying desperately to calm his aching cock.

He'd stay up late, looking at your social media's, which he found due to your work friend Shalnark. He'd look at your selfies with tired eyes, illuminated by the blue light, pumping his leaking cock, guilt ignored by his lust for you.

The next day, he wouldn't be able to look at you. You always worried about him, seeing how tired he'd look and how he barely ate at work. One day, you brought over some food you made for him, saying that you made it for him because you were worried. Feitan almost fainted right there with his increased heart rate, shaking as he grabbed the food, mumbling a thank you. From then on, you'd bring him food and even baked goods.

Feitan, as time would go on, would get more and more desperate to be with you. He'd glare at his fellow male co-workers, obviously flirting with you.

Eventually, one day, while you were getting something in the faculty lounge, you got to be alone with Feitan. Your heart beat fast, as you stammered out that you have a work crush on him and that you can't hold back from admitting it anymore. In almost a blink of an eye, Feitan would be pulling you into one of the storage rooms, pushing you up against the shelves, making out with you passionately. It'd take no time before Feitan would have your face pushed up against the shelves, slamming his throbbing cock deep into your womb. He'd fuck you so hard and fast, letting out all the need he's been building up, resisting. Random items would be falling off the shelves and your moans would radiate off the walls. You thanked the universe that all the other staff were at a lame pizza party on the first floor, unable to hear you getting pounded and stuffed with semen. You would barely be able to walk out of the room, Feitan's seed leaking out of you and soaking your panties.

Feitan, for the rest of the day, would smirk from his cubicle, watching you struggling to walk down the hallway.

You were no longer safe at the office, Feitan's slender fingers always somehow ended up in your drenched panties. You couldn't help but submit when you'd feel his cold hand reach up your thigh during office meetings. He loved it when you wore short skirts that teased him so much with no tights underneath. Just as you were about to speak, Feitan slipped a finger under your drenched panties, then pushing it into your warm accepting cunt. You'd let out a struggled sound, making everyone peer at you suspiciously. "I'm sorry everyone, I-I didn't get much sleep last night.." You stammered out, Feitan grinning.

Chrollo -

Chrollo was your boss, and you were his secretary. You knew Chrollo was the type of boss to seduce his secretaries, but you thought you'd be able to resist his charm.

You were wrong.

You were under Chrollo's desk as he worked on paperwork, kneeling between his legs, lips snug around his thick dick. He'd every so often reach his hand down to support your head and push more of himself into your small mouth, groaning softly under his breath. If someone would come into his office, he'd just smile as if nothing is going on, letting them even sit in the chair across from him. You tried your best to continue sucking him without making a noise, but Chrollo was evil. Just as you barely managed to take more of him into your mouth, Chrollo pushed your head so you were now taking all of his cock. Chrollo, with perfect timing, covered his mouth pretending to choke as you did so, cursing at yourself in your head for your mistake. The person asked Chrollo what was wrong, but he just kept on showing his charming smile and saying that nothing was the matter.

Chrollo wanted to cum in your mouth with the person in his office. Purposefully he typed slow, dragging on the conversation, as he dragged your pretty tight lips around his cock. When Chrollo came, he pinched the bridge of his nose, letting out a sigh that was a bit shakey. The person just thought he was tired from trying to finish up what he was doing, but no, he was pumping endless ropes of white thick cum in your obedient throat.

After all of that, Chrollo would sit your pretty self on his desk, praising you for how well you did. You were blushing, wetness coating your thighs from arousal from the whole ordeal.

Chrollo wouldn't pleasure you quite yet, though. No, he was a devil. He'd slip a tiny remote control vibrator into your panties, right on your clit, sending you back to your cubicle. He'd watch with a smile as you convulsed from a orgasm in one of the cameras he had for the office. You had to cover your mouth with your hand as you rode it out, feeling overstimulated as you came down from your orgasm from the vibrator. After your orgasm, he'd just turn the setting up higher, laughing to himself as you'd end up cumming again, this time a little more loud.

[xotoru]

⍣ ೋL Boyfriend Headcannons

Synopsis: Just cute boyfriend headcannons <3

Warnings: NSFW; oral M!recieving, p in v, sub and dom L, L is s bit of a freak, Swearing

➤ He’s the Og nerd boyfriend.he’s owns those big black framed glasses and loves his sci fi.he tries to get you into the same nerdy things he’s into but he knows it’s not really your thing.and if it is then he’s beyond happy, as much as he shows it.

➤ Despite being on his laptop ALL THE TIME, he’s very chronically offline. Any trends, he’s never seen, pranks, he doesn’t get, brainrot jokes, wtf is that????sometimes you reference whatever meme is popular at the time and he just nods acting like he knows what your talking about but he really has no clue

➤ He was so nervous asking you out like he was all “so uhm i think…we would be a very good match together and uhm…well I suppose if you-”. For once you saw a light blush brush across his normally pale face.he hasn’t had to ask a girl out since his high school years so this was very nerve racking for him

➤ WILL SPOIL THE FUCKKK OUT OF YOU. Like he doesn’t even look when you ask him if you can get something. You carry his card in your overly expensive wallet he got you that matches your birkin

➤ You were the one that got him to stop sitting sideways in that stupid chair when he sleeps, now he sleeps next to you in bed every night like normal.same with the human washing machine.it tools some time but now he showers and sleeps just like you, and typically with you.

NSFW below

➤ your first time he was super subby.whining and jerking his needy hips up into you causing your dominance to stutter as he pounded your g spot.he didn’t even know the effect he was having on you cause he was so lost in the moment.glassy eyes thanking you for letting him fuck you.

➤ after that day though he was more comfortable with being on top.realize how much pleasure he gained from watching you completely fall apart kn his cock.begging for something incoherent as your warm squelching pussy sucks him in.he loves it

➤ he’s pretty big.not really thick but fairly long. I’d say about 7 inches.reaches all the right places while stretching your poor pussy out perfectly.his fingers are also very lining and slender, perfect for finding a snug home inside of you >.<

➤ he loves to fuck you on his desk.bending you over and “accidentally” knocking over a bunch of files from the Kira case he pounds his seed into you is like his sexual fantasy.he never thought he could care about something more then his work until he met you, and your pu-

➤ speaking of his work he loves when you give him head while he working.even better when other people aren’t in the room and it’s just you too so he can be as loud and whiny as he wants. He loves to shove his long fingers in your hair as he pushes your swollen lips down on his pleading cock. He’s gets too nervous to ask for you to give him head most of the time though ;(

[hans-wh0re]

FRICTION

Synopsis: There's something seriously wrong with your boyfriend, and it's called chronic humping syndrome. or the one where Changbin literally cannot stop grinding against you (or anything that smells like you) for even five minutes, and tonight he's more desperate than you've ever seen him. W.C: 2.5 K Pairing: changbin x afab reader smut tags: humping kink, desperate grinding, dry humping, clothing ruining, thigh riding, clothed sex, possessive behavior (kinda?), multiple orgasms, begging, whimpering, precum soaking, rutting, unprotected sex, cream!pie, overstimulation .... A.N: this has been sitting on my drafts for a while. I'm not 100% satisfied with it, but i haven't written anything these past few days due to health issues, so i figured i'd post something. Anyways enjoy.

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You've barely put your key in the lock when you hear that familiar, telltale whimpering from behind your apartment door.

"Fuck" you mutter, already knowing exactly what you're about to walk in on.

The door swings open to reveal your living room and, more importantly, your boyfriend Changbin on your couch. He's face-down, fully clothed, desperately rutting against what appears to be—yep, that's definitely your favorite hoodie wadded up beneath him. His hips pump frantically, the fabric of his sweatpants stretched tight across his ass as he grinds his cock against your clothing with single-minded determination.

He's so lost in it that he doesn't even notice you standing there, watching as he humps your hoodie like a teenager who just discovered what his dick is for. The little desperate whines escaping his throat make your pussy clench involuntarily, and pathetic as it is, the sight of him grinding against anything that smells like you never fails to turn you on.

"Couldn't even make it to the bedroom this time?" you ask, dropping your bag by the door.

Changbin's head whips around, his eyes wide and glazed with arousal. His hips don't stop moving though, not even for a second.

"You're home," he gasps, his voice strained. "Early."

"And you're humping my clothes. Again." You kick off your shoes, oddly calm about finding your grown-ass boyfriend dry-humping your hoodie on the couch. This isn't exactly a rare occurrence.

"Missed you," he groans, still grinding. "Needed—needed something."

You approach the couch, taking in the state of him. His hair is disheveled, forehead glistening with sweat, and there's a large wet spot at the front of his gray sweatpants where his cock has been leaking. He looks wrecked, and judging by the stuttering rhythm of his hips, he's close to coming but trying to hold back now that you're here.

"How long have you been at this?" you ask, genuinely curious. Sometimes Changbin can go for hours, just rutting against various surfaces like a dog in heat.

"Since—fuck—since you left for work," he admits, his hips still moving in desperate little circles. "Been so hard all day. Couldn't stop thinking about you."

Nine hours. He's been humping your stuff for nine fucking hours.

"Have you even eaten?" you ask, though you already know the answer. When Changbin gets like this, everything else ceases to exist.

He shakes his head, whimpering as a particularly good thrust sends a visible shudder through his body. "Just needed this. Need you more though. Please—"

The desperation in his voice makes your core throb with arousal despite your better judgment. It should be ridiculous, pathetic even, to find a grown man humping your clothes this hot. But there's something about the raw need Changbin displays and the way he completely loses himself in seeking friction, that never fails to ignite your own desire.

"Let me change first," you say, stepping back. "And you should probably drink some water if you've been at this all day."

"No," he whines, reaching for you. "Please, just—just let me—"

You know what he wants. What he always wants. With a sigh that's more for show than actual exasperation, you step closer again, presenting your leg.

Changbin abandons your hoodie immediately, scrambling to position himself against your thigh with an urgency that would be comical if it weren't so genuinely desperate. He hooks one leg over yours, pressing his sweatpants-covered cock against you, and groans in relief.

"Fuck," he breathes, his eyes falling closed as he starts to move. "Needed this so bad."

You stand there in your work clothes, your boyfriend attached to your leg like some kind of horny koala, rutting against you with an intensity that should be embarrassing but is somehow just… Changbin.

"Better than my hoodie?" you ask, unable to keep the amusement from your voice despite the heat building between your own legs.

"So much better," he whimpers, his movements growing more frantic. "Nothing feels as good as you. Nothing."

His hips work against your thigh in a desperate rhythm, his cock hard and leaking through his sweatpants. You can feel the dampness seeping through to your skin, evidence of just how worked up he truly is.

"Please don't stop me," he begs, voice breaking. "I'm so close. Been edging all day. Need to come so bad."

You reach down to stroke his hair, oddly tender despite the absolute filth of the situation. "Go ahead, baby. Make a mess for me."

That's all the permission Changbin needs. His hips stutter, his rhythm faltering as he grinds himself hard against your thigh. A broken moan tears from his throat as he comes, his body shuddering against yours. You can feel the warmth spreading through his sweatpants as he pumps his release against your leg, his face contorted in pleasure.

For a moment, you think that might be enough to take the edge off. That maybe, just maybe, you can now change clothes and have a normal evening with your boyfriend.

You should know better by now.

Changbin's hips slow but don't stop, his cock still hard against your thigh despite the impressive wet patch spreading across the front of his pants. He looks up at you, his eyes dark and hungry.

"Need more," he whispers, almost apologetic. "Still so hard."

You sigh, resigned to your fate. "Let me at least change first."

Changbin whines but reluctantly detaches himself from your leg, already palming his cock through his soaked sweatpants as you walk toward the bedroom. You know without looking that his eyes are fixed on your ass, tracking your movements like prey.

The second you're in the bedroom, you hear him behind you, his breathing already labored again. You don't even make it to the closet before his front is pressed against your back, his cock grinding insistently against your ass.

"Binnie," you warn, though there's no real heat in it. "At least let me get out of my work clothes."

"Take them off," he agrees, but makes no move to step back, continuing to rut against you as you attempt to unbutton your blouse. "God, your ass feels so good."

His hands grip your hips, holding you in place as he grinds himself against you in tight circles. You can feel how wet his sweatpants are from his earlier orgasm, the dampness transferring to the back of your skirt.

"You're ruining my clothes," you point out, finally managing to shrug off your blouse despite Changbin's octopus-like attachment to your backside.

"I'll buy you new ones," he promises, his voice strained. "Need this more than you need that skirt."

You can't argue with that logic, not when his desperation is so palpable. You reach back to unzip your skirt, letting it fall to the floor and leaving you in just your underwear and bra. Changbin moans at the increased access, his cock now grinding directly against your panty-covered ass.

"Much better," he groans, his movements becoming more frantic. "Fuck, you feel so good. Been thinking about this all day."

"I can tell," you say dryly, reaching back to unhook your bra. "You couldn't even make it five minutes without humping something."

Changbin doesn't deny it, too far gone in his pleasure to formulate a defense. His hands slide around to cup your breasts as soon as your bra falls away, earning a small moan that went straight to his cock, his hips never ceasing their relentless grinding against your ass.

"Can't help it," he admits, his voice breaking on a particularly good thrust. "Just need it so bad. Need you so bad."

You turn in his arms, pushing him back just enough to get a good look at him. His sweatpants are absolutely ruined, soaked through with cum and precum, clinging obscenely to his still-hard cock. His t-shirt is rumpled and damp with sweat, his pupils blown wide with arousal.

"You're a mess," you tell him, but there's fondness in your voice. "Take off those pants first."

Changbin scrambles to comply, shoving his sweatpants down his legs with such urgency that he nearly trips. His cock springs free, angry red and glistening wet, bouncing against his stomach. It's clear from how swollen and sensitive it looks that he's been playing with himself all day, probably edging for hours before finally letting himself come against your thigh.

"Your shirt too," you direct, stepping out of your own panties and moving toward the bed. "Since you can't keep yourself under control for even five minutes, we might as well do this properly."

Changbin nearly rips his shirt in his haste to remove it, his eyes never leaving your naked body. The moment you sit on the edge of the bed, he's there, positioning himself between your legs, his cock sliding against your inner thigh.

"Can I?" he asks, breathless with need. "Please, baby, I need to—"

"Yes," you cut him off, spreading your legs wider. "But you're going to make me come first."

Changbin nods frantically, dropping to his knees in front of you. But instead of using his mouth like a normal person might, he grips your thighs and pulls you forward until your pussy is pressed against his cock. Then he starts to rut, sliding his shaft through your folds without entering you, the underside dragging against your clit with each movement.

"Fuck," you gasp, surprised by how good it feels. Changbin might be obsessed with grinding, but he's perfected the technique over countless sessions.

"So wet already," he groans, his eyes fixed on where his cock slides through your slick heat. "Love how wet you get for me. Fuck. Love how you let me hump you wherever, whenever I need it."

His shameless admission should be a turn-off, but instead, it sends a fresh wave of arousal through you. There's something undeniably hot about how completely gone he is for you, how he can't control himself around you or even things that remind him of you.

Changbin's hips work in frantic circles, his cock sliding through your folds with increasing urgency. The tip bumps against your clit with each pass, sending jolts of pleasure up your spine.

"I-i'm gonna come again," he whimpers, sounding almost pained. "Fuckkk. Can't hold back. Feels too good."

"Wait," you command voice barely audible over Changbin's moans, gripping his shoulders. "Inside me this time."

You don't have to tell him twice. Changbin surges forward, positioning the head of his cock at your entrance and pushing in with one smooth thrust. But instead of pulling back to establish a proper rhythm, he grinds deep inside you, his pubic bone pressed firmly against your clit.

"Fuck," he groans, his head dropping to your shoulder as his hips work in tight circles. "Nothing feels as good as this. Nothing in the whole fucking world."

The constant pressure against your g-spot and clit has you seeing stars, your hands clutching at his back as pleasure builds rapidly. Changbin's movements grow more desperate, his cock twitching inside you as he fights to hold back his orgasm.

"L-let me feel you-fuck- come," he begs, his voice wrecked. "Need to feel you squeezing my cock. Please, baby, come for me."

His words, combined with the relentless grinding, push you over the edge. Your walls clench around him as pleasure washes through you, pulling a broken moan from your throat.

Changbin follows immediately, unable to resist the feeling of your pussy pulsing around him. He grinds deep into you as he comes, whimpering your name against your skin, his entire body shaking with the force of his release.

For a moment, you both stay frozen, catching your breath. Then, almost imperceptibly, Changbin's hips start to move again.

"Binnie!," you groan, oversensitive. "Seriously?"

He looks at you with an expression that's half apologetic, half desperate. Again. "Can't help it," he admits, his cock somehow still hard inside you despite coming twice already. "Just need a little more."

You fall back on the bed, resigned to your fate. "Fine. But I'm not moving. You do all the work."

Changbin's face lights up, as if you've just offered him the greatest gift imaginable instead of grudgingly allowing him to continue rutting against—well, inside—you.

"Thank you," he breathes, positioning himself over you, his hips already resuming their grinding motion. "Promise I'll make it good for you too."

And somehow, he does. Despite the absurdity of the situation, despite the fact that your boyfriend seems physically incapable of not humping something for more than five minutes at a time, he knows exactly how to move to bring you pleasure.

His grinding continues, relentless in its precision, hitting spots inside you that make your toes curl. His hands find your breasts, pinching and rolling your nipples as his hips maintain their circular rhythm.

"Could do this forever," he groans, his face contorted in pleasure. "Just grinding inside you, feeling you so tight and wet around me. Nothing better than this."

You believe him. The single-minded focus with which Changbin approaches humping, whether it's against your thigh, your ass, your hoodie, or now, inside you—borders on religious devotion.

"You're so fucking weird," you tell him, but your body betrays you, responding to his movements with building pleasure.

Changbin just laughs, breathless and strained. "You love it," he counters, grinding particularly deep. "Love how desperate I get for you. How I can't control myself."

He's not wrong. There's something deeply flattering about being wanted this intensely, this constantly. About having a boyfriend who's so obsessed with you that even your laundry can get him off in a pinch.

"Gonna come again," he warns, his rhythm faltering slightly. "Fuck, I can't—can't stop—"

"Do it," you urge, your own pleasure mounting as his grinding becomes more erratic. "Fill me up again."

Your words send him over the edge, his cock pulsing inside you as he comes for the third time. The feeling of his release flooding your sensitive walls triggers your own orgasm, less intense than the first but longer, leaving you trembling beneath him.

Changbin collapses on top of you, his cock still buried inside you, his hips still making tiny, involuntary movements even as he fights to catch his breath.

"Thank you," he mumbles against your neck, pressing sloppy kisses to your skin. "Needed that so bad."

You stroke his hair, that is stuck on his forehead from the filth of the past hour. "I know you did, baby. Feel better now?"

He nods, then hesitates. "Maybe… maybe one more time? In a little bit?"

You can't help but laugh at his endless appetite. "What are you? A humping machine?"

Changbin lifts his head to look at you, his expression surprisingly earnest. "Only for you," he says. "Nothing else feels right. No one else feels right."

The sincerity in his voice makes your chest tighten with unexpected emotion. Because as ridiculous as his humping habit is, as inconvenient as it can be, there's something undeniably special about being the sole focus of such intense desire.

"I love you," you tell him, meaning it despite everything. "Even if you're a horny little freak who can't keep his dick to himself for five minutes."

Changbin grins, unashamed. "Love you too," he says, already beginning to harden inside you again. "Now, about that one more time…"

As his hips start their familiar grinding rhythm, you resign yourself to another round, and probably several more after that. Because that's life with Changbin.

And honestly? You wouldn't have it any other way.

[cressidagrey]

Holy Ground - Chapter 7

Summary:

Nobody knew that Azriel found his mate. Until she nearly died. This is the aftermath.

Warning:

Rhys Bashing (as usual), Inner Circle Bashing (kinda), Referenced/Implied Sexual Assault, Referenced/Implied Domestic Violence, Discussion of Religion(?), Chronic Injury/Pain/Illness, Minor Character Death (It's probably nobody you love), Magical Work Accidents, Explosions, Injuries

If any of this triggers you or makes you uncomfortable, please take care of your own mental health and don't read it.

“I want to go to that memorial service,” she repeated to Azriel.

“You are supposed to keep off your leg,” Azriel responded to her flatly.

Irena huffed, frustration clear in her voice. "I feel fine," she said, gesturing at her injury. "It’s just sore, but I’d be careful, I promise."

Azriel looked unconvinced, his gaze sweeping down her injured leg. "It needs more time to heal," he said firmly. "You shouldn’t be walking on it yet, let alone going to a memorial service."

Irena let out a frustrated sigh, her eyes meeting his in a steely stare. For a moment, a silent battle of wills passed between them. She was determined to attend the memorial, and he was just as determined to stop her from overexerting herself.

“You can carry me down,” she told him. “But I am going.”

Azriel held her gaze, stubbornness meeting stubbornness. The tension in the air was almost palpable. But then, finally, he let out a resigned sigh. He knew her well enough to know that once she’d made up her mind there was little to stop her.

“Fine,” he said finally, his tone one of reluctant acceptance. “But you’re resting when we get back, understand?”

Irena smiled, a small, victorious smile. “I promise,” she said, holding up a hand in mock surrender.

Azriel rolled his eyes, but he couldn’t hide the hint of a smile that tugged the corner of his mouth. “You’re impossible, you know that?” he said gruffly, even as he carefully drew the brush through her hair.

Irena just leaned into his touch. "That's why you love me," she said easily, closing her eyes.

There was something so sweetly intimate in the fact that he loved to brush her hair and braid it away from her face...that he could spent hours doing just that.

When he had a bad night...a really bad night…wrecked with nightmares...sometimes it was all he did. Azriel drew his fingers through her hair again and again, silently. Irena had never asked him what he thought about when he did it...when those violently scarred hands touched her like she was the most precious thing in the whole wide world.

She just let him. And he did that. Every single time, almost reverently...like he wanted to savor the feel of her hair...like he was worshipping some part of her. It made her stomach flip. And it made her want to hold him, to keep the worst of the nightmares away.

Irena turned slowly, her injured leg stretched out in front of her. When she was facing him again, he set the brush down and carefully drew her against his chest, his arms wrapping around her firmly.

She leaned into his embrace, her heartbeat slowing when she felt the steady, reassuring rhythm of his own. She closed her eyes, breathed him in.

"I love you," she told him softly.

Azriel's strong, broad arms tightened around her, drawing her even closer. "I love you too," he murmured against her hair, his voice a low, gravelly rumble. "More than I ever thought possible."

His lips found her forehead, then her temple, trailing a path of soft kisses across her skin until he reached her cheek. When he pulled back slightly, his eyes were dark, filled with a possessive need that made her heart stutter.

Azriel’s fingers traced a gentle line along her jaw, gently tilting her chin up. “Say it again,” he demanded quietly, his voice a rough whisper against her lips.

Irena's breath hitched at the command, her heart beating wildly in her chest. "I love you," she repeated, the words coming easily, like they were part of her. "I love you, Azriel."

The shadows were the one who helped procure one of her dresses for her to wear, and who helped button it up, carefully closing the fabric covered buttons that kept the long sleeves tight around her wrist. And then Azriel was the one who lifted her up

Azriel's strong arms encircled her, lifting her easily off the bed and into his arms. Irena wrapped her arms around his neck, her heart fluttering as she found herself cradled against his broad chest once more.

The muscles of his shoulders bunched under her touch, a testament to the strength coiled within him. He carried her with such ease; it was almost as if she weighed nothing to him. It was a heady feeling, being held by him like this.

Irena loved it.

He carried out of the room, the shadows opening the door…and then down to where they held the daily services they attended.Irena rested her chin on Azriel’s shoulder as they walked through the halls. Her injured leg was still throbbing, but being cradled in his arms made it easier to bear. Each step was carefully measured, so as not to cause her too much pain.

Shadows wreathed him as they moved through the corridors, a comforting presence. Azriel’s gait remained steady, each step measured to avoid jarring her injury too much.

Finally they arrived where they normally held their services, roslin already waiting for them. So was Meera who started at Azriel wide eyed as he put Irena down into a chair. “Let me know when you are done,” he told her softly and she pressed a kiss against his cheek in thanks.Irena watched as Azriel stepped back leaving the room, she didn’t think he was going to go far at all.

And then to her surprise suddenly Meera threw herself at her, sobbing. “I am sorry,” she whimpered.

Irena wrapped her arms around the younger girl, drawing her into a tight hug. "Hey, hey," she soothed, her voice gentle. "It's okay. Shhhh, don't cry."

The girl sobbed into her shoulder, her thin frame shaking. Irena held her, rubbing small circles into the girl’s back, trying to provide what comfort she could.

"It's okay," Irena repeated, her voice hushed. "It's going to be okay, Meera."

The girl shook her head, pulling back slightly to look up at Irena, her eyes red and puffy. “No it’s not,” she cried, her voice thick with tears. “It’s all my fault!”

“It’s not your fault,” Roslin said fiercely.

Irena shot Roslin a grateful look, appreciating the other female's support. "That's right," she said, giving Meera a gentle squeeze. "You have done nothing wrong, Meera. Don't for a second forget that."

"If I didn't ask you to talk to Merrill, you wouldn't have been hurt," Meera wailed tearfully.

Irena shook her head, her heart squeezing at the girl's words. "No, Meera," she insisted. "You are not responsible for what happened. Not one bit. Do you hear me?"

The girl sniffled, her body shaking with suppressed sobs. Irena hugged her tighter. "What happened is not your fault," she repeated firmly. "I don’t want to hear another word about it, understood?"

The girl nodded, her eyes still shimmering with tears. But Irena could see that she was no longer sobbing. "Good," Irena said, still stroking the girl's back soothingly. "You are not to blame, Meera. And you've got to stop thinking that you are, alright?"

Meera hiccuped and nodded again, a small, shaky breath leaving her. "I...I’ll try," she said, her voice barely louder than a whisper. But it was progress.

It was something.

The room filled slowly, Irena being greeted by the priestesses she had spent 2 centuries with. By her friends, by her sisters. Clotho squeezed her hand, not a single word coming from her, but they both had never needed to talk much anyway.

They had been friend for 2 centuries. Sometimes no words were needed. 

And then...then the memorial service started...and Irena listened silently.

Irena sat quietly, her injured leg propped up on a small stool. The room was filled with her sisters, all of them gathered together to remember the lost ones. There were tears, there was grief, but there was also an air of solidarity.

The priestesses listened as words were spoken, as memories were shared. The silence that fell afterwards was heavy. The loss was palpable in the air, a silent presence that hung over them all.

Irena looked around the room, her gaze tracing the faces of the priestesses around her. They were all hurting, each in their own way. But they were not alone. They were a community, a family bound together by a shared grief.

Even when Merrill had been difficult, she had been one of them. She had been loved. She had been a part of their community.

And they were grieving that loss.

Irena could see it in their expressions, the sorrow and pain mirrored in the eyes of every single one of her sisters. Merrill might not have been an easy person to get along with, but she had been one of them. Her loss left a hole in their midst, a gap that couldn't be filled.

There was a certain solidarity and comfort in that realisation. Loss brought them closer together, knitting them tighter in their shared grief. And that made the pain a little more bearable, knowing that they were all hurting together.

***

Azriel stood guard outside the room where the memorial service was being held, his arms crossed over his chest as he leaned against the wall. He was close enough to intervene should it be needed, but far enough to give the priestesses the space they needed to grieve.

Or at least he told himself that. He couldn't quite bear to let Irena far out of his sight yet.

Even though he knew it was foolish to be so worried, he couldn't help it. His instincts were still on high alert, as if he expected some new threat to come crashing down at them. And Irena's injury had only strengthened that protective part of him.

"There you are."

Maybe it shouldn't have surprised him. But it did. As he looked up and stared at Mor. Just as beautiful as always.

When he had been young and stupid, he had taken one look at her and had fallen in love.

He stared at her now, the memory of that young, foolish boy bubbling in his chest. Mor's golden blonde hair fell into waves over her shoulders, her dark brown eyes fixed on him, studying him.

He didn’t even have it in him to confront the shadows why they hadn’t warned him. 

"I...wanted to talk to you," Mor said hesitantly.

Azriel pushed off the wall, uncrossing his arms. He had a feeling he knew where this was going, and he wasn’t sure he wanted to have this discussion right now.

"What about?” he asked flatly, his gaze flickering to the closed door to the memorial service. Mor didn't miss the look, her lips twisting up into a wry smile. 

"Guarding the door, I see," she said, her voice light, though there was an undercurrent of something...tender?

"What do you want, Mor?" he said sharply.

"I wanted to apologise," it blurted out of her.

Azriel froze, surprise flitting across his face. He hadn't expected an actual apology. "What?" he asked, his voice a hoarse whisper.

Mor took a step closer to him. "I’m sorry," she said quietly, her expression sincere with none of the usual bravado. "For…well, everything, I suppose. I...I fucked up. And I hurt you...even when I never wanted to do that..."

Azriel's heart ached at her words, an old, festering wound throbbing. He'd tried to tell himself it no longer mattered, when really...it did. It always mattered.

"Why now?" he asked gruffly. "Why apologise...now?"Mor let out a shaky breath. "Because I finally realised what a fool I was," she said, her voice cracking slightly. "And...because…” her gaze met his, something broken in her eyes, “we’re all hurting. And some of us have lost too much already. I don’t want to lose my friend, Az."

"You could have put a stop to it centuries ago," he said, his voice gravel. "You could have told me 400 years ago that you would never be interested, Morrigan. Instead, you gave me just enough to keep me in line."

Mor closed her eyes, as if his words physically hurt. “I know,” she said in a low voice, her shoulders slumping. “I…I’m sorry. I'm such an idiot, Azriel. I should have...made it clear…instead I led you on. ”

Azriel's chest ached, hearing the remorse in her voice. He'd been angry at her for so long, his heart hardening to her, even as old feelings still hummed beneath the surface. “Why?” he asked hoarsely. "Why did you do it?"

"Because I was scared," Mor admitted. "Scared...of what people were going to think, what it would mean if...I was scared...and I used you...and I hurt you…And I am sorry, Az."

Azriel closed his eyes, his heart squeezing painfully at her words. "You shouldn't have used me, Morrigan," he said, his voice strained. "I'm not...I’m not a toy. I do have feelings." If she believed it or not. 

"I know," she said quietly. "And I took advantage of that. And it was wrong. I was in the wrong, Az. And I am truly, truly sorry."

Azriel leaned his head back against the wall, the cool stone against his head grounding. He'd heard Mor apologize before, but never with this level of seriousness. It...meant a lot. But it wasn't enough. It wasn't going to erase centuries' worth of heartache and pain.

Mor seemed to sense his thoughts, her eyes flickering to the closed door again. "I...I know an apology isn't going to fix anything," she said awkwardly. "I do know that. But...I just...I hope one day, we can go back to being friends?"

Azriel blew out a breath, his mind warring with his heart. The part of him that was still the young, foolhardy male who'd first loved Mor wanted to forgive her, to just go back to how they were.

But…he was no longer that naive boy. And the decades of pain and heartache he'd suffered at her hands were not so easily forgotten.

Mor was holding her breath, watching him closely, waiting for his reaction. She looked...worried, almost scared. As if she was afraid he would reject her.

And a part of him wanted to. Wanted to hurt her the way she’d hurt him.

But that part of him...it was not in control anymore. He let out another slow breath, the tension leaving his body. “I’m…” he began, his voice catching in his throat, “I’m not...I can’t…I need time,” he finally managed to say.A flicker of hurt passed across Mor's face, but was quickly hidden. 

She nodded slowly, her eyes falling again to the closed door. "I understand," she said quietly. “I...I hope one day…” she continued, her voice breaking off.

That hopeful, vulnerable expression on her face tugged at his heart, but he needed to harden himself against it. He couldn’t give in too easily. He let out a soft huff. “Stop looking at the door,” he told her fiercely. 

Mor inclined her head."I understand why you never told us," Mor said softly. "I do. But...I am happy for you. I want you to know that. I...I hope she makes you as happy as Emerie makes me," Mor said quietly.

Azriel couldn't help the small shudder that went through him at that. He still wasn’t used to such open talk about what Irena was to him. And to hear Mor...accept it, even be happy? It was almost surreal. "She does," he said quietly, his eyes flickering to the closed door.

Mor smiled faintly. “I’m glad.”

There was a long moment of silence, an awkward, strained thing growing between them. Azriel had a feeling he wasn’t the only one who didn’t know what to say.

[cobaltsoulsearcher]

With both Ashton’s chronic pain and acquired disabilities and Ashley’s casual mention of her ADHD, I’d just like to say how important and meaningful and how grateful I am to see a cast of successful, beloved folks talking about being disabled & anormative. They don’t owe us nothing talking about stuff like this, but sharing it feels like a warm hug and support and ahhh.

For those of you who don’t know, Matt and Liam and Taliesin have both spoken frankly about depression, and Ashley and Travis and Matt have all shared about being/having ADHD, and Matt has also spoken about Body Dysmorphia and growing up with a stutter, among other things. Dani Carr also has mentioned chronic pain, and Liam has hyperacoustis he mentions on occasion (and also one ear that has a different range of hearing) and Taliesin has TMJ and essential tremor:

Ashton’s pain comes from Taliesin’s experience.

Imogen’s overwhelm comes from Laura’s own processing of sound.

Matt could describe painful spells so well because he knows what it’s like.

Liam’s Quest feels so powerful because it explores real experienced hopelessness in the face of depression.

And obviously not everything has been explained—I’d never want to assume a person has PTSD or body issues or anything else based on character, because at the end of the day well researched and realistic depictions are important no matter who they come from and critical role does that better than anything else I’ve ever seen—we know different characters show different elements of their players. And it’s so refreshing and empowering to see disability included as one of those features, without shame or any attempt to be kept hidden.

Thank you, cast of critical role.

Updated with feedback from notes!

[solarmorrigan]

Wrote this a while ago for I think an Angsty August prompt but never posted it. Stumbled across it a few days ago and realized I actually liked it, so here it is

Rated: T | Words: 935 | CW: Anxiety attack | Tags: hurt/comfort, Eddie Munson needs a hug, Steve Harrington has chronic pain, Eddie Munson takes care of Steve Harrington, Eddie Munson loves Steve Harrington, Steve Harrington loves Eddie Munson, the stress and imperfection of caring for someone with a chronic illness

-

There are bills. There are always fucking bills – a pile of them lying on the kitchen table where Eddie sits now, head hanging, hair clenched in his fists as he tries to breathe.

He’s pulling so hard that he’s giving himself a headache, and it nearly makes him laugh, but he refrains. He gets the feeling that if he starts, he might not stop – he’ll get louder and louder, maybe get a little hysterical, and then he’ll disturb Steve, who’s currently laid up with the mother of all headaches. Eddie’s little tension headache pales in comparison to the might of the migraine.

At least it’s Saturday. Steve hadn’t had to miss another shift, and Eddie is free to stay home and keep him company. Not that there’s much Eddie can do; he takes another shaking breath, trying to burst the band of anxiety wrapped tight around his chest, but his thoughts keep racing.

The envelopes piled on the table stare back at him as he blinks watery eyes down at his placemat, rent and utilities and medical bills all crying out for payment. Eddie’s job is barely enough to keep them afloat, and Steve – he helps as much as he can. His new job doesn’t pay as much as his last had, but fewer and more flexible hours reduce the chances he’ll get fired after calling out one too many times (like his last job).

(And Eddie can admit, if only in the privacy of his own head, to some frustrated, bitter thoughts in his weaker moments, wondering why Steve can’t just push through his pain like Eddie does. There are days when Eddie’s scars act up, when his body aches and he wants nothing more than to stay in bed, but he doesn’t.

But then he sees the results of Steve “pushing through it” – ignoring the way his whole body hurts, moving until he physically can’t anymore, until even breathing feels painful. Shoving off the impending signs of a migraine until they get mornings like this one: vomiting and stuttering and auras, sitting on the bathroom floor until Eddie can coax him back to bed.

He sees it, sees how much it kills Steve that he can’t do more, and feels ashamed.)

It isn’t just the bills weighing on Eddie’s mind, though. More even than money trouble—something with which Eddie at least has experience—it’s Steve that’s scaring him the most. The days when he’s overwhelmed by pain or by exhaustion, by fogginess and migraines, seem to be increasing, and Eddie doesn’t know what to do.

Scrape together enough money to go see another specialist who will tell them shit they already know and recommend treatments they can’t afford?

(Eddie would. If Steve’s doctor gave him yet another referral, Eddie would find a way to make it work. He’s just not sure anymore that it would help.)

He hates feeling useless. Hates sitting by, unable to do a damn thing, unable to solve the problem, stuck in place just like he had been in high school, dead weight, no good to anybody–

A rustling of sheets followed by a quiet groan reaches Eddie’s ears from the bedroom, snapping him from his spiral.

He sits up, then, releasing his hair and rubbing his hands over his cheeks, catching any stray moisture from beneath his eyes. He takes a few deep breaths, shaking less now, and stands from the table. There is one thing he can do, and even if it doesn’t feel like enough, Eddie is going to do it.

The bedroom is dim, curtains drawn over east-facing windows that blessedly get less light in the afternoon. The bed is a wreck of pillows and sheets, moved around or cast aside in an effort to alleviate the pain, to warm up or stay cool through a fluctuating body temperature. Steve lies in the middle of it all, turned now to face the door, one arm stretched over the empty space where Eddie had been.

His eyes are closed, but Eddie’s pretty sure he’s awake – sure enough, he pulls his arm back as soon as the bed dips under Eddie’s weight. Eddie slides back beneath the sheets and takes Steve’s hand with a gentle squeeze.

“Hey.”

Steve hums, eyes still closed, squeezing Eddie’s hand back. “Where’d you go?”

“Just got up to stretch my legs,” Eddie answers (it’s an easy lie, one Eddie feels no guilt over, because it’s better than explaining that he’d gotten up to avoid waking Steve with the anxiety attack that had built in his chest the longer he’d lain in the silence of their bedroom, watching the furrow between Steve’s brows that made him look pained even in his sleep).

After a moment, Steve’s eyes flutter open, searching Eddie’s face. Whatever he finds there makes his frown deepen.

“Kinda ruined our weekend, huh?” he says quietly. “’m sorry you’re stuck with me like this.”

“Don’t,” Eddie says lowly. “Never apologize. I’m not stuck with you, I love you.” He leans up, presses a kiss to Steve’s forehead, and Steve sighs.

He takes their joined hands and brings them to his lips, kissing the back of Eddie’s. “I love you, too,” he murmurs against Eddie’s skin.

“You need anything?” Eddie asks, before he really settles in.

Steve makes a noise in the negative. “Just you,” he says, lips still brushing Eddie’s hand. “That’s enough.”

Eddie can’t help the overwhelmed tears that well up in his eyes again. This is enough – they’re enough. As long as Eddie has Steve, they can figure the rest out together.

And that will always be enough.

[parkerluvsu]

day 2: new positions <3

art has never been adventurous. he's always been the one to reel in other people, to make sure that they're being cautious. art is a chronic overthinker, at any point in time whether he's just staying into space he's constantly thinking about everything that could go wrong. so imagine his surprise when you asked him to try something new.

you're actually at the dinner table when you ask, so infatuated with watching art across the table that the question just slips out, "could we try a new position tonight?" art pauses his eating immediately, chewing slowly before swallowing and answering. "like- like for sex?" art isn't stupid, he knows you're talking about a sex position, but he doesn't think he can ever remember having sex with someone that wasn't in missionary. you nod, taking pleasure in the flush creeping across his face. "can i think about it?" art asks, obviously afraid of saying the wrong thing.

later, when you're laying in bed, watching him brush his teeth in the bathroom, you finally get your answer. art walks over to you, sitting on the edge of the bed and fidgeting with his fingers. "i wanna try a new position" he looks at you expectantly, wanting you to take the lead. and you do so, gladly.

art lets you practically manhandle him into the position you like, watching you with hooded eyes. he's already painfully hard, and he has been ever since dinner. he's red and leaking and everytime you touch him his dick jumps from excitement. you straddle his lap, smiling as his hips try to buck up into you. your weight on his lap is surprisingly arousing to him, but he doesn't do anything about it, waiting for you to lead him.

art is practically panting now, his chest heaving as you slip him inside of you, and art swears he sees stars. having you on top of him makes him feel like he's been having sex wrong all this time, he swears he can feel your movements better this way. you look down at him and his eyes are screwed shut and you feel his heart beating under your hands on his chest.

once art is able to focus again, he can't stop his base instincts to fuck up into you. he plants his feet on the mattress and wraps his arms tight around you, his biceps flexing against your back. and you let him have his way, pushing your head into his neck and biting there, drawing out a series of whines from arts mouth. you can feel his hips stuttering against you as he practically cries into your shoulder, pumping deep inside of you. and with art, he's never done quick, squirting inside you until he physically can't anymore.

you take his head out of your shoulder, looking at his teary eyes and wet lashes. and as always, art is insatiable. "can we try another one?" <3

[sundrlands]

Your writing is so lovely! If you are still taking requests, could you write something with James Sunderland as a service top? I just can't make up my mind if he'd be a pathetic sad cat man or a out of control feral, haha.

thank you babes, much love to you.

you know… i can see him be both. a person’s persona can fluctuate depending on how they’re feeling so i don’t think james would be a person that’d only lean one way… with that being said, ill use this as an opportunity to write nsfw headcannons for all: pathetic, service top and feral (and etc).

j. sunderland nsfw headcannons (trans/enby friendly)

minors dni

a/n: I kind of when overboard but even still… i don’t think this is the best i could’ve done. it’s pretty noisy all around me and i wasn’t able to put much thought into this… i hadn’t event proof read it… but i hope you like it.

service top:

• he could care less if you gave him any type of touch. he just wants to be able to make you feel good. every time you’d cum, it was like an achievement for him… feeling the need to have his own orgasm untouched while using his hands or mouth on you.

• james is far too good at dirty talk. he keeps it short and sweet but even then it was enough to make your stomach dip— his gentle rasp and the diction in his words… the tone it flowed in… he’d have you melting in the bed from his ability to sweet talk you through it. he’d ask obvious questions, wanting you to tell him how good he’s making you feel, such as: “does it feel good when i touch you here?” or “you like it when i fuck you like this, hm?” he’d direct his lips onto your skin, lips or ear so you’d be able to feel every vowel vibrate against you.

• while riding, he could care less if he’d cum— though he most definitely will— he just adores the way you’d bounce on it, feeling his body stiffen as he lets you use him like a toy. he’d eye his cock, seeing how you’d leave a rim of cream all around the base of it, seeing how many times you’ve came on it with him cum too, saying: “good baby… use my dick just like that.”

• that goddamn nose of his. the little bump on the bridge of it… it’s all to be in use of you riding it. don’t let him breath… he doesn’t care for it. only have the scent of your arousal to fill his airwaves. fuck it, he wants you to, feel the protruding feature pleasure you until you’d cum on it.

him being pathetic:

• use him however you please… he wants it… so fucking badly. any part of his body, he’d like to think you owned it all— like your name was branded and embedded into his flesh. his lips… tongue, cock, hands and thighs. all of it, he wants you to take over, use him like a fuck toy.

• isn’t he just so respectful? saying yes ma’am/sir, please and thank you. you have him wrapped around your finger… whatever you want him to do, he gladly does. no matter if you slap him across the face… or on his cock, pull his hair a little tighter than the last or allow him to fuck you, he’d praise you beyond words.

• eye contact was hard… especially when you teased him and called him his favorite pet names. he’d stutter when being talked to… not even being able to look at you in the eye without him hyperventilating and wanting you to take control of him.

• he’s a chronic humper. clothed or not, he wants to rut against you like a fucking dog, using your knee, leg or shoe to get himself off.

• you up for eating him out? he wouldn’t be able to handle it anyway. never in any of his past relationships did he have his hole played with… he never even gave himself the opportunity to do it for himself, but once you lapped your tongue against him as you instructed him to stroke himself, he was in total bliss. his moans would roar… bouncing against the walls as his hips would swivel against your mouth— crying at the feeling once your tongue slips inside… not knowing what to do with himself with this new form of pleasure.

• his cock is your cock… you own his cock and hes never been prouder to say it. he’d be such a good boy for you, not touching himself unless instructed to or without your yes. cbt is essential… fuck does he love it when you slap his balls, making him flinch on contact. each slap would make him count on your request, his voice trembling after each number he’d whine. the pained sensation only gets him closer to his orgasm, loving the way you abused his cock and balls, not afraid of a little impact play, having him puddle all over his own navel.

• he’s not one to last… hes known to cum prematurely… his ability to hold in his orgasm is low whether he holds it or not… edging only makes it even more fun knowing how quick he can break— him laying on his back, hands tied tightly with bondage rope… his cock would be lathered in lube, the lightest touch of you’d stroke him, watching his pretty face contort as he’d moan like a little puppy. as instructed, he’d announce when he’s close, his sentences not even coming out fully… toes curling… back arching… thighs tensing as well as his abdomen just so you could see the outline of him at every clench. sometimes it’d be too late, resulting in him pleading for forgiveness… chanting sorry over and over again hoping to not have disappointed you. you thought he’d need a lesson, picking up your pace until he couldn’t take it anymore… his body vigorously jolting every which way from being too sensitive… all to have him squirting all over himself, trembling like a little mutt.

him being feral:

james… james… james… at quick glance, one can only assume that he’s vanilla— just a pathetic little man who gets off to the simplicity of missionary (which is also true) and he’d need nothing else more than that… but god is this man just a fucking animal.

• his moans… as we’ve all heard the way he stomps on enemies… you can only imagine how he’d sound when he’s far into his lust… devilishly enticed, losing his goddamn mind. he’d grunt heavily and deeply, almost snarling at how good he feels— his body not even connecting with his brain and letting his body take over, fucking you harder than he’s ever had, leaving you in a blabbering mess.

• though he can’t keep eye contact while being pathetic… him being feral is a whole different story. he’d force you to look at him, wanting you to witness the dark lust that grows within his pupils. he wants to talk to you with the hazel of his eyes, not wanting one second to be wasted with you not looking at him.

• he has a big dick. let’s not lie to ourselves. just a bit over average… it being thick in girth and long. it still surprises you each time he’d take it out… even when soft. he’d stare at your lips when you talk or ate or even drank… replacing the fork you ate with with his huge cock plunging down into your throat. with feral grunts, he’d grip your head to steady itself, having his hips snap, balls slapping at your chin, loving how tight your throat is wrapped around him, saying: “i love your fucking throat.”

• his hands can’t stay in one place, ever. he needs to grip and grope your body until you stung… as if you’d disappear from him. spanks and handprints… hands wrapped around your throat. he wanted to paint your body in pain.

• fuck your clothes. he cares nothing for them. yes, he loves it each time you’d show off to him or mutual friends about what you put together— seeing you as the prettiest thing he had beside him but it only gradually becomes harder for him to not want to rip off your clothes and fuck you wherever you stood. his fingers would go within its fabric, tearing it, loving the sound as it ripped.

• you looked so pretty while sleeping… he’d coo in your ear on how precious you looked. he couldn’t help but feel his cock grow at the sight… no matter how much he told himself to calm down… he just fucking couldn’t. he’d slide your pajama bottoms and underwear down, just to fuck you slow, starting off gentle then having himself rut into you roughly with you moaning sleepily.

• while he’s bottoming, he’d snarl through his teeth, demanding you to fuck him harder, faster… abuse his hole until all he knew was your name. he’d be captivated by the way you fuck him so deeply and the sounds of your skin slapping against each other. he’d hold you close, wanting you to be one with his being, so there’d be nothing you could do but ram yourself into him.

extra hc:

for men, trans men and masculine enbys:

• he loves calling you his ‘pretty boy’, treating you like the prince that you deserve to be treated— praising you and all of your features.

• god he fucking loves your cock. he can’t wait to have his mouth all on it, slobber on it, suck on it until his spit would turn thick and bubble at the sides of his lips and all over your thighs. he’d beg, just to have you use his pretty face to get off— fingers intertwined in his hair, within his scalp… he wants it to fucking hurt. just know he loves it sloppy, targeting your balls knowing how sensitive they are, with his pretty eyes looking up through his lashes. he’d let your cock/strap fall deep into his throat… tears beading at his waterline until he could successfully have the imprint of it outlining his throat. when his nose would bump against your pubic bone… god he was in heaven, huffing the sweet smell of your crotch after a long day of work. his eyes would roll back, nearly passing out, not caring if his breathing was little to none, he wants his throat destroyed. (for ones with tdicks:) he’d flick his tongue all over it, revel in its beauty at how it would twitch and throb and grow. he’d mutter against it: “baby you’re so big…” loving how you’d flutter in his mouth after every harsh suck.

• frotting… man does he love to frot. the feeling of his cock and yours rutting against each other or fitting into one fleshlight… he wouldn’t even be able to last long but he would go on and on just to continue feeling your hot cock throb and cum against his. while laying, his body on top of yours, he’d let his hips snap, feeling the rough bounce of your cocks colliding, moaning wildly in the crook of your neck, enjoying the desperation in every hungered hump. (for ones with tdicks:) james would leak, his clear precum oozing from the head of his cock, letting it drip down onto yours, seeing the way it’d ripple down the skin of your throbbing dick, mouthing how hot it looks to make a mess on you. he’d rub himself on you, feeling your hard bud massage the sides of his shaft, your slick coating his cock until every movement you’d be able to hear from how wet it was. he loves when you’re riding him through a frot, feeling your dick drag all over him, leaving his cock glistening with rough fingers prodding at your waist.

• he doesn’t care about the size of you… that’s the last thing on his mind to care… he just wants you inside of him. he’d anticipate you… his hole puckering with excitement just to feel himself wrap around you. he’d want you to go raw, pound him until he was sore afterwards, having the ability to feel you even with the absence of your cock… pleading for you to fill him up until he leaks out once you’d pull yourself out. (for ones who uses straps:) you’d give him the pleasure of picking a strap he’d want to feel, choosing one he knows you enjoy using on him, treating the strap as if it was apart of you, moaning inaudibly as you fuck him with conviction…. his pretty cock and balls bouncing, untouched, all for your display. (for ones with tdicks:) in celebration of your growth, he encourages you to fuck him with it. when sliding yourself in… man doesn’t this boy love the pleasured look you’d have displayed on your face, finding pleasure in not just him being penetrated by you but the sight of how you’d react being inside of him. he’d feel your cock throb inside, puckering his whole for more grip, holding onto his balls, looking down at where you both connected, just to get a better view of you fucking up into him. he’s say: “you’re so big baby..” egging you on, resulting in you going faster.

for women, trans women and feminine enbys:

• aren’t you just the prettiest thing he’s laid his eyes on. there’s never a time he wouldn’t remind you of that. calling you everything in the book while stimulating your body all over— soft touches, gliding fingers. he’d treat you like a princess for hours and he wouldn’t even need to rush himself to fuck you… touching you was just enough.

• he wants you to make a mess… squirt all over him and make him drenched. his mouth is entirely too gifted. him looking the way he is… it looks pretty obvious. he’d work his mouth and fingers, knowing all the pressure points and favored spots that’ll make you scream and have your legs squeeze together. he’d take all of it, drinking your gift, having his entire face and mouth wet from you. (for trans women and/or people with amab genitalia:) all his attention would be on your pretty ‘clit’. using his hands and tongue to touch the frenulum, letting it flutter against it until your body curled up, unable to control yourself from the feeling. he’d have you cum over and over again, rolling his finger against the tip of your clit, noticing the sharp inhales and the hollowing of your abdomen until you’d squirt all over yourself, praising you: “that’s my pretty baby… let it all out.”

• he’s addicted to your pussy. any chance he’d get he’d want himself buried in between your legs, tiring out his mouth just to have the taste of you linger on his tongue. with controlled fingers, he’d penetrate them deeply, trying to find the spot he knew would drive you into insanity, not wasting a second to stimulate your clit while doing so. (for trans women and/or people with amab genitalia:) he just adores the way your clit fills his mouth. he’d swallow it, inhale it, make sure to take it all in his mouth just see your body shutter at every moment of his mouth.

visual hcs:

• him cumming from cock torture.

• james thinking about you while using his fleshlight.

• as we’ve all seen that mod — and you haven’t, i suggest you look — it got me thinking, heavily about his body type, more so the way his pubic hair would look. (if you’re not one to enjoy body hair… this is not for you) james is very hairy. yes, he shaves but not entirely too often. it’s a russet brown, running all the way up towards his navel, sprawling out on his thighs. when wearing his underwear, sometimes they’d hang lowly off his hips, his pubic hair peaking from the elastic.